The London Sisters: The Complete Series: Bonus Content Edition

by Abby Brooks

  But this is where the Hollywood hero picture falls apart a little because seriously. Who brings a laptop into a bar?

  A businessman?

  A tech mogul?

  A guy who just totally just took a selfie, flashing that same, slightly familiar and still swoon-worthy smile at his phone?

  The first two are just wild conjecture, but that last one? Yeah. That just happened.

  What kind of guy takes selfies at a bar? Maybe he’s less businessman or tech mogul and more college student or gym rat. But he looks too world-wise to be in college. And not muscle-bound enough to be a gym rat. Not that he’s old and out of shape. He defies classification. Which makes him interesting.

  And boy do I love interesting.

  “What can I get you?” I lean on the bar, rocking up onto my tiptoes, and wait to steal this guy’s attention away from his technology.

  He glances at me, deems me barely worthy of his time, and goes back to messing with his phone. “Whiskey. Neat.”

  Great. Even his drink is bad ass.

  And his voice is as dark as his hair, as rich as his drink. His eyes are so brown they look almost black in the low light of The Bad Apple. He glances at me again, probably because I haven’t done anything but stare at him since he sat down. Flushing, I turn away and reach for the Jack Daniels—a safe bet in a bar like this one. If he had a brand, he would have told me. As I pour his drink, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.

  “Did you just take a picture of me?” I ask as I slide his drink across the bar.

  He nods without looking up from his phone. “Yep. Congratulations. You are about to become mildly internet famous.”

  He waves his phone at me as if that explains everything and I see he’s logged into Instagram, in the process of making a post. A bunch of things click into place.

  My jaw drops and I slap the bar. “No shit!” I roar, making him jump back a little. “You’re Dominic Kane!” There may or may not be a goofy grin stretching my face into something that looks just on the right side of crazy. “The travel photographer, right?”

  “None other,” he says and drops his chin in a slight bow. He flares his fingers and smiles. “I didn’t know I was that recognizable.”

  That’s bullshit. I can tell from the little glint in his eyes that he knows just how recognizable he is, but I’ll let that comment pass and give a little nod to his attempt at humility.

  “I may or may not be one of your biggest fans.” I smile, hoping that I sound more cool and coy than desperate and gushy. “I kind of live vicariously through your pictures.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Sure. I’ve always wanted to travel, but alas...” I glance around the quickly filling bar. “I don’t exactly have the kind of job that allows for it.”

  A large herd of frat boys claim about half the bar in a swarm of testosterone and monosyllabic conversation. I nod towards Dominic and head over to take their orders, leaning in to hear them over the general cacophony that is The Bad Apple. Of course, they can’t resist flirting and double of course, The Bad Apple doesn’t appear to be their first stop tonight. I fend off a few drunken advances and fill their orders, constantly aware of the guy at the other end of the bar.

  The super-hot guy with the coolest job ever.

  The mildly famous internet celebrity.

  The Instagram personality with over a hundred thousand followers.

  The YouTuber with a ton of subscribers.

  The guy with the dark hair and dark eyes and a twisting series of tattoos poking out from under his shirt sleeve. The guy who has been on just about every continent on this planet and has the pictures to prove it. A guy who has to have his fair share of interesting stories to share with me, to help me imagine—if only for a second—that I’m anywhere but dumb old Ohio surrounded by anything but rows of corn.

  I finish with the college jerks and head back towards Dominic, drawn to him like a moth to a flame, a fish to a lure, a paperclip to a magnet. Like lightning to water. Like plants to sunlight. Like birds to the air and fish to the sea…

  Basically, I couldn't have avoided going to stand next to him if I wanted to.

  “Ready for another?” I ask, indicating his empty glass.

  Dominic nods and fiddles with his phone while I pour him another couple fingers of Jack.

  “That was pro-level stuff over there,” he says, indicating the jock herd with a nod of his head. “I don’t think they even realize how shot down they actually are.”

