Page 53 of From West, With Regret

I wish.

My face heats and my heart races. Does Lewis know the depth of my feelings for London? Am I that obvious? I eye the ceiling, knowing she’s still upstairs, most likely getting lost in her artwork. Just like she used to in the foster home. It’s her escape from reality. I look back down at the stack of receipts next to the register, pretending to read the countless numbers stamped onto them.

I want to get back upstairs and finish what we started. Instead, I overhear a customer sitting at the bar order a mojito. Before Lewis has a chance, I snatch a tall cocktail glass and muddler, and begin stuffing a few mint leaves into the bottom of it. I crush the leaves, the scent of mint filling my nostrils almost immediately. I grip the wooden muddler stick, twisting and pounding it into the glass with more force than is probably necessary. I feel Lewis’s uneasy gaze on me, but I don’t give a fuck. I need to channel this frustration somewhere.

I don’t think I’ve ever had such a large case of blue balls as I do right now, but fuck, I can’t get the last look in London’s eyes out of my mind. The look of regret.

The thought brings a sickening feeling to my stomach that I shove aside, remembering the feeling of her against my skin and the way she quivered for me instead. She was close, painstakingly close to falling apart for me.

It was a feeling I’ve only ever dreamed about for the past decade. A feeling I never thought I’d have.

Despite the assurance I have from her reaction to my touch, I can’t get those last crucial seconds out of my head.

Like reality was crashing down around her.

See, reality is a fucking bitch.

“Yeah, I think that’s enough of that,” Lewis mutters, snatching the glass from my hand. At first, I resist but, snapping out of my thoughts, I let it go. I’ve turned the mint into jam at this point.

Lewis eyes me curiously as he grabs the rest of the mojito ingredients, and this time, I let him.

I sift through the stack of receipts for absolutely no other reason than to buy me time before racing back to London, when I hear the floorboards creak upstairs. My eyes immediately dart to the staircase, and London appears. First, her black and white chucks, then her long legs. Then her long, black hair flowing behind her as she bounds down the stairs. She’s unraveled her hair from her silk green scrunchie.

The dress Julianna lent her is draped over one arm, her portfolio tucked under the other.

I’m forcing myself to remain calm as I watch her move through the opening of the bar, already making her way toward the front.

She’s leaving.

She catches my and Lewis’s attention, and he quicklyglances at me over his shoulder. I’m not paying attention to him, though. I drop the receipts and race around the end of the bar, stopping her before she makes it to the front door.

“London, wait,” I say, jogging after her like the fucking idiot I am. I wrap my hand around hers.

London stops, but doesn’t immediately turn around. Her head rolls back before she spins on her heel to face me.

“You’re leaving?” I blurt out.

She won’t look me in the eye. She focuses on the back of the bar, the wall behind me, the customers in the back. Anywhere but on me.

Her hand slips from mine, and she places it on the top of the dress bag still draped over her arm. She tugs her bottom lip under her teeth before finally looking at me. “I should go home.”

Distance. I don’t only see it in her gray eyes. It’s in all of her, her body curling in on itself, closing me off.

Seeing her this way toward me feels like a lead weight is dragging me under water. We took a million steps forward, and now we’re taking half those back.

“Why?” I ask her.

She moistens her lips and shakes her head, looking down at her feet. “I’m sorry if I distracted you tonight.”

“You didn’t distract me.” I take a step forward, forcing her to look up. “Why would you think that?”

“I insisted you meet me tonight to look at my drawing, but I don’t want you to stop what you’re doing around here for me.” She stares vacantly over my shoulder. “You were on a call earlier and I could tell it was still weighing on you.”

Oh, that.

I rake my fingers through my hair. “It was nothing.”

Her shoulders sag. She’s growing more distant with every word that spills from my mouth. I sigh, knowing I need to tellthe truth. That’s all London ever wants. I just wish I could give her all of mine.

---