Not The One (London Lovers #4)

by Amy Daws

  “Guys, guys, guys! Our second semester schedules are posted! Our schedules are posted! Gosh, let’s hope we got our independent study request approved!” Marisa squeals as she launches herself up from the futon, clutching her cell phone excitedly. She yanks my Macbook out of my hands and drops to the floor to begin frantically checking the Oxford email system. “It’s our last semester here. Our whole future depends on this.”

  I’m draped lazily on my twin student-housing dorm bed and Marisa’s boyfriend, Liam, is left stranded on the futon by himself. It’s our final year for our masters program at Oxford and we requested an independent study to help us complete our bridal industry thesis. We have hopes of opening our own high-end bridal boutique in London when we graduate. Liam somehow got sucked into our business plan vortex.

  I glance to Liam and he presses his full lips together to conceal his smirk as Marisa screams at the computer for being slow. His honey brown gaze drifts from her to me and we lock eyes knowingly, both wanting to burst out laughing at the tantrum Marisa is throwing.

  Liam and Marisa started dating a few months ago. They met randomly at a Subway. Apparently, they were both standing in line and the sandwich-maker thought they were a couple. A few awkward shakes of the head and nervous giggles later, the two were splitting a twelve-inch and basking in each other’s beauty.

  And damn if they aren’t beautiful.

  Liam’s tall and God-like in stature. Lean, roped muscles and an incredibly sexy, yet graceful swagger to his walk. His slicked over golden blond hair is handsome in that boarding school boy type of way.

  Then you have stunning blonde and perfect Marisa. We looked like a pitbull and a poodle next to each other. But somehow our friendship worked.

  “I can’t bloody believe it. It didn’t go through! This has to be a mistake. This can’t be right!” She stands up and rakes her hands through her long, straight hair.

  “Don’t worry about it, Marisa. This is grad school. We’re grownups, we’ll be fine.”

  “No, Rey. No!” She jumps onto my bed and grabs my cheeks, squeezing them together until my lips form an elongated O. Her brown eyes pierce stormily into my gray. “Do not settle for the system. You are ma lady, you must know this! The system does not rule us. We are not bound by society’s standards of acceptance. Who are they to tell us how to live our life? Who are they to tell us what is right and just? Normalcy is complacency. And I refuse to be normal or complacent. I want to shine for what we believe! I refuse to sit back and allow life to happen around us. I will go to the chancellor’s office, grab him by his willy and we will have victory! And you will love it. You mark my words. I will make this right.” In one bounding blonde flash, she darts out our door. Liam and I both look at each other and burst into belly-aching laughs.

  “Her exuberance is astounding. How can you not love her?” I say, wiping tears from my eyes.

  “I have no idea,” Liam replies looking at me seriously for a moment. His intense expression causes the laughter to die on my lips. His mouth is pursed in a way that ignites something deep inside me. “Why don’t I ever see a man in your life, Rey?” His eyes turn grave and pensive and they kill off the last few remaining giggles in my throat.

  I roll onto my belly and tuck my hands under my pillow, looking at him cautiously. I hate when he looks at me like that. Like he can see right through me. Attempting to deflect with sarcasm, I reply, “I’m not made for loving, Liam. I’m made for being a loner.”

  “I don’t think that’s true.” He lays down on the futon, mirroring my relaxed position, but never takes his eyes off of mine. “Tell me about your parents. What do they say about your loner tendencies?”

  I sigh heavily. Something about Liam always makes me feel open. Vulnerable. And what’s worse…I like it. I’m a painfully honest person about everyday things, but I keep the feelings I have about myself quiet. I’ve opened up to Marisa about some things, but Liam seems to reach me at a different place. And it scares me.

  “Well, my dad croaked when I was five, so I don’t really remember much. He dropped dead in the shower in our bathroom back in Indiana.” I pause and release a shaky breath, avoiding Liam’s severe expression. This is what I do when people push me; I get real to make them uncomfortable, hoping they’ll stop.

  “Fuck, Rey. What happened?” Liam asks, his voice deep and wary.

  Liam never stops.

