That One Moment (Lost in London #2)(26)

“Yes,” I nod truthfully. Especially if you never kiss me like that again, I want to say. “Seriously, are you quite strong? You might want to start doing more cardio. Running specifically.”

His chest rumbles with laughter. “You have to promise me that if it ever gets to be too much, you’ll tell me. We end it, straight away. No hurt feelings. I don’t want to hurt you, Vi.”

“Piece of cake,” I reply with a simple shrug.





FULL CIRCLE MOMENT


What did I just commit to? Doing this countdown challenge that Doc suggested with Vi is going to be bloody painful. But shite do I want to prove it to myself that I can do it. Maybe there’s even a part of me that wants to prove it to Vi as well. Either that or I’m thinking if I dump all my issues on her it’ll help prevent me from wanting to pursue her. Or better yet, her wanting to pursue me.

I don’t need a love interest right now. I just need to stay clean and focused. Yes, that kiss was f*cking memorable to say the least. Yes, I spent most of the night thinking that in another life I would have drug her up to her flat, peeled that dress off her slim body, and made sure every bare curve and flat surface was touched by my lips.

Deep breaths, Hayden. Deep breaths.

But I stayed strong. I stayed the course. Because I’m not weak anymore. And I’m doing this countdown challenge one way or another.

I’m relieved when we decide there’s no time like the present to dive in. Delaying our visits would only make it easier for me to find excuses to get out of it. She suggests we run back to her place first to grab Bruce so we can go sit at a nearby dog park to talk. I’m both dreading and ready for this first “countdown confession.” It will be very telling what kind of person Vi is and how strong I am in my recovery to openly discuss this with a new acquaintance.

As we approach her flat, a younger Italian-looking bloke with a backpack of gardening gear stands waiting at her alley entrance.

“Hey, Vincent! Sorry I’m late,” Vi calls, speeding up her pace toward her door.

“No problem, Miss Harris,” he says as I watch his eyes linger on her exposed torso and drift down her legs.

I glare at him and he looks at me as if to say, “Hey man, I’m only human.” Cheeky f*cking wanker.

“Come on up. I’m going to pop out and take Bruce for a walk, so I’ll just leave you to it.”

The three of us slip into the small lift. Vi sticks a metal key into the slot, and my eyes flash in shock when I see the number eleven displayed as the only button on control panel.

Without noticing, she looks to me and says, “Vincent tends the garden on my roof.”

My brows go up. “You have a garden on your roof?”

She looks down in embarrassment. “It’s only flowers and plants. Not like produce or anything.”

“It’s incredible. You should see it,” Vincent says, nodding earnestly. “The roses are just beginning to bloom.”

“I can show it to you some other time,” she shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly.

When the lift doors open to the eleventh floor, I’m surprised to see we’re walking straight into her flat. Since I’m the first one out, my crotch is instantly pummeled by a wet mouth.

“Oi, Bruce!” Vi shrieks and stumbles over to grab him around the collar. She struggles to pull him back. “You disgusting creature. Go on and head up, Vincent.”

I don’t even attempt to help her with Bruce as I take in the stunning eleventh-floor penthouse. Vincent walks through her airy living room, out the large balcony door, and begins climbing a ladder on the building that evidently leads up to the roof. A huge flat-screen is mounted on one wall in the sitting area, and a quick glance through a pair of French doors to the left reveals a huge ornately, gothically decorated bedroom. The bed alone is a jaw-dropping piece of art.

Vi has a gardener, her flat is decorated immaculately, she was willing to spend six hundred pounds on a keepsake box, and she lives on the entire top floor of this building. “Who are you, Vi Harris?” I ask, my gaze crashing on hers in accusatory curiosity.

She blows a puff of hair out of her face, still holding onto Bruce. “What do you mean?”

“You said your brothers are footballers,” I start, beginning to put two and two together.

“I did.”

My jaw drops. “Like professional footballers?”

She sighs heavily.

I inhale sharply. “Is your brother Gareth Harris? As in, Manchester United starting defender?” My face is deathly serious.

She purses her lips. “Are you a fan?”

My eyes widen as she confirms my suspicions. “This means your dad is Vaughn Harris, the manager of the Bethnel Green Rollers.”

“You’re a fan,” she murmurs.

“You could say that.” I blink my eyes slowly and run my hands through my hair. “Christ. Now I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“Your brothers!”

She giggles and releases Bruce to pounce me. “Too late to back out now, mate.” Just as Bruce nearly reaches me, she says, “C’mon Bruce, time for a walkies,” and he diverts his path toward a small basket in her kitchen to grab his own lead.

Still slightly star-struck by this very new information, Vi and I head out with Bruce in tow. Jesus. I never would have guessed any of this about timid, quirky, and somewhat awkward Vi! I do my best not to fire a million questions at her because I assume she gets that a lot. And frankly, I’m more intrigued at watching her walk this enormous animal through the busy streets of Brick Lane. She looks rather confident and at ease in her own skin. Bruce is actually quite manageable on a lead, which I’m grateful to see. One strong tug from him and he’d take Vi out and seriously injure her.