We weren’t a relationship, we were a ticking time bomb...

Maggie Carpenter walked away from the hottest encounter of her life when she left the seductive glitz of England for summer break in her South Carolina hometown. Now that she’s returned to the International School in London—and sexy, privileged Samir Khouri is once again close enough to touch—she can’t help but remember the attraction, the drama...the heartbreak.

She can’t help but want him even more.

Samir can’t afford to fall for someone so far removed from his world, not when his time in London is running out. It’s his senior year—his last chance at freedom before he returns home to Lebanon. There, he’ll be expected to follow in his father’s footsteps—not follow his heart to Maggie. But when a scorching secret hookup becomes a temptation neither can resist, they’ll both have to fight to survive the consequences...and find a future together.

Don’t miss this explosive sequel to I See London, and the riveting conclusion to Maggie and Samir’s story. This is a New Adult romance recommended for readers 17 and up.

London

Falling

Chanel Cleeton

www.miraink.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Acknowledgments

Teaser Note

Extract

About the Author

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

Maggie

I WASN’T LOOKING FOR Samir. At least that’s what I told myself.

I shouldn’t be looking for Samir.

“We spent most of the summer in St. Tropez. You should have seen the guys. There was this one guy...” Fleur took a sip of her soda, her brown eyes sparkling. She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. “He was so fine. You would have died.”

I flashed her an easy smile, my gaze glued to the door behind her. Classes started tomorrow. Where the hell was he?

“How was the U.S.?”

I tore my gaze away from the cafeteria door, like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Which I pretty much was, come to think of it.

“It was fine.” Boring. Frustrating. Agonizing.

I turned my head to the side. The entrance was just barely visible out of the corner of my eye. Come on. Three more students walked in, laughing and talking about their summer break. My heart sank. One boy was tan, his skin more yellow than the caramel color I’d come to love. Like. Whatever.

“Are you listening?” Fleur’s voice was impatient, two shades away from pissed off, as she nudged my plate. “You seem like you’re somewhere else.”

“I heard you,” I lied with ease, turning my body toward the open doorway and glancing at the clock against the wall. The dining hall closed in fifteen minutes. If he was going to make our first family dinner back at school, time was running out.

I shouldn’t have cared. I should have known better than this. I shouldn’t have been sitting here waiting, my stomach in knots, my nerves frayed. I’d already made it through four months with only two one-line texts from him. What was another day?

Everything.

I tore my attention from the empty doorway, the gaping hole taunting me. “Is anyone else joining us?” I asked Fleur, my voice deceptively casual. I couldn’t say his name, but I was desperate to hear it. He was a secret I both wanted to keep and needed to spill.

I’d spent the whole summer in South Carolina talking about him to my friends back home, until even my best friend, Jo, was sick of hearing about my boy woes. Sadly that was saying a lot, considering how boy-crazy Jo could be.

“No idea where Mya is. She’s been MIA practically all summer. I think her parents’ divorce is hitting her hard. Michael said something about the two of them going out to dinner with other friends.”

Mya split her vacation time between her home in Nigeria and her family’s flat in London, where her father worked for the Nigerian Embassy. Last year she’d discovered he was cheating on her mother and apparently over the summer he’d asked for a divorce. Mya was spending most of her time with her mom and not speaking to her dad. She seemed to be handling it pretty well, all things considered. But still—Mya’s priority right now was her family.

I waited for Fleur to continue, to say the one name that had been flooding my head all summer long. But in classic Fleur fashion, it appeared she was going to make me work for it.

“And Samir?” I kept my gaze trained on my plate, memorizing the china’s webbed pattern, hoping she hadn’t heard the hitch in my voice.

Fleur shrugged in that wonderfully French way that reminded me of him. A wave of nostalgia crashed over me. It had been four months, after all.

“No idea. You know how Samir is, you can’t exactly predict what he’s going to do next.”

No kidding. Not being able to predict Samir’s moves was exactly what got me into this mess in the first place. Not that I regretted our one night together. I just wished to hell he’d given me more to go on than a text the morning after, followed by a cryptic one in July. Even worse?

There hadn’t even been a chance for me to casually interact with him online. Trust me to hook up with the one guy who seemed allergic to social media. Maybe it was a Lebanese thing? Or more likely a Samir thing. He wouldn’t deign to do what everyone else did. He was a giant pain in my ass. Too bad I sort of liked it.

I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, not bothering to resist the urge to smooth down any stray flyaways. My hair was just the tip of the iceberg; brand-new black sandals adorned my feet, their height more aptly suited to a nightclub than a university cafeteria. Relentless workouts at the gym, combined with endless overtime hours, had squeezed my curvy five-four frame into a pair of designer jeans so expensive, I’d been too afraid to eat for fear of spilling. A new black halter top completed the look that an hour ago I thought had screamed “I look good without trying to” but now felt more like “I’m desperate over here.”

Losing my virginity was making me crazy.

“Maggie!”

I jerked my head up. Fleur stared back at me, an annoyed expression on her face.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, my cheeks heating.

“What is up with you?” Her tone was a mix of concern and petulance. Classic Fleur.

For the millionth time, I wanted to tell her. Last semester on my last night in London I lost my virginity to your cousin and I can’t stop thinking about it. Or him. I wanted to confide in Fleur. But if I did, I wasn’t just admitting to a one-night stand. It was so much worse. Yeah, he was still with his girlfriend when it happened. No, I don’t know if they’re still together. No, I don’t know if he likes me. Or if he regrets it. Or if he thinks about that night at all. No, we haven’t talked in one hundred and twenty-four days save for two texts, but who’s counting?

“I’m sorry, I think I’m just jet-lagged.” That, at least, wasn’t completely a lie. My flight from Charlotte to London had been particularly brutal. I stared back at the clock. Five minutes left.

Unfuckingbelievable.

I’d been camped out here for like four hours. No way I’d missed him. Was he avoiding me?

