Turn It Loose (3 page)

As she moved
through the train station, a giant statue of a pair of lovers wrapped in a sensuous embrace caught her eye.
I wish
, Jaylah thought, as she wondered what it would feel like to be so enthralled with someone she didn’t care what was going on around her.

She
ambled onto to the street looking for the bus to Clapham Park. For the last two days she stayed close to home, getting to know her new neighborhood and trying to adjust to the time difference. She poked around Highbury scoping out food shops, noticing which bus lines ran down the road, and walking just far enough away to see what was around her without getting lost.

But time waits for no one
and Jaylah couldn’t fathom spending an entire summer doing what she did back home—hiding from the world. She was in the Queen’s City and she was determined to enjoy it.

She exited the bus on
Blackfriars Road and strolled along the banks of a murky river toward the Tate Modern. Jaylah stopped at a plaque that schooled tourists about the area and realized she was staring at the River Thames. Goosebumps sprang up on her arms at the thought of walking the same path Shakespeare, Dickens, and T.S. Eliot once trod. She pulled out her journal.

Day 3, Bankside, along the River Thames:

Yes, THE River Thames!!! Shakespeare’s Globe Theater is a few steps away and I can’t believe I’m here. I feel like I should say something profound or grandiose or noteworthy, after all some of the masters have walked this very spot. But all I can say is WOW!

For so long I’ve been livi
ng with my head down. Go to work, do my job, go home, hate life (well, not HATE LIFE, like I’d want to kill myself or something foolish, but just the whole routine was so predictable and boring and…unfulfilling.).

To be honest,
I haven’t been living. I’ve been alive, but not living. All that changes today. For the next three months I’m going to
try to
say yes to everything. As long as it won’t kill me that is; my parents wouldn’t appreciate me coming home in a box. 

But from this moment on, I’
m going to keep my eyes open, I’m going to keep this pen in my hand, and I’m going to enjoy every single moment of this summer.

I deserve it.

Jaylah stood in line at the Pret and
checked her bank balance on her phone. She’d been in London for two weeks and had run through the city like a tourist with her hair on fire. She ogled mummies and ancient art at the British Museum, or as she called it, “The Museum of Stolen Things;” she witnessed the changing of the guards at Buckingham Palace; she took selfies in front of the House of Parliament; she cruised along the River Thames absorbing the sites; she bought too many earrings and blouses at the shops in Oxford Circus; and she had afternoon tea with apple scones and clotted cream at Claridge’s. If this were the end of her vacation she could go home confident that she had done it all, but it wasn’t. The summer was just beginning and her money was running dangerously low.

To save a few pounds, Jaylah skipped breakfast and grabbed a sandwich from
the local deli or at Pret A Manger if she was fritting about town.  As she waited for her baguette, she noticed a beautiful blonde’s impossibly high combat boots.

“
Excuse me,” Jaylah said, tapping the woman on her shoulder, “Your shoes are amazing. Are they comfortable?”

“Oh God yes. They don’t look it, but I can walk in
them for days,” the blonde said.

“I’ve been looking for a pa
ir of boots. I didn’t pack any and the rain, “Jaylah gestured, “just keeps coming.”

“Tell me about it. These are
by Jeffrey Campbell. I got them in Covet Garden. Your top would go great with them, yeah?”

“Definitely. I’m Jaylah, by the way,” she said, finally extending her hand.

“Jourdan,” the blonde said with a toothy grin. “Want to share a table? It’s a madhouse in here.”

“Sure.
I was going to sit in the park, but it looks like rain…again.”

While Jourdan searched the busy café for an empty table, Jaylah
sized her up. Jourdan’s four-inch heels made her seem like Andre the Giant, dwarfing Jaylah’s 5-foot-8 inch frame. Her blonde hair was cut into a wispy bob that softened the edges of her heart-shaped face, and her pinafore dress clung to her curves.

“Don’t you just hate this weather?” Jourdan pretended to gag. “I wish the sun would finally come ‘round.”

“Me too. It’s probably 80 degrees back home,” Jaylah said, taking a bite of her sandwich.

“Where’s home?”

“Los Angeles,”
she said, trying to decide if Jourdan was actually interested in getting to know her or just making conversation. When she turned 25, Jaylah swore off the idea of making any new friends. Everyone seemed so entrenched in their social circles that bridging the gap felt like it required an invitation into an exclusive club.

“WHAT?
!” Jourdan yelled, nearly choking on her lunch. “Los Angeles? Shouldn’t you be on the beach with some Brad Pitt type?”