  I shrug. “Can’t tell them what I’m really thinking or my tips suffer.” I lean on the bar again, rising up on my tiptoes to close the distance between us. “Gotta let them think they have a chance.”

  “Is that what you’re doing with me?” He smiles in a way that tells me he totally doesn’t believe that. “Making me feel famous so I leave you a good tip?”

  “Yup.” I nod and smile and disappear to check on the frat boys.

  The rest of the night passes in a flurry of customers and drinks and music so loud I know I’m going to have a headache by the end of the night. Dominic stays. And in between the surge of drink orders, I talk to him.

  As much as I try to hide it, I’m totally fangirling. Dominic Kane really is my absolute most favorite person to follow on Instagram. Not only are his pictures truly stunning, but he’s approachable as far as internet personalities go. He responds to the people who comment on his posts, strikes up conversations with them, shares his stories as if they were old friends. I’ve gotten a kick out of his sense of humor for a while now. I’ve never actually commented on his stuff because that’s just not me, but I have liked the hell out of most of them.

  The evening stretches on and the bar—which always starts out quiet before it gets too loud—is on its way back to quiet again when I finally park myself near Dominic.

  “So here’s the thing,” I say, folding my elbows on the bar. “You took my picture, so I think I should get a picture of you in return.”

  “Oh yeah? Is that how this works?” His laptop is closed and his phone is face down beside him and I finally have his full attention. And wow. I’m not sure I was prepared for the power behind those eyes. This is a man who sees stuff for a living. What exactly does he see when he looks at me? I fight the urge to fiddle with my hair. The last thing I want him to see when he looks at me is a silly, nervous little girl.

  “Totally. A picture for a picture.” I nod as if I’m talking about well-known social customs, as if what I’m talking about has been handed down from generation to generation throughout the ages. I pull my phone out of my back pocket like things have already been decided. Which they have, actually. He just doesn’t know it yet.

  “You’re a much more interesting subject than I am,” he says as I point my phone at him.

  I actually snort and immediately regret it. Way to be classy, Dakota.

  “No.” I drop my phone and hit him with my most incredulous look. “I’m just a bartender in a little town in Ohio. You’re a world traveler who inspires hundreds of thousands of people on the internet. You win the interesting game.” I lift my phone up again and Dominic shrugs.

  “Let me prove it. Come here.”

  Intrigued, I do what he says, coming around the bar to stand next to him. He hops off the stool and takes my phone from me. Leans down to wrap his arm around my shoulder and holds it out at arm's length. “Say cheese.”

  I smile broadly, showing off my patented Dakota London Grin of Happiness—something I perfected and wear like armor when things get hard. Dominic doesn’t take the picture. I turn to him, confused and get distracted studying his profile, suddenly so very aware of just how much bigger he is than me. How close we are. How he smells like whiskey. How the line of his jaw is precisely parallel to the line of his cheekbones.

  And that’s when I hear the click of the camera on my phone.

  “I so wasn’t ready!” I cry and try to snatch the phone from him so I can delete what’s sure to be one of the wor
st pictures of me ever.

  Dominic chuckles as he holds the phone out of my reach, an easy thing since I’m tiny and he’s apparently not. “Hold on, now,” he says. “Who’s the professional here?”

  “Professional or not, I have every right to see that picture and delete it if it’s awful.”

  “It’s not awful.”

  Dominic lowers the phone and hands it to me. “Just so you know, that picture is my intellectual property and I have every right to sue you if you delete it without my permission.”

  I look at him, something stern and real in his voice making me wonder if he’s actually serious. “I won’t delete it.” I slide open the phone and find the picture and just stare.

  There he is, smiling that smile that I’ve come to know through so many pictures in so many different places. He’s handsome, of course, always is, his dark features giving him that mysterious look while the warmth of his smile makes him feel like an old friend.