I sighed, pushing back my chair. I knew when to admit defeat. “I’m going to head up to the room and go to bed.”

“Can I join you?”

I froze, my entire body prickling with awareness. I knew that voice, that teasing tone. It had been haunting me for months.

“Samir!” Fleur jumped up from the table and launched herself at her cousin.

I turned, time moving in slow motion. Fragmented images and thoughts flew at me. Flashes back to that night—his body pressing into me, his hands molding my curves, his lips devouring mine—mixed with the reality of Samir in the flesh. My gaze ran over his body, drinking in the sight of him.

He’d cut his hair. The black curls I’d once run my fingers through were shorter now. The skin I’d kissed, tasted on my tongue, was a deeper tan. Whatever he’d done this summer, clearly he’d spent time in the sun. Impossibly, he looked better than I remembered. His shoulders looked broader, his body toned and hard. The memory of his naked flesh, his muscled chest, his abs...

I flushed.

Would I always look at Samir and see him naked?

It was an excellent trick and exquisite torture all rolled into one. Just being here—a foot away from him—was enough to tempt me. I ached to reach out, brush my fingers against his skin, and curl into that warmth.

And then I heard that voice again—sexy and sultry, the husky tone winding its way through my body, sending a shiver in its wake. I could drown in his voice.

“Hi, Maggie.”

Samir

IT WAS LIKE being punched in the chest. Fuck me.

She sat there, inches away. All I could do was stare like a man lost in the desert, faced with a mirage. I could smell her perfume; the memory of that subtle scent had been driving me crazy for months. I remembered exactly what it smelled like on her naked body. Remembered kissing every inch of her gorgeous skin, nibbling on her, my tongue tracing patterns across her flesh.

The rush of arousal hit me like another punch.

“Samir? Are you paying attention?”

I jerked my gaze away from Maggie, taking one last look before turning to face my cousin. I slid a smile on my face, struggling to get my body under control. I’d known it would be weird seeing Maggie after...well, after seeing all of her. But this?

Somehow I’d missed the memo that seeing her under the harsh cafeteria lights, surrounded by the aroma of crappy food and the presence of other students, would make me want to take her back to my room and strip her bare. Hell, at this point a cafeteria table would have worked.

I wanted to bury myself in her body.

“Samir.”

“Give me a minute, Fleur.”

I needed a moment. A moment of quiet before I had to look back at her. I needed a moment to get my shit under control.

“I’m tired, Fleur. I just flew in from Beirut. Excuse me if my response time’s a little delayed.”

Fleur rolled her eyes. “There seems to be a lot of jet lag going around.”

I looked over at Maggie. Her head was turned, her gaze focused on the plate in front of her, her face partially hidden by the curtain of her brown hair. I remembered all too well having her hair wrapped around my fist, pulling her head back, capturing those lips—

“Samir. Are you going to sit, or are you just going to stand there staring?”

“Chill,” I muttered through gritted teeth, sliding into the chair next to Fleur so I could have a perfect, uninterrupted view of Maggie. If only she’d look at me.

“So how was Lebanon?”

“Fine.” I needed to get Fleur on another subject fast. Lebanon was the last thing I wanted to talk about right now.

“How’s your girlfriend?”

The word “girlfriend” passed so easily from Fleur’s lips, sending a wave of dread through me.

My head filled with curse words—in English, French and Arabic. That was the beauty of my French and Lebanese heritage—although there was always a part of me that felt caught between two cultures, two worlds, it did give me a wealth of profanity to choose from. I settled for merde.

I couldn’t look at her now. This wasn’t how I’d imagined this going down. I needed a chance to talk to her—to explain in private, without Fleur and the rest of the damned school listening in.

But Fleur had said the word I’d been dreading, the word I’d never wanted Maggie to hear from anyone but me. Hell, let’s be real, I would rather have eaten glass than told her what Fleur had casually let slip.

I didn’t want to look at Maggie. I couldn’t look at Maggie. I owed her an explanation—an apology—so much more than I could give her. Instead I froze, unable to think of anything to save this moment.

Her head jerked up from the plate, the anger flashing across her face a knife slashing me open. But it was nothing compared to the hurt that followed, clouding her beautiful brown eyes. Shame filled me. Not for the first time, I wished I could go back and undo everything that had happened this summer. I wished things were different. I wished I were different. I’d never been one for regrets. Until now. Until her.

This girl brought me to my fucking knees.

CHAPTER TWO

Maggie

GIRLFRIEND.

The word pierced me, knocking the breath out of me. I sat there, staring, watching it play out in front of me. It was one of those moments when my world lurched to a crashing stop.

I waited. Waited for him to laugh and say he’d broken up with her. Waited for him to look at me. Waited for something—some sign—to let me know I hadn’t been an idiot all summer, lusting after a guy who didn’t even want me. I waited for words that never came. My heart—the one I’d sworn was never engaged—broke a little bit.

I was such an idiot.

I’d known there was a possibility this would happen. I’d known it even when I’d gone to bed with him. He’d had a girlfriend then, and there had been no promises, no guarantees. Nothing beyond the way he looked at me, the way he touched me. He’d never given me the words, just the fire and passion that changed everything.

But the revelation still shattered me.

I escaped from the cafeteria in a mad dash, mumbling some ridiculous excuse that had Fleur looking at me in surprise and Samir staring down at the floor. He should be staring at the floor. A strangled gasp pushed through the anger. Months. Months since we’d had sex, and not so much as a phone call or an email or a freaking message in a bottle. Just a lame text that had come in the middle of the night in July. Months of me dragging my lazy ass to the gym, eating non-fat yogurt, and hitting the tanning bed every free chance I had.

When he’d sent me that first text after our night together and I’d read those words—Last night was amazing. We should do it again. Often. See you next year. Xxxx—I’d actually believed it. Our one night together had been amazing. So amazing that four months later I was still reliving it in my thoughts and in my dreams.