  Rolling my eyes, I reply, “My mom found him unresponsive in the shower. She screamed at me to dial 911, but I was only five. I couldn’t get past the fact that I was staring at my father, naked on the floor. She was draped over his body administering CPR and I just stood there, watching. I can’t imagine dying that way. So exposed.” Tears slip down the side of my face and I tuck my cheek against the pillow to hide them.

  “Christ, you were just a child,” he says, shaking his head.

  I silently push away his sympathy. I don’t want it. I don’t need it. That day and that scene are mine and mine alone. “Anyway, it turned out to be heart failure. My mom was hysterical. It’s the only time in my life I can remember her showing any kind of emotion like that. Like, real love. Seeing that kind of heartbreak sure messes with your urge to ever want to find love.”

  “It’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes,” Liam says, cutting into my horrifyingly painful memory. I look over and he stares back at me with an intensity that winds me. He purses his lips like he wants to say so much more but is holding back. “It’s okay to let people in. Let them care about you.”

  “I have trouble letting people see me,” I whisper.

  He nods knowingly. “I see you.”

  Three years ago, I was preparing to graduate with my masters from Oxford in business management alongside my best friend, Marisa, and her boyfriend, Liam. The three of us had big plans to open our own one-stop bridal boutique in London. Marisa was going to do sales. I was going to do marketing and promotions, and Liam was going to do accounting. We had a business plan, financial backing, everything lined up and ready to go. The final thing we needed to organize was a commercial property.

  Now I’m sitting at a nightclub and writing down bank account info for my paycheck deposits from a bartending gig. Memories start to creep unwelcome into my mind’s eye. If I could take back one day, where would I be sitting now instead?

  I shake off my walk down nightmare lane and finish up all the paperwork, shuffling it neatly back together. Heading down the long hallway and back toward the bar, I hear voices drifting through the empty club. As I round the corner, I see Frank standing behind the bar, talking quietly to a guy across from him. My eyes swerve to the guest and drink in his notable backside. Broad, chiseled shoulders are on display in a black, long sleeve shirt. The snug fit is showcasing his impressive triceps nicely. I continue my decent down to the sexiest pair of men’s jeans that I have ever seen. They’re a dark wash and they curve up against his sculpted behind in a way that makes you know he’s packing more than just a hot ass.

  Frank clears his throat loudly and my gaze shoots up to see him staring at me while I ogle this stranger’s ass. My face flames and I smile sheepishly until I lock eyes with…

  “Oxford, this is—”

  “Liam,” I finish, interrupting Frank. My face has to be the picture of disbelief right now.

  “Reyna? What are you doing here?” The choked tone of Liam’s voice matches my insides perfectly. His face reads like he thinks I’m here for him. My face reads like I’m going to be sick.

  “I just gave Reyna a bartending job. How do you two know each other?” Frank asks as the tension grows uncomfortable.

  Liam starts, “Reyna and I went—”

  “We have mutual friends,” I finish quickly, trying like hell to hide the insane emotional turmoil boiling over inside of me. I have no interest in reliving our time together at Oxford. My protective barrier is nowhere to be found. I need to get out of here before shit hits the fan.

  Liam’s shocked expression over seeing me again after
so long now morphs into indignation as I minimize our previous connection. He huffs loudly and I find I have to turn away from his hurt expression. I can’t let it affect me. I do not want to go there. Simply the sight of his golden, messily swept over hair and wide, worrying eyes causes a flash of a most unwelcome memory.

  Avoiding his penetrating eyes, I begin to feel his gaze drift slowly down my body…like he’s got to see every part of me to refresh his memory bank. I’m sure I look a great deal different than the last time he saw me. At the very least, I have a hell of a lot more ink now. Despite myself, I want to know how he’s reacting. I glance back over to him as he finishes his perusal. His eyes shift nervously between my eyes and my mouth. The look on his face is so familiar I could cry.

