London Falling Read online

  In the beginning, he’d just been this guy I’d met on my first day at the International School—a guy who, embarrassingly enough, had accidentally seen me naked. I didn’t know then that he would become my friend, or be the one I’d share my first kiss with. And I’d never expected him to become someone I couldn’t live without.

  He’d been single for most of the year, so when he’d casually mentioned he was dating someone, it had been a shock. I knew everyone said it was an arranged relationship, one his parents wanted for him, but that still didn’t ease the ache inside me, and I had no clue how to push past it. I needed a distraction.

  “Do you want to go out?”

  “Tonight? The night before our first day of classes? On a Sunday?” Mya looked at me like I had three heads.

  I shrugged, the idea forming, taking root. Alcohol and dancing might be the only things that would make this disaster better.

  “It’s only the first day. At most we’re going to read the syllabus. I bet none of our classes will even go past the first half hour.” Not to mention the fact that over half the student body routinely blew off the first week of classes. “Besides, it’s London, there are a ton of bars and clubs open on Sunday. It’ll be fun.”

  “Okay, what have you done with the real Maggie?”

  I flashed her an easy grin. “Maybe this is the new-and-improved-Maggie.”

  I’d done the moping-over-a-guy thing for way too long. If Samir wanted to walk away and pretend nothing existed between us, fine. But I wasn’t going to wait around for him. Last year I’d spent too much time obsessing over Hugh, the twenty-seven-year-old British bar owner I’d casually dated. Not to mention how much of my freshman year I’d spent in knots over Samir.

  This year was going to be different. It had to be.

  “Are you sure everything’s all right?”

  The concern in Mya’s voice was what made her an amazing friend. She was the first person I’d befriended freshman year and was easily the nicest person I’d ever met. Unfortunately right now I needed less emotion, and more champagne and dancing on tables. I needed Fleur.

  “I’m fine. Just a little stir-crazy. I spent months in the U.S. not being able to drink and hanging out with my grandparents. I love them and all, but I kinda need to have some fun. You in?”

  Mya grinned. “Fine, I’m in. But it’ll be your fault when I fall asleep in class.”

  “Fair enough.”

  I grabbed my phone and shot off a quick text to Fleur.

  Drinks. Dancing. Tonight. No boys.

  Ten minutes later, Fleur waltzed into the room. “So where are we headed?”

  “You tell me. What’s the new, hot place no one can get into?”

  With a model’s body and a socialite’s wardrobe, Fleur was the epitome of trendy. Long, sleek brown hair, big brown eyes and the kind of tan it took a tanning bed for me to achieve made her a knockout. Her personality made her trouble—the kind you couldn’t resist. Despite our rocky start freshman year, she was now one of my best friends.

  Last year had been rough for her, and she didn’t seem to want to party as hard as she used to, but she was still the go-to for social advice. I figured she needed to let off steam as much as I did.

  “I like where your head is at. There’s this place called Air.”

  “Seriously? What kind of name is that?”

  Clubs in London tended toward edgy, one-word names, as I’d learned last year. The décor may have differed between clubs, but there were always a few staples you could count on—overpriced drinks, half-naked girls, and plenty of drama.

  “It’s an oxygen bar.”

  I had to laugh at that one. These were the moments when I felt the furthest away from my unremarkable life back in South Carolina.

  “Of course it is.”

  * * *

  ONE OF THE benefits of my not-so-glamorous summer job in retail was the employee discount. At a school like the International School, being on scholarship made it tough, if not impossible, to keep up with everyone else. My bags weren’t Gucci or Prada; my shoes weren’t Jimmy Choo or Giuseppe Zanotti. But thanks to my discount, I had a whole new wardrobe of cute dresses. I would never look like I’d walked off the runway like Fleur, but it was good enough for me.

