Light Up The Fireworks In Me

“So the bird in the glittery heels won’t even gimme her name then?”

The minute I heard him speak, my heart melted. In fact, I think my whole life melted.

I whipped around to look at his face. He was grinning now, knowing full well he had successfully broken the ice.

“Did you just call me a bird?” I questioned.

“Yes, that’s what us english men call your kind of breed.” He chuckled. “Don’t you American gals love it?”

When he spoke, his accent was so strong and rich that it took my American brain a second to register what he was saying. But what he said was true. Us “American gals” were obsessed with british boys. We were all irresistibly consumed by the idea of dating a british guy at least once in our lives. But I wasn’t about to admit to that. Especially to this extremely cocky butthole.

I rolled my eyes at his presumptuous remark and jabbed the elevator button once we arrived at the lobby.

“My name is Violet. Violet Beaumont.”