  I bite the insides of my cheeks, feeling this strange push-pull motion warring inside of me. It’s been three years since I last saw Liam. Now here he is, standing before me as if no time has passed, reminding me of a day in my life that I was trying desperately to forget. A familiar squeezing ache spreads painfully over my chest

  “Do you need anything else, Frank?” I ask. My mouth feels like cotton and it is doing nothing to conceal my emotional state. I’m desperate to leave. My heart feels like it’s about to rip out of the top of my shoulders and I can feel Liam’s eyes boring into me.

  “We didn’t discuss when you can start,” Frank says, the mirror S’s returning to the center of his red eyebrows as he stares at me in confusion.

  On shaky legs I lay my paperwork down on the bar, hastily trying to hide the tremble in my hands. “Yesterday. I can start yesterday.”

  “Brilliant. Be here tomorrow night at seven. We’ll show you the ropes before we open at nine.”

  “Cheers.” Offering a weak smile to Frank, I turn on my heel to leave. Blasting straight past Liam, I catch a whiff of his agonizingly familiar scent of cinnamon gum. It’s almost more than I can take.

  “Rey,” he utters softly as if he has a direct line to my thoughts.

  As I reach the door, I make the horrible, awful, stupid mistake of glancing back. The expression in Liam’s eyes turns my burning ducts to actual tears. The painful remorse in his gaze slices through my heart. It’s a look that I always seem to be on the damn receiving end of.

  It’s the look you get when you’re completely shrouded in loss.

  I walk up the ramp out of the Pimlico Tube stop dabbing at the skin beneath my eyes. Luckily the Underground in late spring feels like a moist hot box, so my tears blend with the light sheen of sweat the other patrons are all rocking.

  Running into Liam and having memories that I’ve locked up tight only to be released to the forefront took me by complete surprise. It immediately catapulted me back to the most miserable time of my life. I wonder how he knows Frank? I wonder what his involvement is at Club Taint? What if he works there? Could I handle that?

  After crossing the street, I growl at myself for running off like a weak fool. If I would have stuck around I could have gotten answers and would know if this was a job I can keep or not. Working with Liam is not a possibility I will ever entertain.

  Glancing through the lattice windows of the White Swan Pub¸ I throw a quick wave to Alistair. He holds up a finger for me to wait so I begrudgingly stop, but all I want is a drink and my bed. Who cares if it’s only three o’ clock in the afternoon.

  But I’ll wait. Alistair is in his mid fifties and the owner of the pub located a stone’s throw from my flat. I met him when I first moved to this part of London three years ago. I ended up drinking so heavily the first night here that I passed out in a booth. He covered me with my coat and stayed at the pub all night until I woke up. He fixed me a full English breakfast and we talked for hours over tea about the difference between Americans and Brits. I’m pretty sure I was still drunk but I remember every ridiculous word of our conversation.

  Ever since then, Al has been a staple in my life. I see him regularly and his presence is a comfort. His bald head gleams beneath the hanging lantern above the canopy entrance as he comes to stand eye to eye with me. At 5’ 5” he’s only an inch taller than me when I’m in flats.

  “You get it then?” he asks eagerly, leaning in and dropping a kiss on both of my cheeks. His blue eyes crinkle at the edges with a wide smile as he balls his rag up in his hands.

  “I did.” I smile politely.

  “Well done. I knew you would.” He swats the rag at me playfully. “I’m still brassed off you wouldn’t come here. You deserve to be doing a lot more than bartending, dear girl.”

  “Thanks Al. I’ll keep you in mind. But this is all I want right now.” I swallow a painful knot in my throat that’s been present since I left Club Taint.

  He looks sadly at me for a moment before he shakes his head and his mouth splits into a genuine smile. “Well, I’m chuffed for ye, lass.” He swings the rag at me in a wave. “Pop by later if ye fancy some fish n chips.”

  “Will do. Later, Al.”

  “Cheers,” he moves to head inside but turns back to me before he walks through the door. “You best call your mum and tell her the news, yeah?”

  I half smile and say nothing as I walk the half a block to my building. Alistair is well-meaning, but calling my surgeon mother and telling her about my new bartending job is the last thing I want to do.

