Chapter Lucas Gets Swept Off His Feet
Lucas Gets Swept Off His Feet
Against all odds, chivalry wasn’t dead. It was alive and well and in the form of Armand Demetrio, taller and more awkward than everyone at baggage claim, politely trying to worm his way toward our suitcases.
He’d offered to fetch our bags, probably to make up for the fact that our trip was beginning with a frenzied navigation of Heathrow Airport, which was a liminal backrooms hellscape straight out of my nightmares.
But Armand? He was a dream I had yet to wake up from.
Somehow, he’d managed to reach the carousel, but two adorable, tiny Caribbean grannies were enthusiastically gesturing toward some bags coming down the line.
Like the gentle giant that he was, Armand graciously grabbed every single bag before finally turning back to me with a bashful pink in his dark cheeks.
I liked him so much I could throw up.
It was still so new—this warm, fluttery feeling that I never thought I’d have with someone other than my asshole of an ex. And now here it was again, so strong it kept knocking me breathless, for a man who’d been in my life barely a month.
My phone, fresh off airplane mode, buzzed multiple times in a way that I knew was my mom.
First came the text: chillin’ with my grandfishies, followed by a selfie of her posing in front of my fish tank, Timon and Pumbaa swimming happily in the background.
Mom: have a safe flight, let me know when you land!
Mom: have a good time baby, be safe <3
She was trying to be supportive and hide her worry—between this and the conversation I’d had with her a couple of days ago telling her I was taking an impromptu trip to England, she clearly thought her only son had lost his mind and was running away with a man he’d just met.
Which, in her defense, was a little bit what I was doing.
She’d be sleeping, which meant the jetlag was bound to catch up to me any minute now, but I texted her proof of life and assured her I wasn’t kidnapped by a serial killer.
“All right?”
Armand had returned and was blinking at me anxiously, his fingers fidgeting with the bag straps.
“Yeah, I’m letting my mom know I’m still alive.” I thought about kissing his cheek, but we were in public, and I didn’t know if we were at the PDA stage; for God’s sake, we hadn’t fully articulated what we were to each other—
Instead, I smiled and squeezed his hand, focusing on the butterflies in my stomach as we navigated our way outside.
Armand had mentioned that we were to be picked up by his agent, Lakshmi Ranjit, but we hadn’t been met by anyone in Arrivals.
It wasn’t until we stepped out into the pickup lane that Armand guided me toward a sleek silver Mercedes parked at the curb.
The window rolled smoothly down, and a woman with high cheekbones, long black hair tied up at her neck, and rose-gold mirrored cat-eye sunglasses peered out at us.
I grinned at her. “Ms. Ranjit, I presume?”
She peeked over her sunglasses in way of greeting. “Mr. Barclay. Pleasure.”
After finagling our luggage into the trunk, we slid into the Benz.
Lakshmi peeled us back out into traffic with surgical precision. “I’ll be straight with you,” she began, apropos of nothing, addressing both me in the passenger’s seat and Armand in the back, “Drake House is in a bit of a state, so all things considered, it was good of you to agree to help.”
“Of course, I’m excited to be here,” I said, because that was definitely what this was about.
Taking Armand on photoshoots, managing his social media, and getting him more internet traction in preparation for the anniversary issue of his comic, Surrogate Goose, which I still knew shockingly little about.
Definitely the only reason I decided to up and fly to London with the first non-Darren guy I’d ever slept with, because this was for work. Pure professionalism.
Yeah, right.
Lakshmi continued, expounding on numbers and optics.
I was paying attention, but I was also sneaking glances at Armand through the rearview mirror.
He wasn’t contributing much to the conversation—which wasn’t surprising—but he did shyly maintain my gaze, his body cramped enough in the small backseat that his knees were brushing my elbow.
It must’ve been weird for him, to have me and Lakshmi in the same space together, his worlds colliding—his agent and his . . . roommate? Friend with benefits?
“Where am I turning, lads?”
I jolted back into the moment, taking in Lakshmi’s long thin fingers tapping against the steering wheel as she awaited an answer.
She sighed deeply. “Am I taking you wankers to Demetrio’s flat or am I dropping you at a hotel?”
“I—” A wave of panicked insecurity washed over me, one that had been brimming under the surface for hours now.
This whole time, from the moment Armand had asked me to fly back to London to right now, I had assumed I’d stay with him.
But we’d never talked about it outright, and here I was, mentally inviting myself into his home when he hadn’t explicitly asked me to.
God, I was so presumptuous. “I mean, I could—”
“My flat,” Armand interjected, then froze, meeting my eye again, seemingly as ruffled as me. “Er, right? If you wanted?”
“I don’t want to impose or assume,” I assured him quickly, wishing harder than ever that I’d thought to bring this up while we were both back in California.
What if I was putting him in a position now where he felt like he had to invite me to stay with him?
Should I offer to get a hotel anyway so I wasn’t coming on too strong? “We didn’t really talk about it.”
“Mine,” Armand repeated. “If you please.”
I felt myself glowing, unable to contain a smile. “Okay.”
“If you boys are quite finished being embarrassing.” With that, Lakshmi hit the car stereo, immediately filling the air with what sounded like Indian heavy metal.
My heart was still lodged in my throat, but I couldn’t stop looking back at Armand, running my eyes over every inch of his breathtakingly gorgeous face. It wasn’t possible, it shouldn’t be possible that he wanted me. That he’d choose me, for anything remotely long-term.
But maybe he didn’t expect long-term. The plan was for me to be in London until the Surrogate Goose anniversary, which was six weeks away. I shouldn’t plan beyond that, I shouldn’t get my hopes up. For now, though—
I reached my hand to the back seat. Without wondering what I was doing, Armand leaned forward and held it fast with his own. Warmth and softness closing over my fingers like a silk blanket.
We stayed like that for the duration of the drive, until Lakshmi interrupted the heavy metal to announce in her crisp, clear voice, “Right lads, we’re here. Welcome to Croydon. Now get your lovesick arses out of my car.”