Page 48 of From LA to London, With Love

Until I changed my sexual orientation on the dating apps to “queer,” I received countless messages from women saying things like, “Sorry, I don’t date bi girls”, “Are you sure you’re bi?” or “Have you actually been with a woman before? I’ve been burned too many times by straight girls ‘experimenting.’”

And I’d experienced those sorts of reactions in real life, on dates, and in bars as well. Unfortunately, even in the LGBTQ+ community, biphobia’s rife. It was one reason I hesitated when describing myself as bi. “Queer” was less likely to attract a negative reaction, even if most people didn’t know quite what it meant.

Given what Erin had been through lately, I wasn’t about to call her out on her potential biphobia, especially since it was probably all in my overly sensitive head. She’d just moved into the housing Alex had found her and was adjusting to life without her parents, so she deserved to be cut a lot of slack. At least she had the talent show to keep her occupied—she’d been keeping busy with her friends, practicing their performance, and throwing herself into auction preparations.

I didn’t have time to dwell on Erin’s reaction because the teens started excitedly bombarding me with questions about Chris.

Thankfully, at that moment, Alex walked up to us. “Sophie, Josh. Can I speak with you for a moment?” they asked.

I breathed a sigh of relief that I had an excuse to escape the cross examination and followed Alex into their office.

“I’m afraid I’ve got bad news. You know how Stan Burnley was going to be our guest of honor at the auction, and we were going to auction off a date with him?” Stan Burnley was a popular football player who featured heavily in the eligible bachelor lists and lived in Hampstead. “Well, he’s had to pull out. His dad is ill, and he’s gone home to Essex. So, we’ll have to scrap that bit of the auction.” Alex rubbed their forehead and furrowed their brow.

Shit. My heart sank. I’d made a big deal about Stan in the email I’d sent to everyone I knew—including my work colleagues, the mothers’ group, my friends, and my parents’ friends—inviting them to the auction.

I glanced at Josh, who seemed to take the news surprisingly well. “Sophie, would you, by any chance, know someone who’s an even bigger name than Stan?” Josh gave me a wink.

It took me longer than it should have to catch on. I didn’t love the idea of asking Chris to come, especially not to pimp himself out to the highest bidder. But I wanted the fundraiser to be as successful as possible. And Alex could make it clear it was not a date date, which I’m sure they were planning to do already. And Chris probably wouldn’t be able to make it anyway, given his hectic film schedule.

Alex looked at Josh and then me expectantly. Alex clearly hadn’t seen the photos Ben had just shown me.

I took a deep breath. “So, I know Chris Trent. He’s in London filming at the moment. I don’t want to get your hopes up because he works most evenings, but I could see if he’s free then.”

“Oh my god, that would be amazing, Sophie!” Alex gave me a big hug, their eyes flashing with excitement.

I went into the hallway to call Chris, not expecting him to answer—he was almost certainly filming, hopefully not another kissing scene with Clare. We’d texted regularly since Saturday night but hadn’t arranged to see each other yet. Our plans used to happen organically, but now my stomach fluttered each time I thought about suggesting we catch up. It started fluttering as I called him.

“Sophie?”

My heart picked up pace at the sound of his voice.

I swallowed. “Hey! How are you? Sorry to bother you at work. So, um, I have a slightly awkward question for you. You know how I was telling you about the fundraising event for Pride House? Well, it’s on Thursday night at seven p.m., and the celebrity guest, a footy player, has pulled out at the last minute. We told everyone he’d be coming, so we’re in a bit of a pickle and were wondering if…” I paused, swallowing again.

“I could come instead?” Chris chuckled. “Let me check my schedule. If I can get away, I’ll be there.” I heard Chris speaking with Jenny in the background. “We’re in luck. I’ll be done by around four that day, so I’m in. Would you like to grab a drink afterwards?”

“Oh wow, amazing! And yes to the drink. That would be lovely. There is one other thing…” I cleared my throat. “Stan had offered to…umm…auction off a date with himself. Is there any chance…” My voice trailed off. Oh god. This was so awkward.

Chris snorted with laughter. “You want me to sell myself to the highest bidder? Look, as long as you don’t have a problem with it, and, if they give off any creepy or intense vibes, I can bring my bodyguard, that’s fine.”

He thought I might have a problem with it? That seemed like something he’d only say if we were more than just friends with benefits…My heart leaped, and I had a sudden flashback to Chris’s lips and beard grazing my neck. Would we have a repeat on Thursday night and get to finish what we started? A tingle went down my spine. Focus, Sophie.

“Thanks so much. You’re a lifesaver.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to do something together this week, so it works out perfectly.”

I heard Jenny again in the background.

“Sorry, I’ve got to go. See you Thursday!”

I strode back into Alex's office with a spring in my step, eager to share the good news. Despite not knowing exactly where Chris and I stood, and having some misgivings about auctioning him off to a stranger, I couldn’t wait to see him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

SOPHIE

I PUSHED the pram through the front door of George Gorilla, my favorite cafe in Hampstead Village, where I’d become a regular during my maternity leave. The barista nodded his head and smiled at me in greeting as I entered. Paintings covered the walls from table height to ceiling in a colorful jumble, and potted plants weaved between funky antiques and coffee supplies on shelves behind the coffee machine. I found the familiar rhythm of the cafe soothing—the hum of coffee being ground, the hiss of milk frothing, and the bang of the used coffee grounds being emptied into the bin. As usual, they were doing a roaring trade.

Mia and Rose were already sitting at a table near the window, deep in conversation. It was hard to miss Rose, whose stylish bomber jacket was a cacophony of color, a contrast to Mia’s blue jeans and gray sweater combination. They jumped up when they saw me and waved. Rose had arranged the coffee date earlier this week via a cryptic text message, but I’d gathered it was to talk about our business.