“I’d rather be on the T
ube with an Idris Elba knock-off.”

Jourdan clutched her chest and
nodded her head in agreement, “Wouldn’t we all?”

The pair exchanged quick hi-fives as they tried to one-up each other, sharing their favorite on-screen moments by the
British heartthrob.

“That scene when he nearly chokes Alice and you’re wondering if he’s going to squeeze the life out of her or kiss
her?” Jourdan feigned a swoon, “I wish that was me!”

“
Right?! How about that one in
Takers
when he gets out of bed wearing nothing but his boxers?” She fanned herself, and gave her new pal a knowing glance.

Jaylah and Jourdan giggled like teenagers gossiping about high school crushes. In the weeks since she’d gotten to London, Jaylah’s conversations with
strangers amounted to pleasantries, asking for directions, or ordering food. Chatting with Jourdan was a welcomed surprise.

“So, what brings you here? Certainly not the weather,” Jourdan
asked.

Jaylah hesitated for a moment. She wondered if she should tell
her the truth. “I…I just needed a change. Work was hectic and I just needed a bit of a break.”

“Totally understand. What do you do?”

“I’m a writer,” Jaylah said, clearing her throat. “But I’m kinda in between gigs right now.”

“I see. I work in PR. I can
introduce you to some editors,” Jourdan said, shoving a fork-full of salad in her mouth. “If you’re looking, that is.”

“Really?” Jaylah
was shocked a stranger would try to hook her up with a job so easily. “That would be great.”

“
Wonderful! Now that that’s sorted, how long have you been in London? What have you seen? Please tell me you’ve not just done the horrible tourist things.”

Jaylah threw up her hands. “Well…”

“Oh God,” Jourdan cut in, “Tell me you’ve at least gone dancing!”
Jaylah shook her head. “I don’t know anyone and going to a club alone seems a little strange.”

“W
e have to remedy this straight away,” Jourdan said, polishing off her salad. “I’ve got to head back to the office, but give me your number. I’m going to take you out.”

Jaylah beamed,
it had been so long since she’d been dancing. The thought of being pressed up against strangers getting baptized by the DJ excited her.

“Actually, w
hat are you doing this weekend?”

Jaylah
hunched her shoulders. “Nothing.”

“Great!
Meet me on Saturday at Queen of Hoxton at 11.”

“What should I wear?”

“Something you can dance in,” Jourdan winked. “Got to go. See you later!”

Jaylah watched as her new friend ran out of the café and headed back to work.
She pulled out her journal and began to scribble.

Day 21, At the Pret near Russell Square:

My life just turned into a rom-com. Seriously. I just met someone at the Pret. Well, not “someone” as in a man (would be nice, though), but hit it off with a girl I met in line. She had on the highest pair of combat boots I’d ever seen. They looked like Doc Martins on stilts! Anyway, I complimented her and we ended up sharing a table.

I told her I
am a writer who is in between jobs (no, I didn’t mention “the incident”), and she offered to hook me up with some editors. Just like that. AND—get this—she’s taking me clubbing this weekend.

Shit like this NEVER HAPPENS in real life.
Or maybe it just doesn’t happen to me.

I hope my good luck continues and I meet someone
for real. I’m not looking for anything serious, but it’s been a minute since I got any. Sadly, I was too busy wasting my time on those fools back home. But none of that matters here. I came to have fun, right? And maybe it’s time I find Mr. Right Now and get my groove back. Or started.

I
t’s about time I started breaking some of the rules. I’ve been the good girl my whole life and where has that gotten me? Fired and alone. Besides, as long as I’m safe, why can’t I have a little fun (and if I’m lucky, a few orgasms)?

I’m only here for
such a short time anyway, and as the saying goes, what happens in London stays in London!

Operation Get Laid is now in full effect.

* * *

Jaylah tore through her closet looking for something to wear. She wanted
to be comfortable, yet irresistibly sexy, but not at all like she was trying too hard to be cool. She narrowed it down to two options: the purple mini-dress and black leggings, or the red skinny jeans and black sheer top.

Remembering her plan to seduce and destroy, Jaylah decided on the mini-dress that showed off her legs and skimme
d the top of her ample breasts.

She
got dressed in record time and hurried to catch the train. She was running late and didn’t want to annoy her new friend before they even had a chance to hang out. As she got to Tube, Jaylah heard it rattling below. She scampered underground and shimmied through the doors just before they closed.