And he was still with his girlfriend.

How could he? Did he sleep with his arms curled around her like he had with me? Did he hold her body against his? Did he kiss her lips like he’d kissed mine?

How could he do what he’d done with me with someone else, when I couldn’t so much as look at another guy?

I pushed open the door to our room, anger and hurt flooding me, building to a stunning crescendo. I stopped short at the sight of Mya staring at me with a worried expression on her face.

“You seem upset.”

“I’ve been better.”

The three of us were roommates this year—me, Mya and Fleur. I’d felt guilty about leaving our old roommate, Noora, but she’d found an off-campus apartment and seemed happy with her new living arrangement. Moments like these I wished I had a single.

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

Mya more than anyone would think I was an idiot for fooling around with Samir. She’d told me from the beginning that he had “bad idea” written all over him. She’d been right—and wrong. Mya hadn’t been there to see how amazing he’d been when we’d lost Fleur in Venice during fall break. Or how kind he’d been the night I’d found out my dad was marrying a complete stranger. She didn’t know Samir could look at you and make you feel like you were the most beautiful girl in the world. Or that he could kiss you like he was drowning and you were his lifeline. She didn’t know he could make you laugh until your sides ached, or make you smile so hard your cheeks hurt.

It would have been easy to chalk up my night with Samir as a big mistake if he really were the player everyone seemed to think he was. I didn’t blame them for thinking that. I’d seen the girls who fell into his lap at clubs. I wasn’t stupid. The boy had moves—in bed and everywhere else. His rep was well-earned. But he was still more.

The more was what kept me up at night, reliving our conversations, basking in the memory of our kisses. The more meant I was basically screwed.

I pushed the golf ball-sized lump out of my throat. I wanted to be alone and yet I didn’t. Sitting in this room, reliving that night with Samir over and over again in my head, would drive me nuts. There were ghosts here. Ghosts in every hallway, every stairway, in the cafeteria and common room. Memories of last year I couldn’t seem to shake off no matter how hard I tried.

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 hated 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.”

For a moment she didn’t answer me—it felt like an eternity. I’d blown it, I got that. But she had to forgive me. Maybe I didn’t deserve it, but I needed her forgiveness. I needed her, however I could get her.

Finally she nodded. “Okay.”

I clung to that word like a lifeline.

I reached down between us, grabbing her hand. She flinched against me, but didn’t move away. We stood there for a moment, frozen. It felt strange holding her hand again after all this time. Strange, yet right.

I led her through the club, my hand pulling her along like a magnet. The crowd was thick tonight, especially for a Sunday, but I elbowed my way through.

I stopped in front of the girls’ bathroom, hesitating for a moment. Then I pushed open the door.

Behind me, Maggie protested, but I ignored her. The words had been inside of me, pushing to get out, for months now. I needed this chance to explain. Hurting her was inevitable, always had been. Hadn’t I known, even the morning after, that I couldn’t keep her?

It didn’t matter how much I wanted to.

The startled bathroom attendant gaped at us—specifically, me. “You can’t be in here.”

Despite her protests, I doubted this was the first time something like this had happened here.

Two girls washed their hands in the sink, their faces avid with interest, but besides them, the bathroom was empty. I pulled out my wallet, peeling off some cash and handing it to the attendant.

“Can you give us five minutes? Please.”

She hesitated for a moment before glancing down at the money, and then back at me. Her gaze drifted behind me, focusing on Maggie.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Maggie answered, her voice unusually quiet.

Something tumbled in my gut.

The woman looked back at me before nodding. “Fine. Five minutes.” She ushered the other two girls out, leaving Maggie and me alone.

Five minutes. It was a safe amount of time. Short enough to ensure I kept my hands where they belonged—off of her. Long enough for me to explain why things were the way they were.

But the second the room emptied, my words dried up. I was finally alone with her, and I didn’t have a thought in my head. Not in English, at least. French, Arabic—those words filled my head, desperate and pleading. But as hard as I tried to formulate what I wanted to say, my tongue felt thick and useless.

“You wanted your chance. You got it. Talk.” Maggie’s voice trembled slightly. “You have five minutes, and then I’m gone.”

That was the part that scared me the most. I didn’t want her to leave, but I wasn’t capable of giving her enough to make her stay.

Story of my life. Always close, but never quite good enough. Definitely not good enough for her.

It made sense to start with the most important thing I had to say.

“I fucked up. I’m sorry.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Maggie

NO SHIT.

“That’s what you have to say to me? You fucked up?” He didn’t respond. He just stood there, staring at me, his expression blank. “Seriously. That’s the best you can do?”

“Look, I know this is coming out all wrong. And I’m sorry. I know you deserve better than this. I’m trying to tell you I’m sorry. For all of it.”

“What do you mean ‘all of it?’”

“I should never have let things get out of control with you. I should have known better. You’re you and I’m me, and I should have known better.”

I didn’t even know what that meant. We were both speaking English, and yet I needed a dictionary to understand what he was saying.

“So you regret having sex with me?”

I pushed away the slice of hurt that knifed through my heart. I’d deal with that later.

Samir closed his eyes. I waited, staring at him, wishing he would just end this. It was like there was still a cord linking us, a tether tying me to him, and if I couldn’t have him, then I wanted nothing between us. I’d rather have nothing than live with the memories that made me crazy, gave me hope. They made everything worse.

“Just say it. Say you’re sorry we had sex. Say you regret it. Say you wish it never happened. Just say it and let me go.” My voice rose with each word, tears filling my eyes. I spun away from him. There was no way I was going to let Samir see me cry. No way I ever wanted him to know I was tangled up inside, that just standing here with him was gutting me.

“I can’t.”

I turned again. Samir stared back at me.

