Ben’s brow furrows, and he makes a disapproving noise. “I don’t really like the idea of you going out alone in London. I’ll only be an hour if you want to wait.”
I roll my eyes because I hate that people assume I’m totally helpless. Holly does it a lot, and this trip is also meant to prove to my family and friends, and maybe myself, that I’m capable of more than they thought.
“Ben, I’ll be fine, and if I run into trouble, there’s always this,” I say, holding up my cell phone before realizing that I don’t even have his phone number. I hold it out to him, and say, “It might be helpful to have your number, though.”
Ben locks his green eyes on me and holds me captive in his stare as he stalks toward me and takes my phone from his hand. I squirm slightly because the man is sexy when he’s brooding. His fingers fly across the screen before he hands the phone back to me. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he says, his voice stern.
I want to say something smart in return, but I swallow my words. Ben cups my face and kisses me fiercely. “Come to the pub when you’re done exploring,” he tells me.
I follow him out of the flat, and when he turns to head toward the pub, which is only a few blocks away, I’m more than eager to head in the opposite direction toward Kensington Gardens. I’m desperate to explore the neighborhoods teeming with so much history and to see places that I’ve only dreamed about visiting.
This is the cure for wanderlust that I came to find.
Ben
Our usual delivery is totally cocked up, and I know it’s going to take me hours to sort, which is fine because then I won’t worry too much about Milly wandering around London alone. I get it; she wants to prove to me and maybe herself that she can navigate a city like London alone, but it’s so easy to get lost.
“Well, isn’t this the dog’s dinner,” Lewis, the manager of the pub, says as he comes up next to me.
“Yeah, well, you better check over this inventory list to make sure we don’t get diddled,” I scold him. “I’m not about to take the piss because you’re a daft arse.”
“Hey, is that any way to talk to your best mate? Didn’t I see you chatting up some girl last night? I thought you might have come into work whistling a happier tune.”
I roll my eyes. “All right, Lew. Stop naffing about and let’s get on with this.” Even though Lewis is, as he correctly proclaimed, my best mate, he’s also one of the biggest gossips, and I don’t want my business broadcasted to the entire pub and most of Notting Hill.
I slip my phone out of my pocket and frown. Milly’s been out exploring for a few hours and no call. I can’t help but worry not because I think she’s helpless but because she’s brought out a dormant alpha side in me. I want to protect her from the ugliness of London. It’s not all palaces and Hugh Grant rom-coms.
Minutes later, my phone erupts in my hand, and I know exactly who it is.
“Are you lost?” I ask her before she can manage a word. Yes, I’m being totally smug because I want to fucking save the day like a goddamn white knight.
“Maybe? A little?” Gone is the confident attitude she had when she left my flat this afternoon.
“Where are you?”
“Camden, I think.”
“How the fuck did you end up in Camden?”
“The Tube. I got on at Oxford Circus, and I wasn’t paying attention to which line I was on or even what direction I was heading. And then I just panicked and got off and wandered a bit.”
I breath in deeply and try to picture where she is. “Okay, well, just make your way back to the nearest station. Shouldn’t be hard to find. And then get off at Notting Hill Gate. I’ll meet you there.”
“Okay. Shouldn’t be too hard,” she agrees, but I hear the hesitation in her voice. She’s lost her confidence.
“Call me when you get to the nearest station so I can tell you how to get back.”
We end the call, and I gather up my things and start heading out. It’s dinnertime, and there will be a mad rush of people leaving work and heading home, but she shouldn’t have any difficulties once she’s on the Tube. Ten minutes later, she rings me to let me know she’s made it to the Camden Road station. I give her what seems like a complicated set of directions to follow because it’s not a straight shot. She’ll have to get on and get off the Tube a few times. I make her repeat them to me, so I know she understands. When I’m confident that she won’t end up in SoHo, we hang up. I pick up my pace and make it to the Notting Hill Gate station with plenty of time to spare. I pop into a coffee shop and grab a latte because I know it will be a while yet until Milly arrives.