  We were in full-on pre-gaming mode—loud house music blared through Fleur’s computer speakers. I was more of a hip-hop fan, but I wasn’t complaining. We’d gotten into this habit last year—pre-gaming in our room before a night out. Having Mya here as a roommate made it so much better. We traded hair and makeup tips, shared outfits, and did some dancing and drinking while we got ready.

  I’d missed them desperately these past few months.

  “You guys all set?” Fleur asked, a wide smile on her face.

  This summer had been good for her. She seemed lighter, happier. Last year had been rough. Her boyfriend, Costa, had dumped her before the start of the semester for another girl at the International School, but then continued to fool around with Fleur, making her believe he really cared. I hadn’t understood why she was so connected to him until she’d told me about her accidental pregnancy—and subsequent miscarriage. It had all come crashing down around her at the end of last year when Fleur had learned how fickle he really was, a devastating loss that had pushed her into a drug overdose. It had been a scary wake-up call for all of us, but one Fleur had seemed to need.

  The Fleur standing in front of me was laughing and smiling again, some of the sadness erased from her. She finally seemed to be over Costa. Now I just needed to find her a nice guy—the right guy. Given how things had ended last semester, with him bringing her flowers in the hospital, I had high hopes for my friend George.

  I grabbed my purse off the bed, weaving slightly as I walked. A summer of not drinking was catching up with me, and my normally low alcohol tolerance seemed even lower than usual.

  I followed Mya and Fleur out of the room, excitement and anticipation filling me.

  I loved nights like this—unplanned, full of possibilities. For me, London was one big adventure—you never knew what to expect or what the night might bring. London was like a drug—an incredible high you never wanted to come off of. It made you feel like you could do anything, be anyone. You could reinvent yourself in a city like this.

  This time last year I’d been nervous and unsure of myself. The International School had been a glamorous, intimidating place that made me feel like an impostor, playing dress-up and trying to fit in. Now I belonged.

  “Going somewhere?” a voice called out.

  I looked up and my gaze instantly connected with Samir’s.

  Samir

  I DIDN’T KNOW where to look first.

  In the cafeteria I’d been afraid to sneak more than a glance at her, sure that if I did, the whole school would see what I wanted—who I wanted. But she’d left so quickly—fled when Fleur dropped her little bombshell—and I’d lost my chance. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. This time I looked my fill.

  Her brown hair seemed longer than it had been in May. It fell past her shoulders, the ends just barely grazing the top of her tits. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly drier than the Sahara. Her dress, some sort of strappy thing, left little to the imagination—and I had a pretty vivid imagination and memory—and showed off her tanned, tight little body. It ended just under her curvy ass, exposing plenty of leg.

  For a moment I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t look her in the eye. I was two steps away from maneuvering Maggie up against the wall and getting under that dress, audience or not.

  “Girls’ night,” Fleur answered, oblivious to the tenuous grip I kept on my sanity.

  I looked away from Maggie, my gaze traveling over the three of them. They were all dressed to kill tonight. Fleur smirked back at me. Mya’s eyes narrowed slightly, and for one awful moment, I wondered if she’d seen my reaction. Maggie still wouldn’t look at me.

  “Where are you headed?” I asked Fleur, trying to keep my voice casual. I ha
ted the tension running through my body, the possessiveness flooding me. It was a new experience, one that wasn’t entirely welcome.

  “That new club, Air.”

  Awesome. It was exactly the kind of place Fleur would choose. It would likely be full of B-list actors and athletes and flashy new-money. In that dress, they’d be all over Maggie.

  No way.

  I couldn’t help it. I had to know if she hated me. I turned my attention away from Fleur, my gaze lingering over Maggie’s body, before reaching her eyes.

  She flinched and looked back down at the floor.

  I needed to explain to her about Layla. If she wasn’t going to give me a chance to get close to her, I would take it.

  “I’ll come with you guys.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Maggie

  I WISHED HE would stop looking at me.

  Actually, I wished he would go home. Or never have come out with us at all. I still didn’t know how he’d managed it. One minute we were walking down the stairs, the next he was helping me into a cab, his hands grazing my bare shoulders.