“I can’t say I’m sorry. I’m not sorry, okay? I’m not sorry I kissed you. I’m not sorry I had you in my bed. I’m not sorry that some nights I wake up from a dream of how fucking good it felt to be inside of you. I’m not sorry that every time I look at you, all I can think about is how badly I want to be inside of you again. I’m not sorry I cheated on my girlfriend. And as much as I know it makes me the biggest bastard on the planet, I’m not even sorry that I was your first. I fucking love that I was your first. The idea of someone else inside of you, of someone else getting to see your face when you come, makes me want to put my fist through a wall.”

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t think.

“But I am sorry. I’m so sorry. Because I can’t be what you want or what you need.”

I just stared at him.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I know—I should have told you I was still with her. I should have explained it to you.”

“Why?” It was the only word that filled my head, the only word that escaped from my lips. But there were other words there, too, stuck in between my head and my heart. Words I could never say.

Why her and not me?

Story of my life.

Samir

I TENSED. “I don’t want to talk about Layla.” I hated even saying her name in Maggie’s presence.

“Why?” Maggie repeated.

Why? Because I felt like a pussy admitting my parents had picked her out for me. Because I didn’t know how to make her understand what it was like.

The American kids didn’t get it. They thought arranged relationships and family pressure were things from another century. They lived their lives like the world was theirs for the taking, like they could do anything, be anything. Sure, most of them didn’t live like we lived—they didn’t drop thousands of dollars in a nightclub or drive a Range Rover. But they chose their own majors, and they dated who they wanted to date. Their lives were their own; their futures weren’t built on a legacy that threatened to drag them down.

I was a Khouri. In Lebanon and the Middle East, that meant something. Centuries of history. I was the only child—a son. My father’s legacy would pass down to me one day, just like mine would pass down to my son. Our family’s honor rested in my hands. To have the political career they expected me to have, I had to have a political wife.

Layla was perfect. Maggie was not.

Maggie was the kind of girl my parents would grudgingly accept me screwing around with, but would never accept as my girlfriend. Maggie deserved more, and I was running out of time.

“I have responsibilities. To my family. To my country. Layla’s father and mine have been political allies for a long time. It’s a good match.”

Maggie was silent for a moment. I desperately wished I could read the emotions brewing in her beautiful brown eyes. She looked down at the floor, and I couldn’t see anything anymore.

“Do you love her?” she finally asked.

A pounding noise sounded on the other end of the door.

“Just a minute,” we shouted in unison.

Maggie looked up at me. “Well. Do you love her?” Her voice cracked a bit. “Are you happy with her?”

She asked the question like my answer mattered. But I didn’t know how to answer that one.

“No. I don’t love her.” I hesitated, torn between needing to be open with her and not wanting to be so honest that she thought I was completely irredeemable.

“I like you, Maggie.” She flushed. “But you need to know, what you see with me is pretty much what you get. I can’t walk away from my life. I can’t promise anything other than a good time. I don’t have anything else; everything else isn’t mine to give.”

Maggie

HE WAS WARNING me off. I got it.

I didn’t know what to say anymore, didn’t know what to make of him. I couldn’t spend the whole year like this. We had the same group of friends, the same major. We went to a really small school. Even London felt small when you considered that we frequented the same places, liked the same restaurants. I couldn’t avoid him even if I wanted to.

“Okay. Let’s just forget this all happened. No one knows about it. It was a one-time thing. We feel awkward now, but I’m sure if we just give each other space, that feeling will eventually go away.”

Samir was silent for a moment. “That’s what you want?”

No. “Yeah. That’s what I want.”

“Okay.” He hesitated for a moment. “Friends?”

I wasn’t sure. Friends seemed a bit optimistic. Right now I just didn’t want to feel like I was dying inside every time I saw him.

“Something like that.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Samir

I LEANED BACK in my chair while the professor droned on. I hated the first day of school. In theory, I didn’t hate the material. I actually didn’t mind my major. I just hated the inevitability of it all.

This—me being here—was all a big joke. My grades didn’t matter. The material didn’t matter. None of it mattered. I was here for one reason—so my parents would have something to brag about to their friends. I was here because Khouris went to university. It didn’t matter how we did there, because we all joined one of the family businesses eventually. In my case, politics.

When I was a kid in Beirut, I’d told my mother I wanted to be a policeman. It wasn’t a well-thought-out career plan, but I was six and there was a TV show I really liked with a cool cop. She’d laughed and looked vaguely horrified.

That was when I’d learned I was meant to be a clone of my father.

Today, the first day of classes, felt like the start of a ticking time bomb.

“Enjoy your last summer of freedom,” my father had announced when I’d come home in May. “After graduation next summer, you’ll be married.”

I’d just turned twenty-three. I wasn’t ready to be much of a boyfriend to anyone, let alone a husband. But with Layla it wouldn’t matter. We both knew what we were getting into, understood the rules. We’d have a marriage just like our parents had—cold, indifferent, all flash and no substance.

It wasn’t Layla’s fault. She was pretty enough, nice enough. She was elegant and lovely, really. But I couldn’t talk to her like I talked to Maggie. She didn’t challenge me, didn’t fight with me. She didn’t make me laugh. She didn’t drive me crazy. She didn’t haunt my dreams or my every waking thought.

It wasn’t Layla’s fault; it was mine. I didn’t have the balls to stop this, even though I knew how wrong it was. Layla didn’t deserve to be saddled with someone like me; she just didn’t know to expect any better. She’d been raised the same way I had—we were both fulfilling the roles we’d been given despite the small, temporary reprieve.

It was a tradition of sorts. They gave you a limited amount of time. Time to go to some fancy Western university to get a piece of paper that was basically worthless for all we needed it. In my case, I got a little extra time—time to make sure my English was where my father wanted it to be. A year of studying in Boston before I went to the International School.

Every guy I knew from my world had a job waiting for him when he got back home. We had a few years to blow off steam, to party, to see the world, but when time was up, we were expected to go back to being the person they wanted us to be, to thinking the way they wanted us to think, to playing by their rules. On graduation day, we were supposed to flip a switch and forget everything, leaving the lives we’d built behind us like they were nothing.