“Whew!”
she said aloud before whipping out a compact and applying her lipstick. When she glanced around the car, she noticed a handsome man checking her out. At first, Jaylah ignored him, satisfied she looked good enough to attract his gaze. But then she remembered her objective—have an obscene amount of fun—and she flashed him a flirty smile.

As they rode in silence, the man continued to steal glances
at Jaylah. When she caught him looking at her, she would always reply with a sly smirk or a raised eyebrow, daring him to introduce himself. The pair played this bashful game until it was time for her to get off. Feeling embolden, she pulled out her journal, and scribbled “call me” on the paper. She slipped it in the man’s hand before stepping off the train. When the doors closed, Jaylah gave him another enticing smirk. Her whole body tingled with excitement; even if he never called, she was proud of herself for making the first move.

“Yup,” Jaylah said to herself as she climbed the steps to meet Jourdan,
“it’s a new day.”

* * *

“’Bout time you made it,” Jourdan said, crossing her arms.

“So sorry I’m late! I was trying to sort out my outfit, then I almost missed the train,” Jaylah replied, unsure if she should
greet her new pal with a hug or customary kiss on the check. 

Jourdan took a drag on her cigarette, then broke out in a wide
smile, “Don’t worry ‘bout it. I literally just walked up myself. How cute is your dress? I’m going to totally raid your suitcase to see what else you’ve got.”

Jo
urdan weaved her arm through Jaylah’s and tugged her inside. “C’mon, I need a drink.”

It felt like the ladies had stepped into a rave. The already-packed club glowed with candy-colored neon lights that seemed to emanate from
every surface. T-shirts, wrists, lips, shoes all shined wildly as the massive sound system filled the whole room with bass. As they made their way to the bar, Jaylah and Jourdan vibrated to the rhythm without even trying.

“Two Pimm’s Cups, please.”

“A what cup,” Jaylah asked, confused.

“Pimm’s Cup. It’s
British, it’s allegedly summer, and you’ve got to drink it.”

“What’s in it?”

“If we’re lucky, lots of gin,” Jourdan chortled, handing Jaylah the strawberry-colored concoction.

“It’s so sweet!” Jaylah said, making a face. “It tastes like melted Skittles!”

“Keep drinking,” Jourdan commanded. “It won’t matter what it tastes like soon.”

Jourdan grabbed Jaylah’s
hand and led her to the dance floor. To her surprise her blonde friend easily fell in time with the thunderous drumming. Although Jaylah didn’t buy into stereotypes about who could and could not actually dance, she was caught off guard by her friend’s expert moves.

“What are you waiting for?” Jourdan
asked, pulling Jaylah deeper into the sea of people.

She felt a bit self-conscious at first. Although she loved to dance, Jaylah
never quite allowed music to complexly take ahold of her when she was in public. She’d normally work up a glistening sweat with polite two-steps and shoulder shimmies, but as she watched Jourdan get lost in the thumping melody, not caring what she looked liked or who danced too close, Jaylah decided to stop worrying about what other people thought and just do what she felt.

She gulped the rest of the
syrupy drink, and let the pounding bass line work its way down her body. Jaylah threw her arms in the air and let them seductively swirl above her head. She closed her eyes and allowed her hands to trace the long, creamy lines of her body while her hips moved in smooth quick circles.

Jaylah sensed someone behi
nd her. At first she thought it was a passing club goer trying to find their own groove, but when the mysterious person remained unmoving behind her, she decided to see who it was.

She glanced over her shoulder, never breaking her
tempo, and saw a swarthy Arab-looking man with skin so luminous she imagined he’d spent every moment getting kissed by the sun.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. “I just had to come over and
ask for a dance.”

His eyes sparked like polished
stones as he waited for a response. Jaylah was momentarily stunned, but instead of muddling the moment with a clumsy line, she grabbed his hand and placed it on her hip. She began to grind ever so slightly into him to see if he could keep time.

The pair moved together, bouncing to the beat. Jaylah threw her head back and laid it against the man’s sturdy shoulder; he rested his face in the crux of her neck. His neat beard tickled Jaylah’s skin, causing her to let out a
tiny laugh. If it wasn’t for the sharp edges and staccato pace of the music Jaylah would have melted into him, and he seemed more than willing to accommodate her.

Jaylah
spun around to face him, and nearly lost the beat. He was stunning. His thick eyebrows perfectly framed his lush skin, and his slim nose was the ideal compliment to his angular face.
Do not look into his eyes
, she told herself, afraid of what she might do if she really gazed at the gorgeous stranger. Instead, she allowed her hands to trace his chest and wander to his taut stomach.