True North
A Flirt Club Duet
Rebecca Gallo
Contents
Resolution: Wanderlust
1. Milly
2. Ben
3. Milly
4. Ben
5. Milly
6. Milly
7. Ben
8. Milly
Wanderlust in Paris
1. Milly
2. Ben
3. Milly
Wanderlust Wedding
1. Ben
2. Milly
3. Ben
4. Milly
5. Ben
6. Milly
7. Ben
8. Milly
9. Ben
10. Milly
11. Ben
12. Milly
13. Ben
14. Milly
15. Milly
Epilogue
Also by Rebecca Gallo
About the Author
Resolution: Wanderlust
Milly
“Remember, ladies. Do it. Whatever it is you want to do. Wherever you have wanted to go. Whatever you want to try, to taste, to feel, to live… do it. This is our year.”
I close out the group text with all of my sorority sisters one more time. Those words give me so much courage, and right now, I need to Gandhi the shit out of this day and be the fucking change because it’s gone to absolute shit.
“What do you fancy?” The deep voice with the melt-your-panties-off British accent shakes me from my pity party of one, and I look up at the man behind the bar. He’s fucking gorgeous with a thick head of chestnut brown hair and gorgeous green eyes.
“Oh, um,” I stammer, scanning the taps behind him. I hate Guinness, so that’s out, and I’m not really a beer drinker either. “I’ll have a glass of cider.”
The hot bartender narrows his eyes. “Right. A pint of cider, coming up.” He turns his back—his broad back—and grabs a glass before placing it under a tap and pulling down on a glossy wooden handle. He spins back around and places the glass on the bar in front of me.
“Thanks,” I murmur, before taking my first sip. Sweet baby Jesus, it’s delicious. Tart and tangy with just a hint of sweetness. It’s perfect to take the edge off my frayed nerves. I glance at my cell phone one more time. To call for help or not to call for help, that is the question.
“First time?” The voice is back, which means the hot bartender is back. I flick my eyes up and set my phone down. He must mistake my silence for stupidity because he then asks, “Is this your first time in London?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Am I that obvious?”
“The shiny new backpack is a dead giveaway.”
I manage a weak smile and then take another sip of my cider. “My New Year’s resolution was to see the world.”
Except the world is currently fucking up all my plans.
When Stacy, the president of the sorority I belonged to at Oak Ridge University, sent out a New Year’s group text telling us to go after our dreams, I decided to stop living life with so many regrets. My biggest one was never studying abroad. All my friends did it, but I let anyone with a mildly valid reason talk me out of doing it. Instead of popping bottles on New Year’s Eve like my girlfriends, I was booking a one-way ticket to London and searching for a flat to rent. I found a gorgeous cottage in Notting Hill on what I thought was a legitimate rental company’s website and didn’t hesitate to pay the hefty deposit.
But it was all a scam. The flat didn’t really exist, and now I’m drowning my sorrows in a pint of cider.
“Was? Did you already achieve it?”
I snort with laughter. “I’ve hardly even started! But the universe seems to have other plans for me.” I wrap my fingers around the cool glass and lift it to my lips, downing the rest of my cider like a thirsty frat boy. “I’ll have another of these.”
Time to call for help, I tell myself as I dial my best friend Holly’s number. I have no idea what time it is in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, where she lives, but she’s pretty much the only person capable of helping me.
“Milly? Is everything okay?” This is how Holly greets me because even though she’s a far more experienced traveler, she’s also a worry-wart.
“No, Holly. Everything is completely awful,” I moan, launching into how my gorgeous Notting Hill cottage with access to a private garden was nothing more than a giant con. “And now I have nowhere to stay and hardly any money until I can get this all straightened out with my bank.”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry. Where are you now?”
“In a pub, working on my second pint of cider.”
“Jesus, Milly. Be careful!” I can’t help but roll my eyes. “We’ve got some friends in London. I’ll make some calls and see if anyone can help. Sit tight and don’t do anything until I’ve called you back.”
“Thanks, Holly.” I hang up the phone and notice that Sexy McBartender has his gaze firmly planted on me. It’s intimidating, but I also can’t look away.
“I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation,” he starts, clearing his throat, “but I’ve got a spare room if you’re interested.”
“Thanks, I’ve already been scammed once today. Not that you would take advantage of me or anything…but I’ll just wait for my friend to call me.” The words come out awkwardly, and I feel embarrassed turning down this man’s generous offer, but Holly would blow her gasket if she found out I decided to stay with a stranger.
“Suit yourself,” he says gruffly.
“I don’t even know your name,” I tell him with a sheepish smile.
He grabs the towel tucked into his belt and wipes his hands before stretching one out to me. “I’m Ben. Pleased to meet you.”
I accept his hand, slipping mine into his. “I’m Milly.”