Maybe I should have been grateful for the time I’d had. Maybe I was lucky I’d gotten that at all. But now, selfishly, impossibly, I wanted more. I had nine months of freedom left, and there was only one person I wanted to spend them with.

Maggie

“HOW WAS YOUR first day?” Michael asked. He sat down across from me at the dinner table, tray in hand. He was one of my closest friends—and my only American friend in London.

“It was good. Classes were interesting. No major disasters. You?”

“Boring as hell.” He grimaced, poking at his food. “What is this? Is it just me, or has the food gotten even worse this year?”

I stared at the lumpy mess on my plate. It was supposed to be some kind of Indian food. Not so much. The cafeteria food was a huge disappointment for a school as fancy as the International School.

“It’s definitely worse,” Fleur announced, sinking down into the seat next to mine.

“Did you manage to make it to any of your classes today?” I teased. When I’d left for mine this morning, she’d been curled up in bed, fast asleep.

Fleur rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom. I went to half of them.”

“Didn’t you only have two?” Michael interjected.

“Yes. So what?”

I shook my head, affection and exasperation filling me. “So technically you only made it to one class.”

“Or I only skipped one,” Fleur countered. “I’m improving.”

I laughed. “True. I guess it’s a matter of perspective.”

“What’s a matter of perspective?”

Heat rolled over me. Do not look up. Do not look up.

Samir stood over me, a smile on his face. Our gazes held for a moment before he sat down next to Michael, directly across from me. I stared down at my plate like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Do not look up.

I hated my reaction to him, hated that he made me this uncomfortable. I was entirely too self-aware, hyper-conscious of the fact that all of my lipstick had rubbed off and my hair was frizzing. I felt hot and edgy and flustered and off-balance.

“What did I miss?”

Thankfully Fleur answered for all of us. “Maggie and Michael giving me shit over my attendance—or lack thereof—for the first day of classes.”

Samir laughed. “Nice to see little has changed since last year.”

Bad choice of words. This time I did look at him. And glare. Apparently he was right. Little had changed. He still had a girlfriend. In the light of sobriety, I was still kind of pissed. I might have agreed to put things behind us, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. Or him.

“How was your day?”

I mean, why did he have to sit with us? Didn’t he have other friends? Where was Omar? Where was the rest of his Arab posse? If we were going to do “just friends,” I needed a break. He needed to disappear, just for a little while, long enough for me to get my head on straight.

“Maggie?”

My head jerked up. Samir shot me a quizzical look. “I asked how your day was.”

I blinked. Why didn’t he just announce to the entire table that we’d boned? Samir didn’t ask people how their day was, and everyone knew it.

“Fine.” My voice came back as an awkward squeak. “It was fine.”

“Any hot guys in your classes?” Fleur asked, thankfully oblivious to the undercurrent of nerves and awkwardness swirling around the table.

My face heated. “Not really. There aren’t exactly any hot guys in the International Relations department.”

“Really? Not a single one?” Samir drawled.

We had the same major. It was petty of me, but I couldn’t resist the urge to take a jab at him.

“Nope. None whatsoever.” I took a sip from my drink, annoyance filling me. Fuck him. “It’s a shame, really. I’ve heard the finance guys are pretty hot. Maybe I should take some finance classes.” I flashed a smile that was all teeth and no joy.

Fleur grinned. “The finance guys are pretty fine.”

I leaned forward, some perverse part of me wanting to screw with Samir. “Have you seen Alessandro Marin yet? He looks amazing this year. I saw him in the hall and he was wearing this gray shirt and jeans. His body—”

Samir stood up, pushing back from the table and lifting his tray. A scowl marred his handsome face.

Fleur frowned. “Where are you going?”

“Out. The food sucks tonight.” He shot me a look that said everything. He was pissed, and he definitely knew what I was doing.

I flinched, staring after his retreating back, a sinking feeling in my gut. I hadn’t lied when I’d said I wanted things to be normal between us. But everything felt so messed up. I was angry, and I’d never had much success resisting the urge to screw with him. But I also missed him. I couldn’t imagine my sophomore year without Samir in it. Somehow we needed to find a way to get past this thing between us. I needed to get to a point where we could be in the same room together without driving each other nuts.

“Speaking of guys—what’s the deal with George?” Fleur asked.

I blinked, tearing my gaze away from Samir. “Excuse me?”

“George. The residence life guy. The one who brought me flowers in the hospital. Aren’t you friends with him?”

I felt like my brain was struggling to keep up with the conversation. “Yeah. He’s nice. Why?”

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Fleur announced.

I’d seen the way George looked at Fleur, so I wasn’t so sure about that. “Why?”

“I ran into him today and I said hi. He looked at me like I had two heads. It was totally weird.”

Michael snorted. “At least one guy is immune to your charms.”

“Only you, baby, and that’s because you play for the other team.”

Michael laughed. “True. But if I were straight, I’d definitely try to get in your pants.”

Fleur blew him a kiss. “That’s because you have exquisite taste.” She turned her attention back to me. “Seriously though, what do you think his problem is? It was kind of rude.”

“I don’t think you should take it personally. He’s just shy.”

“I guess. But I said hi. It wasn’t a big deal. How hard would it have been for him to say hi back?”

Given Fleur’s reputation? I tried to be diplomatic. “I think you may intimidate him.”

Fleur rolled her eyes. “Not that Ice Queen shit again.”

“He may have mentioned it once or twice.”

“I’m so sick of that stupid nickname. And the asshole who gave it to me,” she muttered.

“And who was that?”

Fleur scowled at me. “Someone not worth talking about.”

“It was well-earned,” Michael teased.

I shot him a look. After everything Fleur had been through last year, I was scared of anything that might send her into a rebound. I alternated between wanting to treat her with care and trying to act like everything was normal. She wouldn’t really talk about what had happened—about me finding her on the floor surrounded by pills—but she seemed better. I still couldn’t get the image of her lifeless body out of my mind.