  I blamed Fleur. Besides being her cousin, he was also one of her closest friends, and she never did a good job of telling him no. Of course, a lot of girls seemed to have that problem where Samir was concerned—myself included.

  I moved my hips to the music, tossing my head back. I wanted to lose myself in the beat, the freedom of it. For the first time in months, I felt like I belonged. I felt more like myself here in this nightclub in London than I ever had in a lifetime in South Carolina.

  Summer had been awkward. My life back home was beginning to feel a lot like a shirt that was a size too small. I tried to make it work, tried to fit in. But there was a part of me that was always here, in London, wishing I could get back to the life I left behind. Wishing I could get back to the person I actually liked to be, versus the shell of me I’d been in my hometown.

  I’d missed this, missed feeling like I was a part of life, rather than like it was just happening to me. I missed the possibilities.

  This place was a prime example. Clubs like Air didn’t exist in my hometown, with its family restaurants and only a couple of stoplights.

  Here, waitresses served canisters of oxygen and fancy cocktails. Thanks to Samir, we were in the club’s VIP section, girls dancing on the tables around us, people mixing magnums of champagne with oxygen. It was a crazy, surreal experience that felt like something out of a movie and yet somehow—thanks to my scholarship and, indirectly, my Harvard rejection—it had become my life.

  I grabbed my glass of champagne, downing the remnants in one big gulp. The oxygen was supposed to be best when mixed with champagne or something—I couldn’t tell much of difference. But of course, the drink selection was the furthest thing from my mind. This time I stared back at him.

  Samir lounged in his chair, whiskey and Coke in hand, his feet crossed at the ankles, propped up against the table. All he needed was a cigar to complete the portrait of satisfied male.

  He’d dressed casually tonight, probably more out of haste than anything else. He wore a simple collared black dress shirt—a few buttons unbuttoned—and a pair of his signature Diesel jeans. The shoes propped up against the table looked like Gucci or something equally expensive.

  The more I drank, the more I wanted to undress him, one article of clothing at a time.

  Samir used to be the one temptation I couldn’t resist. And now that I’d had him, I wanted more.

  I hadn’t been able to really look at him earlier, surrounded by everyone. I studied him now, until our gazes locked and his eyes widened slightly.

  Shit.

  I looked away, nerves pounding. I was playing with fire, dancing around the heat and the flames. But wasn’t that part of the excitement? Deep down, in places I didn’t want to admit to having, wasn’t that part of what I liked? The thrill of the chase—the ecstasy and agony of wondering if he still wanted me, if he lay awake at nights turned on, fantasizing about me, or if he woke from dreams that seemed more like memories—of naked flesh and heat and release.

  I couldn’t resist—I glanced back over at him.

  He sat at the table, nursing his drink, his eyes hooded. This time, he wasn’t looking at me.

  Since we’d arrived, scores of girls had come over to the table, flirting with him, practically giving him a lap dance. He’d ignored every one. Apparently he was taking this girlfriend more seriously than I’d thought.

  We’d all criticized him for being a player and yet, here he was, faithful to someone far away. A better person would have been happy for him. It just made me want to drink more.

  I turned my body slightly, sneaking another peek at him. He stared back at me, unsmiling, his gaze unwavering. It was the staring equivalent of a game of chicken, one he would probably win.

  A girl walked over to the table, a sultry grin on her face. What was this, number six for the night? If anything, Samir’s lack of interest seemed to spur them on. I had no doubt he’d become a competition to them—the prize they all wanted to win.

  The girl leaned down, her long blond hair brushing against Samir as she whispered in his ear.

  My stomach clenched. It was harder than I’d anticipated, watching him with someone else. I hated that I even wondered, but the thought flashed through my mind: Has he slept with her, too? I wasn’t prepared for the spark of hurt I felt—irrational as it was—at the sight of another girl so physically close to him. I held my breath, waiting for his reaction, wishing I didn’t care.