I pace at the entrance of the Tube station around the time I think she’ll appear. When I catch my first glimpse of her in a massive swarm of people, I sigh with relief.
“Milly!” I call out, and she stops, and several passengers heading home have to swerve abruptly to avoid knocking her over. They don’t have pleasant things to say. She pushes through the crowd toward me, and my heart beats rapidly with the excitement of seeing her after just a few short hours of separation. Her hair is knotted on top of her head, and her coat is buttoned up tight, but it’s her cherry red lips that I’m interested in. I pull her to me and kiss her thoroughly, claiming her as mine.
“I don’t think I’m going to let you out of my sight,” I purr once the kiss is ended. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and tuck her in close, but she stiffens a bit and pulls away.
“About that,” she starts. “My bank called while I was out getting lost. Apparently, I have fraud protection on my account, and they’ll be able to return my money a lot sooner than expected.”
“How soon?” This is undoubtedly great news for Milly, but I haven’t had my fill of her yet.
“By the end of the week,” she answers with a week smile. “Could you help me sort out someplace new?”
I purse my lips and think. Do I really want to let Milly go? “Actually, I don’t think I can,” I say coolly and honestly.
“What?” She’s genuinely shocked and confused, but then her expression dissolves into anger. “Why not?”
I reach down and grab her hand. Earlier, I noticed how she avoided holding my hand after our impromptu tryst in the alley. I noticed the distance she started to put between us, and I didn’t like it. I hold her hand tightly as we walk back toward my flat.
“Maybe I don’t want you to leave,” I say casually.
“Ben, this wasn’t my plan. I didn’t come to London to find a fuck buddy.”
That stings just a bit.
I stop and turn to face her. “I know what you came to London for, Milly, and I’m not going to stop you from seeing and experiencing everything it has to offer. I would never do that, but I’m also not ready to give up whatever is happening between us either.”
There’s hesitation on her face; I can see it darkening her normally bright blue eyes. Maybe she didn’t want what I wanted; maybe she didn’t feel everything that I’ve felt over the past twenty-four hours. But at least I tried. And I know that I’m not an asshole, so I tell her, “Look, if this isn’t what you want, if I’m not what you want, then I’ll help you find someplace to stay for the next few weeks.”
“Thank you, Ben,” she says quietly, and that’s all she says for the rest of the night.
In the morning, before I leave to head to meet my accountant and review the week’s payroll, I leave the spare key to my flat on the kitchen counter along with a map of the London Underground. I scribble out a quick note and leave it tucked inside for her. Milly came to London to cure her wanderlust, and I’m going to give her the space to do it.
Milly
Ben is gone when I wake up, and the flat is incredibly quiet, which is unsettling. There’s a key and a map on the counter. and I catch a glimpse of a piece of paper tucked inside the map. I tug it free and read the note scrawled on it. Have fun looking at old shit. – Ben
There’s also a French press on the counter with a bag of coffee next to it. I wonder whe
n he had time to go out and get the coffee.
I scan the map while I wait for the coffee to brew, studying it so that I don’t get lost again. It was so embarrassing to call Ben last night and even more embarrassing to admit that I simply hadn’t paid attention to where I was going. I don’t plan on making that mistake again. Today is all about the British Museum. I plan on spending the day there, getting lost amongst the mummies instead.
After a long day of wandering around the massive museum, I’m disappointed when I return to Ben’s flat and it’s still empty. I’m bursting at the seams, eager to discuss my day with someone. A quick check of the time and some simple math means that I still have plenty of time to call Holly. Except she doesn’t answer and I refuse to leave a voicemail.
The next morning, Ben is gone again when I wake up, but the French press that I left in the sink yesterday is clean and waiting for me. Gone is my gusto for exploration. You didn’t travel all this way just to have an affair with a hot British bartender, I remind myself. You came here to see the world so get out there and experience it!