“I’m not an ice queen.” The hurt in Fleur’s voice surprised me.

“I know you’re not,” I answered. “But maybe you should try letting everyone else see that, too.”

“So what, I’m supposed to smile at everyone and start talking about my feelings all the time? I’m not that girl.”

“Tell me about it,” Michael joked under his breath. I elbowed him. “What? She’s not. We all know it.”

“You’re fine. Exactly as you are.” I was probably the last person who should be giving romantic advice, but I couldn’t resist. I’d seen her struggles with Costa firsthand—I desperately wanted her to find a nice guy. One who didn’t fuck around with her heart.

“Find a guy who doesn’t want to change you. A guy who loves you when you’re bitchy. We love you when you’re bitchy—mostly. The right guy will, too.”

Fleur made it hard for people to get close to her. There was the public version she gave the world—the girl who kept a tight circle of friends, wasn’t accepting of new people and appeared to glide through life, looking down on us mere mortals. Then there was the private Fleur—the friend I’d gotten to know and love—who was fiercely loyal and protective. The girl who made you laugh and could show you the time of your life.

She was quiet for a moment. “Maybe I’ll see if George wants to grab coffee or something. I never did thank him for bringing me those flowers.”

George was one of the sweetest guys I’d met in London. But I also knew Fleur. She was my best friend and I loved her to death, but she was still a bit of a mess. George wasn’t exactly the kind of guy you practiced on.

“Be careful with him, Fleur. He’s a nice guy.”

A flash of hurt crossed her face. “And what? You think I can’t handle a nice guy?”

“No. I think you need a nice guy more than anything. But George has had a crush on you for a while now, and he’s my friend, too. I don’t want to see him get hurt.” I knew firsthand how it felt to want someone you knew was out of your league, how much it hurt when they didn’t want you back. “Just be careful. Please.”

CHAPTER SIX

Maggie

WE CELEBRATED THE END of the first week of school by heading out to a bar in Soho that Fleur had been dying to go to. I dressed casually in a pair of skinny jeans and heels paired with a red halter top. I didn’t put too much thought into my outfit because it was supposed to be just the girls. Until Fleur invited Samir and Michael along.

If this continued, I was really going to have to find new friends.

It was already 11:00 p.m. when we arrived and crammed into one of the few tables left, my body squished in between Mya and Michael. Fleur and Samir sat opposite us.

The bar was pretty low-key, just on the edge between trendy and seedy, situated next to a sex shop with a very interesting window display. We didn’t come to this part of town a lot, but for some reason, the change fit my mood. Less baggage going to new places.

It had been a weird week. School was great. I had some of the same professors from last year for my IR classes, and thankfully I was almost done with my pre-requisites. Next year I would be able to completely focus on taking courses for my major.

I loved having Mya and Fleur as roommates, and being back in London was amazing. But I couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. It wasn’t hard to figure out what that “something” was. I’d been avoiding Samir and I blamed the five days since I’d last seen him for the fact that I couldn’t take my eyes off of him or stop thinking about how good he looked, sitting there across from me.

He looked like he hadn’t shaved in days. His face was covered in sexy stubble that made him look way hotter than I was ready to handle. With his dark skin, he looked amazing. Edible.

Mya nudged me. “You okay tonight?”

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“You seem quieter than normal.”

My cheeks heated. “I’m fine.” Somehow I managed a smile. “I’m a little tired.”

It was awkward as hell pretending things were normal between me and Samir. I didn’t want to have to look at him, was afraid I still couldn’t without wearing my emotions on my face. I kept thinking if I just waited, if time passed, one day I would see him and not feel like I was at the peak of a roller coaster, my body poised to hurtle to the ground.

They said time healed all wounds. Or something like that. But then I saw him, and suddenly time didn’t matter anymore.

“Want to dance?”

My head jerked up.

“Want to dance?” Samir repeated.

I waited to see if anyone would notice. But Fleur and Michael were deep in conversation about something, and Mya was playing with her phone.

Dancing seemed like the worst idea I could think of. I could barely stand to look at him. How was I supposed to handle being in his arms, my body pressed up against his? How was I supposed to pretend I didn’t want more than a dance? Being close to him was dangerous for my sanity. For my heart.

But I never could resist him.

I rose from the table and took the hand he extended.

Samir

I LED HER to the small dance floor, her hand clutched in mine.

I didn’t feel like dancing. It was, if anything, a pathetic excuse for me to touch her. If everything weren’t so fucked up, I would have laughed. How many times had I barely crooked my finger and girls had landed in my bed? Getting laid had never been a challenge for me. Here I was, not getting laid, trying to avoid it, in fact, yet desperate to hold a girl’s hand. Maggie’s hand.

I pulled her against my body, wrapping my arm around her waist. She was flush against me and I was hard and I knew she knew and I didn’t care.

I needed this. Just for a moment. Just a dance.

She didn’t speak, which was fine with me. Talking seemed to complicate things with us. Everything I tried to say either stuck in my throat or came out wrong. I was scared to speak at all, worried I would only make things worse.

For now, I had her exactly where I wanted her, her gorgeous body pressed up against mine, and I couldn’t resist the urge to move my fingers a little higher, up from her waist to the bare skin exposed by her top’s open back. Her skin was warm beneath my touch, silky smooth under my fingers.

For a moment, I imagined it was just the two of us. That I could reach up and untie the strings at her neck, pulling her top down, baring those gorgeous tits to my eyes and hands and lips. I wanted to cup them, run my fingers and lips all over her nipples. I wanted to taste her in my mouth, to drown in her scent.

Maggie shot me a strange look.

I coughed, wondering if she’d caught me staring at her, struggling to put the image of her naked body out of my mind. “Sorry.”