  He waved her off, his gaze connecting with mine. Something that might have been embarrassment flickered in his eyes before it was replaced by the same smug expression I’d come to know as classically Samir.

  I glared back at him.

  The girl remained at his side, a pouty expression her face. I knew I’d regret what I was about to do, but I couldn’t resist. It—all of it—was just too much.

  I moved in for the kill, closing the distance between us. “He has a girlfriend, you know. He’s devoted to her. So you might as well not waste your time.” I wanted to hurt him, wanted to make him feel small, the way he’d made me feel. It was petty of me, but I was pissed off and spoiling for a fight.

  The girl turned to face me, but I barely spared her a glance. My words weren’t for her. This time I met his gaze dead-on. Challenging him.

  Samir’s eyes darkened. He stood and brushed past the girl, his gaze locked on me. As difficult as it was, I held his stare. I was done being the girl who backed away from a fight.

  He moved toward me, coming to stand before me, mere inches separating our bodies. He was just tall enough, and close enough, that I had to tilt my head up to meet his gaze. It was the closest we’d been since we’d slept together, and my body knew it. My skin felt overly warm, desire pooling, spreading throughout my limbs. My body had terrible judgment and all too often around him, my mind followed suit.

  For a moment, neither one of us spoke.

  Samir leaned into me, his chest brushing against mine. I struggled to keep myself from swaying forward, from sinking into him. His lips brushed against my ear and a tremor ran through me. I clenched my hands into little fists.

  You can look, but you can’t touch.

  “Come with me.”

  I shook my head, taking a step away from him. I wanted to act like I didn’t care, like his presence didn’t affect me. But I couldn’t. Self-preservation became infinitely more important than my ego. I couldn’t be this close to him again. Not when it hurt too much, made me want too much, made me reckless.

  “We need to talk.”

  “There’s nothing left to say.”

  “Isn’t there? Are you just going to avoid talking about it?”

  “Funny you should mention wanting to discuss what happened, considering you didn’t talk to me all summer.”

  “Maggie—”

  “No. You don’t get to talk now. You sent me texts. One that actually made me think you didn’t regret what
happened between us. And then that cryptic text in July. ‘Are you okay?’ That’s what you had to text me?” My voice rose with each word.

  “I was worried about you. I didn’t know what to say.”

  “Really? Really? You were worried about me?” I laughed bitterly. “Was that in between the time you spent with your girlfriend?”

  I didn’t know who I was angrier at, him or myself. Sure, he’d cheated on his girlfriend, but I’d been right there with him. I was the one who had been stupid enough to believe our night actually might have meant something. I was the one who had spent all summer obsessing about him, imagining seeing him again, preparing for it. More than anything, I was angry that I’d let my guard down with him for even a moment. It was my own stupidity that had gotten me into this mess in the first place. I wasn’t making that mistake again.

  I turned away. Samir reached out, grabbing at my hand, pulling me back toward him.

  “Don’t touch me,” I snapped.

  “Do you want to do this now? In front of everyone? Come with me.” He tugged on my hand, curving his fingers on my wrist. They lingered for a moment, just over my pulse, stroking there.

  “No.”

  “I need to explain.” His voice was raw. “Please.”

  “Don’t do this to me,” I whispered, forgetting I was supposed to be putting on a brave face. He had no idea how he affected me, what this whole summer had been like for me. He had no idea what the mere touch of his hand did to my body. Or about the hope I had to beat back, in order to keep from having my heart crushed again.

  I couldn’t take a chance on him, couldn’t risk the near certainty of what it would feel like to have my heart broken by him. Because now that I’d had him—even just for one night—I knew he wasn’t someone I would be able to walk away from whole.

  Samir

  I WAS SCREWING this up so badly it wasn’t even funny.

  I’d never been here before, never had to plead with a girl. Clearly it showed.

  “Just give me a few minutes. Just a few minutes alone, and then you don’t have to talk to me again.” I swallowed. “Please.”