  But the woman tucked into his arm? That’s so not me. Dakota London is a tiny blonde, a fun-sized woman with that people like to call a disco ball. I’m shiny and perky and my nose is slightly too large for my face. I smile too wide for pictures and snort a little when I laugh.

  The woman in the picture is none of those things. Well, sure, she looks tiny, dwarfed by Dominic. And yes, she’s blonde, the perfect yin to his dark yang, but there’s a depth to her eyes that doesn’t belong on my face. My lips are parted and pulled up in this perfect little Mona Lisa smile as I study Dominic’s profile. My eyes are lit with the power of deep thoughts and the possibility of intriguing personality.

  “See?” he asks, so close that I can feel the warmth of his skin against my cheek even though we’re not touching. The space between us so small that it almost doesn’t exist. “Who’s the interesting subject in this picture?”

  I shake my head and lower my hand, careful to turn off the screen so I don’t accidentally delete the picture. “Yeah, but that’s no fair. You waited until I was distracted. In fact, you distracted me on purpose. And like you said, you’re the professional here. You know how to make a blade of grass seem interesting.”

  “A blade of grass is interesting if you take the time to really look at it.”

  I slide my phone back into my pocket and shake my head. “Nope. You just destroyed your own argument with that nonsense. Don’t get me wrong. It was all very poetic and lovely, but I’m a realist. You travel the world. I work at a bar in the same town I grew up in. One of these things is not like the other.” I wander back around to my space behind the bar.

  Dominic doesn’t argue, but I can feel his eyes on me the whole way. And maybe, just maybe, I keep thinking about what he said and wondering if he really finds me as interesting as I find him.

  And damn if I’m not busy mentally checking off my sisters’ requirements. Sure, Dominic Kane has a few tattoos, and sure, I met him at The Bad Apple, and okay, he doesn’t actually live around here so anything long-term is off the table.

  But!

  He has a great job. Travels the world and inspires people all over the internet. Surely Chelsea and Maya could forgive the tattoos and the place we met because he is so damn interesting and not at all at risk of being a serious relationship. Surely they would be cool with me spending more time with Dominic Kane, my most favorite Instagramer of all time.

  Right?

  Chapter Three

  It’s been a long time since I shut down a bar, but judging by the fact that even the drunken herd of frat boys has started to stagger out, the fact that the energy in The Bad Apple has changed from throbbing and frantic to sedate and almost sad, I’d say that’s exactly what I’m doing here tonight. I’ll be so tired in the morning that it will almost hurt, but I think it will be worth it. There’s no way I’m leaving this place without at least knowing my bartender’s name.

  She has to be one of the most unique people I’ve ever met. Bubbly like champagne. Hair the color of the sand on the beaches of Bora Bora with eyes the same vibrant color of the water. Tiny with a personality that fills the room. She draws the eyes of everyone around her and doesn’t even notice. She’s color and she’s energy and … she’s waiting for me to respond to something she just said.

  “Sorry,” I say and tap my head. “Deep thoughts.”

  She raises her eyebrows and makes a face that’s part belief and part sarcastic incredulity. “I bet.”

  She tilts her head to the side and lets her eyes hold contact with mine. It makes me smile. A lot of people flinch from my gaze. Start fidgeting or look at their hands or over my shoulder or anything but me, really. Later on, they’ll throw around words like intense and awkward. Not this little bartender. She just looks at me while I look at her.

  “So…” She draws out the word and shrugs a little. “I asked what you’re doing in such an un-exotic place like Townsbury, Ohio. Home of corn and farmers and cow poop.”

  “It’s beautiful here,” I answer truthfully, disappointed that we’re going to have such an uninteresting conversation as I hate my hometown and can’t see the beauty under my own nose. I had higher expectations for this woman.

  “Sure it is,” she replies. “If you like … you know … corn.” There’s a metric crap ton of disdain in her voice.