The song ended, but I didn’t release her. Another song started up and I couldn’t resist keeping her in my arms, maneuvering her out of sight of our friends. I was stealing time with her, minute by minute, trying to borrow a future we could never have.

“I didn’t see much of you this week.” I didn’t add the rest of it—I missed you.

For a moment, she looked embarrassed. Then she shrugged. Did she know how often she did that now? My lips twitched. Somehow she seemed to have picked up my shrug.

“I was kind of avoiding you.”

“Avoiding me?”

She nodded.

“I thought we were doing the friends thing.”

She met my gaze and held it for a moment. “I don’t know how to be your friend.”

“We were friends before...” I thought of all the times we’d kissed, from that first night at Babel to our trip to Italy. I thought about our “kissing lessons” and playing strip rummy in Paris. Of all the times I’d wanted her, all the times I’d been desperate to have her. Okay, so we’d been friends who kissed. I might have wanted her in my bed from the beginning, but still, I hadn’t acted on it. That had to count for something. “Sort of,” I finished up lamely.

Her lips quirked. “Sort of.”

Those two words perfectly summed up the ambiguity of our relationship...or whatever it was.

“I want to be your friend.” Besides Fleur—and she didn’t totally count, since she was family—I didn’t exactly have female friends. But I wanted to be friends with Maggie. It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was better than the alternative. “Can we start over?”

She sighed. “What is this, like our fourth fresh start?”

“Maybe.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“I have no clue.”

“Me, either. But it doesn’t seem like it should be this hard.”

I knew what she meant. “Fine. Let’s not let it be hard then. Let’s act like everything is normal between us. Like things are the way they used to be.”

Let’s pretend.

“How are your classes?” I asked her.

“Good. Yours?”

“Boring.” I flashed her a grin, unable to resist. “You look beautiful tonight.”

She blushed, and my heartbeat sped up. “I don’t think friends are supposed to say things like that.”

“You mean Fleur didn’t tell you that you looked good tonight?”

Maggie considered this. “Actually, Fleur told me I looked fucking hot.”

“Well, she’s right, but beautiful seemed friendlier.” I winked at her. “See? Trying.”

“I thought you didn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Try.”

“If you think that, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

She shook her head. “What are we doing here?”

“Not fucking?”

That startled a laugh out of her. I’d missed hearing her laugh. “Has anyone told you you’re kind of impossible?”

“Yes. You. All the time.”

“That’s because you drive me nuts.”

“I know. But you like it. A lot. You can’t resist my charm.” I was determined to tease whatever awkwardness lingered between us out of her. Even if the teasing bordered on flirting.

“You’re not nearly as charming as you think.”

“Maybe not, but you like it.”

“Maybe I do.” She shook her head, resignation filling her eyes. “This is so fucked up.”

It was, but it was also us. I’d take it any way I could get it. I’d take her any way I could get her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Maggie

“ARE WE GOING to talk about it?” Mya asked, looking up from her dinner.

“Talk about what?”

“Last night. You and Samir.”

“What about me and Samir?”

“You guys have been weird ever since this semester started. Half the time you won’t look at him, and he looks at you like you’re a tall glass of water and he’s dying of thirst.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I struggled to not to react even as her words sent a funny thrill through me. “That’s just how Samir is. You know that.”

“Come on. He didn’t talk or dance with one girl last night. Hell, he didn’t even check anyone out.”

“He has a girlfriend.”

I hated forcing the word from my lips, but it seemed important to say it, to remember it.

“Yeah, like that’s stopped him before.”

“There’s nothing between me and Samir.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

She looked totally unconvinced. There was only one way this could get worse. “You haven’t said anything to Fleur, have you? About your suspicions?”

Mya shook her head.

“Please don’t. There’s nothing going on.” Anymore. “I swear.”

The last thing I needed was for Fleur to think I was somehow involved with her cousin. I wasn’t sure if she’d be pissed or feel sorry for me. Probably a combination of both.

“I won’t. Just promise that if you ever need to talk, you’ll tell me.”

“I promise.”

“Promise what?” Fleur slid into the seat next to me, a tray of food in hand.

I flushed. “Nothing important. How’s your day going?”

“Good. By the way, George is going to sit with us.”

“Seriously?”

“I invited him. He said yes.”

Mya and I gaped at her.

“What’s the big deal? You both told me I needed to find a nice guy. In fact, I seem to remember both of you bitching at me because of Costa.” My jaw dropped. Fleur never said his name.

“We didn’t think you would actually listen to us,” Mya answered.

“I didn’t ask him to marry me. I invited him to eat dinner with us. It’s only a big deal if you make it one.”

Or if George made it one. I was happy for them, but worried at the same time.

“Hi, Maggie.”

I looked up to see George standing in front of us, an uncomfortable expression on his face. I stood and gave him a hug.

George was a member of the Residence Life staff and one of the few British students at the International School. He was tall, blond and cute in a boy-next-door sort of way. And he was totally, completely head over heels for Fleur—a fact he’d managed to hide from me until she’d landed herself in the hospital last spring.

“Come join us.”

I slid my chair over, making room for him at the table. He fumbled with his tray for a moment before settling into the seat next to mine. I felt a pang of sympathy for him. It wasn’t too long ago that I’d felt the same way—nervous, awkward, completely intimidated by the International School glitterati.

The George I’d gotten to know last year was confident and fun. This version was... different. Fleur seemed to reduce him to pile of awkward nerves.

We talked for a few minutes about our summers. Finally, Mya shot me a look, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively toward Fleur and George.

What? I mouthed.

Suddenly Mya coughed loudly. “I think I’m going to head to the library and do some studying.”

Ahh. “Yeah, me, too.” Fleur shot us both a look filled with suspicion. George just looked uncomfortable.

I grinned, grabbing my tray and pushing away from the table. “See you guys later.”

Mya and I walked out of the cafeteria together.

“Okay, it’s a little weird, right? Fleur and George?” she asked.