Ben
“Are you sure there isn’t someone else?” Milly asks, her voice sounding slightly panicked. Whoever she’s on the phone with is the unfortunate bearer of bad news. I didn’t mean to overhear her conversation earlier, but when she walked into my pub, it was hard for me not to take my eyes off her. With shiny sandy brown hair that’s currently knotted on top of her head and a pair of blue eyes, she completely transfixed me the moment I managed to get her attention.
Milly reaches up and places a hand on top of her head. She sinks her front teeth into her bottom lip, and even though she’s probably worried, that one little act makes my cock harden. Jesus Christ, I need to get laid.
I busy myself with the patrons at the far end of the bar, away from Milly, but it’s not far enough. I keep glancing back to her; she’s still on the phone, and her expression is fucking pitiful. Offering her my spare room was a knee-jerk reaction; I was thinking more with my cock than my actual brain. I was slightly relieved when she turned me down, but now that I see her, with her head hanging low and her eyes a watery mess, I feel like an asshole for not pushing the issue.
Milly looks down my way, and we stare at each other for a brief second before she nods silently, and a hardened look crosses her face. She says something to the person at the other end of the conversation before ending the call. She lifts two fingers and does a little wave, signaling to me. Like a dog, I’m eager for any morsel she’ll toss my way.
“Are you ready for something to eat to soak up all that cider?” I ask with a grin. Even though she did not accept my offer, there’s no way I’m going to let her loose in a strange city completely pissed.
There are three empty pint glasses in front of her, and when she looks down at them, her eyes widen a bit. “Oh, sure. I guess.”
“I know just the thing,” I tell her with a wink before placing a bottle of cold water in front of
her. “Drink up.”
The one thing my pub is known for—steak frites—will give her a hot, comforting meal, and that’s one way to show her that I care without seeming like a creeper.
When I step out of the kitchen with the plate of food in my hands, I notice Milly sit up a little straighter. Interesting. “Steak frites,” I announce, setting the plate in front of her with a flourish of my hand. “Or, if you like, steak and chips.”
“Fries,” she says in her cute American accent, pointing at the steaming mound of deep-fried potatoes. “Those are french fries.”
“Fries,” I mock her in a faux American accent. Milly tucks into her meal, cutting the steak neatly before taking a bite. I love the smile of satisfaction on her lips. She’s absolutely beautiful, and as it’s really weird to just stand here watching her eat, I leave her alone.
I start ticking off items on my side work list, anything to distract myself and keep my mind off the American sitting so close that I can smell her fresh scent, eating my favorite meal, and drinking my favorite cider. But it’s hard because I want to know her. A million questions swirl through my mind, but I also keep picturing her lips. I want to devour them, and her, whole.
“Ben?” I hear her call timidly. I try not to appear too eager as I turn around to face her. She’s pushed away her meal, which is half gone, and I see her fidgeting nervously with the linen napkin.
“All finished?” I ask, reaching out to grab her plate.
She nods, and I notice her eyes dart nervously around the bar. “Does the offer still stand for the spare bedroom?”
My lips twitch into a smile. “Absolutely. If you need a place to stay, then I can help you out.” I look up at the clock above the bar. One of the perks of being the boss is that I can set my own hours. “I’m off in an hour. Can you hang around until then?”
Milly nods and leans back in the stool. For the first time since she walked in, she seems relaxed. Her face is no longer tight with worry, but instead, it’s softened a bit. I stare at her a moment longer and wonder what her expression would look like in the midst of an orgasm or when she’s ridiculously happy or when she laughs.
An hour later, I’ve got the pub firmly situated in the hands of my manager so that I can take off. I round the glossy mahogany bar and see Milly take notice. Her eyes are dead on me, watching me as I make my way over. Jesus, I like being caught in her stare. I manage to look away for a moment and catch sight of the massive suitcases sitting against the bar. How did I not notice them when she first walked in?
“Fucking hell, have those things been hiding there this entire time?” I exclaim, pointing at the enormous pieces of luggage.
“I didn’t have anywhere else to put them,” she answers with a shrug.
I reach for the first one and slide it out of its hiding place before reaching for the second. My arm brushes against her leg, and I feel the same electric current that I did when we shook hands. I look up with wide eyes, hopeful that Milly felt something too. As cliché as it sounds, there were definite sparks.
“Normally, I just walk home, but tonight, I guess we’ll just take a cab.”
Milly hops down from the stool and grabs her backpack. She fumbles with the straps, and I can’t help myself. I want more of that connection, that spark, so I reach out and help her adjust it. She watches me as I adjust the padded strap on her shoulder even though it’s perfect. My fingers linger longer than necessary because I’m completely transfixed by what her skin would feel like under my bare hands. Like peaches and fucking cream, I decide.
“Follow me,” I say, my voice raspy with desire.
Milly
“It’s not much,” Ben says when the taxi drops us off in front of his place. “But it’s home.”
I stare up at the quaint stucco building with large windows and columns across the front porch. “It’s amazing,” I breathe out as I follow him up the concrete stairs.