  “I actually am quite fond of corn. But!” I hold up a finger and raise my eyebrows. “That’s not why it’s beautiful here. It’s green and clean and the air doesn’t sting the back of my throat or leave a bad taste in my mouth. The hills roll gently while the roads twist through them. And the sky goes on forever. I flew here from Africa—”

  “See! That’s what I mean!” She swallows hard and her eyes light up. “Elephants and lions and a red sun setting over a red desert. I can’t even imagine.” She shakes her head, eyes lost in the romantic idea she has of the continent.

  “Sure. Yes. It’s stunning and terrifying. But it’s dirty. And the poverty is …” How do I tell her about it so she understands? I don’t think I can. I don’t think I want to. “It’s clean here. The buildings. The homes. The people. It’s fresh.” I shrug and take a deep breath. “There’s beauty here.”

  And a lot of it is standing right in front of me, I think to myself.

  “I think you take this place for granted,” I say out loud.

  She flares her fingers and makes a face that is mostly concession. “Probably. But don’t we all do that? Lose track of all the amazing things in our lives? Take them for granted?” She leans forward, elbows on the bar, chin resting in her hands. The light plays in her hair and eyes and I would love to take her picture right now. “Anyway. Back to my original question. What brings you here?” She leans even closer to me and lowers her voice. “Notice I took out the part of the question where I disparage the corn.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “How about this? An answer for an answer. I’ll tell you why I’m here, but you’ve gotta tell me your name.”

  She straightens and makes a silly face. “My name? Dominic Kane wants to know my name?”

  “See? Now it’s only fair that I get to know your name. You know mine.”

  “Right. But life isn’t fair, my friend. And how do I know that you’ll answer my question after I answer yours? Maybe I’ll tell you my name and you’ll just get up and walk away, leaving me to wonder if I’ll ever see you again.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry, sweetheart. You’ll be seeing me again.” I pause while she tries to cover the excitement that makes those blue eyes sparkle. Damn if I didn’t miss another picture opportunity. I need to learn to have the thing turned on and ready to go around her. “I don’t think this town is big enough to avoid it,” I say, grinning as I give her the answer I know she wasn’t expecting.

  “And here I thought you meant you’d be coming back in here to see me.”

  I pretend to consider it like I don’t already know the answer. “I guess I could work something like that out.” My phone buzzes at me for the hundredth time since I turned it face down so I c
ould give my attention to this woman. That’s the price of internet fame. A million people out there, all vying for my attention. “But, that means I really do need to know your name.”

  She shakes her head and crosses her arms across her chest. “I’m taking a chance on you, Kane.” She’s waggling her finger at me and tapping her foot, putting on what she must think of as her tough face. “I tell you my name and I never see you again and I’ll post that picture all over the internet and let the world know just what kind of man you are.”

  I know she’s trying to be funny, but I can’t let an opportunity like this go by. I let my face drain of all emotion. I slowly lean forward, letting my eyes burn into hers. I rake my gaze across her face and body. “And just how do you think you know what kind of man I am, little girl?”

  She flinches. Just the teeniest little reaction. Just a hairline fracture in her confidence. Then she laughs and leans forward, closing the distance between us.

  “Dakota London,” she says. “Pleased to meet you.” Her smile is wide and real and the lust I tried to fake just a few seconds ago becomes visceral and real. I want to taste her. To feel her. To take her to my room and strip her naked so I can see all of her. Have her raw and honest in front of me and know what it’s like to have her.

  “See,” I say and shift in my seat, trying to make some room in the crotch of my jeans. “There you go, being way more interesting than me again. Your name is so much better than mine.”

  “Oh sure. Because Dakota London is that much more interesting than Dominic Kane.”

  “Oh, come on. Can you think of two places that are any more different? The tightly packed city of London versus the rolling wide open spaces of one of the Dakotas?” I try to figure out how to tell her that her name has more than one kind of energy, kind of like her, but I’ve never been all that great with words. Instead, I smile and hope she’s quick enough to figure out what I meant.

  “That’s me,” she says. “More energy than you know what to do with. Now. My turn. Why are you here?”