  I reach my building and jump into the lift, punching the button for the fourth floor. My flat is located in a sweet, quiet neighborhood away from the buzz of tourism on every other street corner. I’m sure it costs a bomb here every month, but I don’t pay a dime of it. My mother gifted me this place the day I graduated from Oxford. You’d think that would make me appreciative and grateful. I miraculously manage to resent her for it.

  My mother, Doctor Elizabeth Miller, brought me to London from Indiana when I was seventeen. She received a prestigious job offer and research grant from the hospital and dropped everything to take it. Her research project on in-utero neonatal surgery was her life’s work, aside from me.

  She tried to sugar coat the move with promises of more European travel, a gorgeous townhouse in Chelsea, great education opportunities, anything I wanted. She also attempted to persuade me with how important her research was and how many babies she could save by accepting this grant.

  At that time in my life, all I cared about was the fact that she was ripping me out of school before my senior year. I didn’t have a lot of friends I was leaving behind. My frank honesty rubbed a lot of people the wrong way and since I just can’t do fake, I avoided most of the kids I went to school with.

  Regardless, I was a teenager and I wasn’t going to go down without a fight. This move was literally the only thing that my mother did to me my entire life that wasn’t the usual pampering I was always subject to. I had plans to move back to the States as soon as I turned eighteen. But when push came to shove, there was no way I could afford it all on my own.

  Not to mention, I fell in love with London. It wasn’t hard. The city breathes history and culture and opportunity. I had the world at my fingertips here. I took weekend trips to Paris, short flights to Barcelona, train rides to Scotland. I was the most well-traveled twenty-year-old I’d ever heard of. How could I leave it all behind when it felt like it was where I belonged?

  My strained relationship with my mother didn’t improve with my love for London. My entire life she treated me like I was made of crystal and would shatter at any moment. I was born a micro-preemie and she never stopped treating me like I could cease to exist at any second. I would do things to lash out at her and show her how strong I was. Anything to piss her off and evoke some type of reaction. Nothing worked. If anything, she treated me with kid gloves more during the times I was most horrid. It was infuriating.

  She was so protective of me that she rented a flat across from the university I attended in London. She was close enough to be a helicopter parent, but far enough away that she didn’t seem completely unhinged.

  She finally let me move more than a few blocks away from
her when I started grad school at Oxford. Then my graduation present was this flat located behind the White Swan Pub near the River Thames back in London. I thought she would have bought me a flat close to the hospital where she worked, but she surprised me with this one. It fits me perfectly.

  I hop off the lift and head down the hall toward my door. I know he’s here before I even put the key in my door.

  “Hey, Hay,” I say dryly to Hayden as I round the hall corner to find him perched on my kitchen counter eating a Flake chocolate bar. He’s made himself at home like he always does. His messy, copper blond hair looks like it’s due for a wash but he’s still sexy in that relaxed, don’t give a fuck way.

  “I got you one,” he says with a proud smirk on his face. There’s a glass of red wine and two open bottles sitting next to him.

  “You better have.” I cross my arms and lean against the counter adjacent him. Hayden and I have been in a toxic whirlwind of shitty friends with benefits for almost a year now. Neither of us strong enough to put an end to it, nor happy enough with our lives to want more. “You’ll never guess who I’ve just run in to.”

  “Who?” He wipes his hands on his jeans and sets the wrapper down on the counter watching me warily, clearly sensing a shift in demeanor.

  “Liam,” I say simply.

  “Liam who?”

  “Liam Darby. The Liam. Your brother’s best friend. The one who was going to propose to—”

  “Don’t finish that sentence!” he snaps at me, jumping off the counter. His face is deathly serious. “Where at?”

  “At my interview at that club I told you about. He apparently knows the manager, Frank.” I shake my head still in disbelief at the odds. “I don’t know if he works there or what.”

  “I don’t think he does,” Hayden says quickly. “Theo talks about him a lot at the shop. Liam works as a controller at some medical device facility or something. I’m quite certain.”

  I exhale heavily. Hayden works with his older brother, Theo. They own a high-end, custom furniture shop in east London. Theo does the creating and lives in the loft above the store. Hayden does more of the scheduling and client meeting side.