Ben opens the front door and inside is a small hallway with a staircase leading to the other apartments. He walks straight ahead and opens another door. His flat is warm and cozy, just like the pub. I take in the whitewashed floors and the clay color of the walls. There are three large windows at the front of the apartment that overlook the street. The open concept living space extends to a kitchen area, and I assume the bedrooms are at the back of the house.
“There’s only one bathroom,” Ben mentions as he rolls my suitcases down the hallway. “I forgot to mention that.”
“That’s fine,” I say. I am not going to be picky about my accommodations.
He opens a door and pushes the luggage inside. “Here it is,” he announces. “It’s not The Dorchester or the Savoy, but I’ve been told the bed is pretty comfortable.”
“Thank you, Ben. I appreciate you helping me out,” I tell him as I brush past him into the room. I hear him inhale and wonder if he just smelled me.
“I’ll let you get settled,” he says shyly, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Let me know if you need anything.”
I shuffle around the room, moving my suitcases out of the way. I feel awkward and out of place, a little aimless. It’s time to regroup. I quickly change out of my traveling clothes that I feel like I’ve been wearing forever into an oversized T-shirt that hangs off one shoulder and hits me mid-thigh.
When I open the door to the bedroom, I run right into a massive wall of chest. Ben’s chest, to be precise.
“I’m so sorry,” I exclaim just as Ben reaches out to steady me.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Other than a slightly bruised nose and ego, I’m fine,” I answer. Ben looks down at where he still has a hold on me and quickly lets go before stepping back. “I was just going to look for the bathroom.”
“It’s right there.” Ben points toward a door, but his eyes are on me, roaming over my body. He stops when he gets to the hem of my shirt and swallows audibly. We’re both stuck in place until I make the first move and brush past him.
I’m too slow, though, because he catches me around the waist and presses me up against the nearest wall. His mouth covers mine in a searing kiss as his hands tangle in the cotton of my T-shirt. He’s so much taller than I am, and I’m forced to stand on tiptoes just to wrap my arms around his neck. He bends slightly and places his hands around my backside, cupping my ass and lifting me without any effort. My legs wrap around his waist as he steadies me against the wall. His mouth never leaves mine, exploring it with his tongue, nipping my lips with his teeth. He’s stealing every breath that I’m desperate to take, and all I can think is more.
We break apart, but my body is still wrapped around his. He nuzzles my neck with his nose and nips at my earlobe. “I’m sorry,” he rasps, “but you’ve been driving me crazy all night.”
I stare into his jade green eyes, confused. “Me? I haven’t done a thing.”
One corner of Ben’s mouth twitches upward. “You’ve done plenty. Don’t think I didn’t sense your damsel in distress vibe.”
I scoff and push away slightly, letting my legs fall. “I am not a damsel in distress!”
“Not anymore,” Ben teases me. He looks down at my T-shirt and frowns. “Is that really what you’re wearing to bed?”
“Of course it is,” I answer, confused. What’s his problem with my T-shirt?
“I don’t stand a fucking chance,” Ben mutters as he releases his hold on me and walks away. A satisfied smirk spread across my lips as I get another good look at his firm backside. I didn’t stand a chance either.
After a decent night’s sleep, I wake up refreshed and ready to take on the day. When I venture out into the apartment, Ben is sitting at a small table in the middle of the sunny kitchen. He’s dressed in a navy blue T-shirt that stretches across his broad back and a pair of gray sweatpants.
“Good morning,” he greets me with a cheerful smile. “How’d you sleep?”
“Pretty good,” I reply. I sniff, hoping to catch a whiff of my favorite morning smell—coffee—but it’
s not there.
“Tea?” Ben asks. I look down at the table and see a plain white porcelain teapot with dishes for sugar and milk next to it. I don’t really answer because Ben begins to pour milk into an empty cup before adding the tea. “Do you like sugar?”
“Yes?” I’m not entirely certain, but I do like sugar in my coffee.
“We’ll start with two sugars. You can always add more.” Ben places a cup across from him, a silent invitation for me to sit. I take my first sip and realize that Ben is watching me expectantly, waiting for my reaction. I want to like tea because it’s the very essence of being British but…it’s just not coffee. I take my first sip; it’s milky and a little sweet, but I’m resolved: tea is not for me. Out of respect to my host, I finish the entire cup, though. Ben watches me the whole time, a playful smirk on his lips. “I’ve got a French press somewhere. I’ll pick up some coffee today.”
“You don’t have to do that,” I insist. I hate the thought that I’m inconveniencing him somehow. I could learn to like tea…eventually.
“It’s no bother. You’re my guest,” he says with a wink before getting up and clearing the table of the tea tray. “Are you hungry? I don’t have much here, but I know a place that does a really lovely full English breakfast.”
“Actually,” I stammer before getting up to help him with the breakfast dishes. “Do you have Wi-Fi? I’d really like to get a jump on filing that fraud claim with my bank. The sooner I get my money back, the quicker I’ll be out of your hair.”
True North: A Flirt Club Duet Page 1