London Falling by T. A. Foster Read Free Book Online Page A

giddy. I had never bothered to ask him if he had a girlfriend—it shouldn’t matter in a pretend relationship. However, all of a sudden, I was satisfied knowing he had an open calendar.
     
    “Do you think they’ll want to sell this awesome plate?” He held up his masterpiece, littered with number ones and Carolina blue paint.
     
    I cringed. “I think they’ll probably let you keep that one.”
     
    We dropped off our painted pieces with the girl at the counter. She told us it would be a week before they would be glazed and fired. We could pick them up then.
     
    Beau opened the door for me as we exited the pottery studio. I pulled my coat around me tightly and rubbed my arms.
     
    “Do you need a ride or something?” Of course, he wasn’t wearing a coat, but I thought I saw him shiver.
     
    “I walked. I’m only a few blocks away.”
     
    “What kind of bachelor would I be if I let you walk home? It’s late. I’ll take you.”
     
    “Ok. Where are you parked?”
     
    “Right here.”
     
    He pointed to a black and chrome motorcycle wedged between two giant SUVs. He handed me a helmet as he climbed on the bike. With a flick of the wrist, the bike roared to life.
     
    “Coming?” He patted the seat behind his back.
     
    I had never been on a motorcycle before. They were noisy and scary. I was sure my mom would have a heart attack if she saw me climbing on the bike right now. I slid one leg over the side until my body aligned with Beau’s. I tried to sit up straight, so I wasn’t pressed so close to him.
     
    “Hold on tight.”
     
    He grabbed my hands and locked them around his chest. The muscles under his shirt felt as hard as I imagined. Wait, I hadn’t imagined what they would felt like, had I?
     
    He walked us backward and then revved the bike forward, leaving the wine bar and Pottery Paints behind us. Funny, I was freezing, but I loved the bike. I felt free, even wrapped around Beau.
     
    Within minutes, he pulled into my gravel driveway. Not sure how long I should keep my hands on his chest, I dropped the embrace as soon as he took off his helmet.
     
    “Thanks, Beau. I had fun tonight.” I hesitated before handing him the helmet. I didn’t know how fake dates were supposed to end. Nina’s nagging voice echoed in the back of my head. She would want me to invite him in. Instead, I spun on my heels and walked toward the front door. “See you in class.”
     
    “Night, London.” He revved the engine a few times and spun out of the driveway.
     
    What was it I called Beau only a few hours ago? Regular? After our fake date tonight, I wasn’t sure that was entirely true. I watched his taillights round the corner. I needed to get inside, start working on the blog, and stop thinking about Beau Anderson.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
     
    Beau didn’t strike me as the type of overachieving student that I had always been. He seemed too cool and calm, as if nothing ever worked him up. When he texted me the morning after our wine and pottery date, I did a double take.
     
    Finished my blog. Check it out.
     
    His work was finished before mine. Nervously, I logged into the site he had created for us on Blog Hits and read his rendition of our fake date.
     
    First Date: Re-creation of Victoria and Bachelors painting pottery and private wine bar party
     
    Show Myth to Debunk: Mandatory fun and alcohol consumption create bonding moments, bringing couples closer together
     
    This is my first blog chronicling the Love Match dates I’m going on each week with my Comm 224 partner, London James. For those of you who have read my other blogs, you know I don’t hold back—I’m honest and to the point. Expect nothing less from my accounts during this project.
     
    London and I met at the wine bar. My date was late. I guess it wasn’t too far off from a real date. When is a girl ever ready on time? After we ordered a glass of wine, we sat on the upper terrace. We had the entire rooftop to ourselves. This is the part