BEGIN AGAIN BY TAYLOR SWIFT
I check my phone again. 7:57 a.m.
This is a bad idea.
This is definitely against my rules. No attachments—to people or places. No mess.
This definitely feels like an attachment—or the start of one, at least.
I should text him and call this off, but it’s probably too late. Or maybe this is one of his pranks. I get myself up early on a day off and get ready, and he’s still sleeping in, happily knowing I’m sitting here like Carrie left at the prom.
Calm down, Addison.I tap my fingers against the couch, running through the script again in my head, convincing myself I’m just being friendly. This is a professional outing. Yeah, that’s it. Team building.Idiot.
I tug at the sleeve of my sweater, wondering if it’s too casual. It’s a simple light blue crew neck, soft and comfortable. I’ve paired it with skinny jeans and a pair of sneakers. My hair is down, falling in brown waves that reach past my shoulders.
It’s me. It’s the version of me that exists outside the office. And for some reason, that feels vulnerable. I wasn’t even sure what to wear. Oliver wasn’t clear what we were doing. It didn’t leave me much to go with.
At exactly 8 a.m., there’s a knock at my door.
Of course he’s on time. Of course he’s standing there looking obscenely good for eight in the morning.
He’s in jeans that fit him far too well. A dark grey hoodie, worn-in and soft, with the sleeves pushed up to the elbows. He’s got sneakers on—like the kind people wear when they’reactuallyathletic, and not just pretending to be.
His hair, short on the sides and longer on top, is actually dry and styled. Normally I see him before or after training, and it’s a damp mess. With it styled and off his face, all I can see are the sharp angles and clean lines of his cheekbones and jaw. But it’s the eyes that hit me hardest. Deep brown. Focused.
“Good morning, Captain.”
He’s quiet for a second. His eyes flick over me—down to my sneakers, to my sweater, and then back up to my hair, which is down for the first time since he’s known me. Something shifts in his expression, just for a second, and then it’s gone.
“Morning,” he says, voice low. “You look nice.”
“Careful now. That almost sounds like a compliment.” I smirk, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe. “So… what’s the plan here? Kidnap? Murder? Your text wasn’t clear.”
“I’m taking you sightseeing,” he says, like it’s the most obvious answer in the world.
“Sightseeing?”
He grins, and it’s not at all smug. It’s irritatingly charming. “You said you haven’t seen London. I’m showing you London.”
“Why?”
He shrugs. “It’s the greatest city in the world.”
“That’s one man’s opinion.”
“Yeah.” He nods, gesturing grandly to himself. “This man.”
Jesus. That was hot.
I clear my throat as I step out into the hall and lock my door. “Where’s your car?”
“Car? No, no.” He shakes his head and smiles.“You need to get the full experience.”
I blink, adjusting my eyes to the soft light of early morning. “The full experience? What’s that?”
He smiles, looking positively gleeful. “We’re taking the Tube, of course.”
“Seriously?”