God, I can be so rational sometimes.
It’s raining outside, so I bundle up in a thick, wool sweater, a pair of skinny jeans, and my new rain boots. Last night, I made reservations for high tea at Claridge’s. And now that the weather has turned cooler, a comforting pot of tea, freshly baked scones, and some clotted cream might be exactly what I need.
Except it isn’t; not at all. While I sip tea and nibble on cucumber sandwiches, Ben fills my thoughts. I miss the playfulness he showed me during our trip to the V&A. I miss the tender looks and soft kisses. Everything around me is sheer British perfection, but I only really want to be one place.
It’s still raining when I leave Claridge’s and I decide to splurge on one of those iconic black taxis instead of walking to the closest Tube station. When the cabbie drops me off in front of Ben’s pub, it’s packed. People are streaming in and out and one step inside tells me why. The large television screens scattered throughout all display a soccer match. The inside of the pub is wall-to-wall people, one massive sea of bodies that I doubt my ability to make it to the bar. Or to even talk.
I bump into several patrons while trying to make my way up to the bar, and they make their displeasure known quite loudly.
“Whatchit, ya daft slag,” someone half yells, half slurs in my direction.
“Oi, shut your gob, Tom, and leave the poor girl alone,” someone replies, just as loud and just as drunk. I turn just in time to see what I presume to be Tom’s friend leering down at me. “Whatcha got under that coat, dearie? I bet a delicious set of strawberry creams.”
The way he waggles his eyebrows and smiles grotesquely makes me want to puke, and I continue pushing forward until I’m at the front of the bar. But Ben is nowhere in sight. Instead, Tom and his friend are inching closer in my direction.
“Could we buy you a pint, miss?” Tom’s friend asks.
“Or could we perhaps interest you in a game of slap-and-tickle,” Tom adds, his white eyebrows bobbing up and down.
I try to back away from them, but there are so many people that it’s hard to push past them all. Where the fuck is Ben? A hand clamps down on my arm, and I want to scream, but then I hear Ben’s voice growl, “What’s going on, gents?”
“Aw, nothing, Bennie. Just getting to know this pretty lass s’all,” Tom says.
“Leave her the fuck alone, the both of you, or I’ll toss you wankers out,” Ben tells them. Relieved, I sag against Ben when he pulls me tightly against his side, one arm wrapped protectively around my waist. “What are you doing here, Milly?”
“Hoping to talk to you,” I practically shout. “But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Not bloody likely. Arsenal and Chelsea are playing a death match.” I have no idea what he’s talking about, but he just smiles and cups my chin with one hand, rubbing his thumb along my jaw. “I’m happy you came in, even if it’s fucking bonkers in here.”
I stand on tiptoes and kiss him softly. “I’ll just see you back at the flat.”
Ben holds up a finger, asking me silently to wait. With his arm still firmly wrapped around me, he turns back and yells something to the man behind the bar. They both nod and then Ben grabs my hand and drags me through the crowd to the front of the pub. “You’re going to need this,” he says, plucking a massive black umbrella from a brass container in the corner of the pub’s vestibule. He explains how to get back to the flat and mentions a few places to stop for takeaway. “I’ll be home as soon as I can,” he tells me as he leans forward to brush a kiss along my cheek.
But I want more than just a kiss on the cheek. I grab onto his shirt and pull myself up to press my lips against his. I brush my tongue along his bottom lip, and he opens for me. His mouth is warm and welcoming, inviting me to deepen the kiss. His hands circle my waist and pull me flush against him. The world around us seems to fall away; the sounds of the crowd and televisions dissolve until it’s just him and me.
I wake up on Ben’s couch. After too much takeaway filling my belly, I simply gave in to my tired body, stretched out along Ben’s very comfortable and inviting couch, closed my eyes, and fell asleep.
I sit up and blink a few times. The flat is extremely quiet, and at first, I think I’m alone until I see Ben sitting in an armchair next to the fireplace, looking right at me.
“What’s up, hot and creepy?” I greet him as I wrap myself up in a throw blanket that wasn’t there earlier.
“Hello, beautiful and sleepy,” he replies. Ben pushes up from the chair, stands, and stretches out his powerful frame. He’s still dressed for work in distressed jeans, black boots, and a long-sleeved black shirt that rides up a bit to expose a part of his flat stomach. He walks toward me and sits down beside me, stretching his arm out across the back. I invite myself into the space he’s created and rest my head on his chest, right over his heart.
“When did you get back?” I ask.
“About an hour ago.”
“You’ve been sitting there, watching me sleep for an hour?”
Ben chuckles, and his whole body shakes. His arm comes down to pull me in closer, and he places a kiss on top of my head. “Not the entire time.” He clears his throat before saying, “I’m sorry about what happened in the pub. Sometimes, the blokes who come in to watch a match get a little pissed, and they have no idea what they’re doing.”
“It’s okay. You saved the day, again.”
Ben shifts so that we’re both sitting up a little straighter. His arm slides out from around me, and he grabs my hand. It’s time for the talk. “Look, Milly, I meant everything that I said to you the other day. I don’t want you to leave, but I won’t stop you from traveling and exploring either. But I really like you, and whatever is happening between us, I want it to continue.”
“I feel the same way,” I say with a smile. Ben looks shocked. His green eyes are wide and his mouth pops open before it dissolves into a dazzling grin. I face him and place my hands on either side of his face. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I missed you. There was no one trying to get into my panties among the mummies at the British Museum.”
“Knickers,” he corrects me. “And I’d really be chuffed if you let me try to get into your knickers now.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “You’re so romantic.”
Ben stands up abruptly, leans forward, and scoops me into his arms. “How’s this for romantic?”
“It’s perfect,” I tell him as I wind my arms around his neck.
He walks with me down the short hallway and kicks open the door to his bedroom and then tosses me onto the bed. “I know you didn’t exactly fancy Tom’s offer earlier, but how would you like to play a little game of slap-and-tickle?”
A silly grin transforms his face, and he waggles his eyebrows just like the two old perverts from the pub. I giggle as he covers me with his body and uses his fingers to find all the places I’m ticklish. It doesn’t tak
e long for things to heat between us, and I sigh into him with relief and desire as his fingers start to caress and linger.
This is what I was really missing in my life. The comfort of having someone to share and explore life with, to have someone to come home to at the end of a long day, is the real cure for my wanderlust.
Want more of Ben and Milly?
Their story will continue in…
Wanderlust in Paris
1
Milly
“Ben! This is not a hotel. It’s a freaking palace,” I screech, staring up at La Reserve Hotel and Spa in Paris. My jaw drops at the grandeur of the hotel’s entrance - the red lacquered transom, the red velvet curtains that frame the black doors and the doorman dressed in an elegant black cloak and hat ready to greet us.
When I imagine traveling the world, this is not what I pictured. I imagined staying cheaply in hostels and keeping my nose buried in guidebooks. Instead, I’m standing in the middle of Avenue Gabriel with Ben, my British boyfriend of only a few months.
He hugs me tightly to his chest and lifts me off my feet. We twirl together for only a brief moment but I’m positive we must look like complete fools. I don’t care though because I’m in Paris! I still can’t believe Ben whisked me away to Paris. Since I arrived in London, I traveled all over the UK, exploring castles and cottages, moors and mountains. My resolution trip has been a dream come true and Ben has made the difference.
When Ben sets me down, I’m struck by his handsomeness. Seriously, it’s almost criminal for a man to look this good. His dark chestnut brown hair is slicked back, a pair of black Wayfarer sunglasses cover his eyes and his matching black t-shirt stretches tightly across his defined chest. Reaching up, I cup his cheeks and run my fingers through the beard Ben has started to grow.
True North: A Flirt Club Duet Page 3