“I guess. I mean, I figured he had a thing for her last year. I just wasn’t sure if she’d ever be interested in him. He’s a great guy, but yeah, he’s not exactly her type. Although George would be a billion times better for her than Costa ever was.” My eyes narrowed. “Where is Costa, anyway? I haven’t seen him around this year.” With the face of a god and the soul of the devil, Costa was pretty hard to miss.

“You didn’t hear?”

“Obviously not.” I’d been so consumed by my current situation with Samir that I’d barely paid attention to the usual International School gossip.

“He transferred.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. The rumor is that his parents pulled him out of school and sent him somewhere in the U.S.” Mya lowered her voice, stepping closer to me. “You absolutely cannot tell Fleur, but I heard his parents found out he got a girl pregnant while he was here, and they flipped out.”

Horror filled me.

“Seriously, though, that’s super-secret. You can’t tell anyone. Especially Fleur. I don’t think she could handle it right now.”

It was a minute before I could formulate a response. Because I knew something Mya didn’t. Unless Costa was incredibly virile and even stupider than I’d thought, I had a pretty good idea of who the girl in question was. Fleur was going to freak out. I didn’t know how to break it to her, but she had to know what people were saying before someone blindsided her with it.

“That’s crazy.”

“Yeah, he really was a dick.” Mya gestured toward the library. “Do you want to come study?”

“Go on ahead. I’m not in a studying mood at the moment.”

I wanted a chance to talk to Fleur. If she was going to hear about Costa from someone, I wanted it to be me.

Samir

I HIT “END” on my phone, shoving it back into my pocket.

My conversations with Layla were always like this—awkward. I’d known her most of my life, and we’d seen each other at enough formal events, but we’d never really been friends or anything. She was nice, but she was a girl. A quiet, shy, good girl. We had nothing in common and I suspected I made her just as uncomfortable as she made me. She seemed about as into our “relationship” as I was.

I was trying to do this right. Trying to be a good boyfriend and call her to see how she was doing. I was trying. But I sucked at it, and I was so sick of trying.

I pulled a cigarette out of my pocket, fumbling for my lighter. Then I saw her and a slow smile spread across my face. I couldn’t help it; the damn thing just appeared every time I caught sight of her.

She sat on the steps, her knees pulled up against her chest, her long brown hair falling all around her.

“Hi.”

Maggie’s head jerked up and her lips slowly curved. Any lingering awkwardness evaporated with that smile.

“Hi.”

“What are you doing out here?” I walked up to the top step where she sat.

Something that might have been worry crossed her face. “Waiting for Fleur.”

I sank down next to her. “Is everything okay?”

She hesitated for a moment, and I knew whatever answer she gave wouldn’t be completely the truth. I hated that there were things she didn’t seem to be willing to trust me with.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I know. But I can’t talk about it. I made someone a promise that I wouldn’t.”

I was silent for a moment. “Just tell me this at least—are you okay?”

A soft smile teased her mouth. “I’m fine.”

I lit the cigarette, positioning my body so the smoke would blow away from her. I knew she didn’t like this habit of mine and I tried not to smoke around her, but I needed a cigarette right now, needed something to take the edge off after my conversation with Layla. I could feel the noose tightening around my neck.

“Where is Fleur?”

“In the cafeteria with George.”

I made a face. “Sorry, but you know that’s the worst idea ever.”

“It’s not,” Maggie protested. “He’s a good guy. He really seems to like her.”

I loved Fleur, but she was all kinds of screwed up. I’d had a few classes with George. There was no way he could handle someone like Fleur. She’d chew him up and spit him out without even meaning to. The hope in Maggie’s eyes was the only thing that had me refraining from saying so.

People like Fleur and me were too fucked up for nice, normal people. We hurt them without even meaning to, let them down without even realizing it. We should come with a warning label.

“So you’re matchmaking.”

“Maybe.”

I grinned, reaching out and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. I’d never thought cute could be sexy before her, but she was so adorable I couldn’t resist.

For a moment, my fingers lingered against her skin.

The pink shade on her cheeks deepened. “Thanks,” she mumbled.

“My pleasure.”

“Are you like this with everyone? Or am I just lucky?” she asked, her voice tart.

“Like what?”

“Turning every word into a proposition?”

I laughed. “Only for you, babe.”

She shoved me playfully and all I could think was, Don’t ever take your hands off of me. Please.

We faced off across from each other, her hands on my chest. She was close enough that if I just leaned forward, I could kiss her. Our breath mingled, our faces nearly touching. Her fingers curled into the fabric of my jacket, holding me in place. I didn’t move. I just sat there, staring at her. Waiting to see what she would do next, wondering how I would respond. There was an invitation in her eyes that made me want to close the distance between us. There was a defensiveness in her stance that held me back.

Suddenly Maggie broke the connection, looking away from me. She reached down, grabbing her bag. I sat there, watching her, my hands at my sides, struggling not to reach out and take what I so desperately wanted.

Whatever had passed between us disappeared as quickly as it had flared. Its absence left a chill in the air.

“I’m going to head back to the dorm,” Maggie announced.

“I thought you were waiting for Fleur.”

“I better go before you do full-on proposition me here on the steps.”

Her words were light, but her eyes and her voice were sad. I knew what she was trying to do, hated faking it with her. But I played along. It was easier not to be serious with her.

“I bet I could have you naked in three minutes flat.”

She laughed, the sound filling the air. “Come on, Samir. You know I’m not that kind of girl. It would take at least ten.”

“Then it would be the best ten minutes of my life,” I answered honestly.

She turned away for a moment, hiding her face, before looking back at me. “I’ll see you around.”

I wanted to ask her to stay. I wanted to keep joking with her, talking with her, anything to keep her near me. I wanted to strip her naked on the steps. I wanted it all, and I had a right to none of it. So I simply nodded.

“See you around.”

I watched her walk away, her hips swaying and hair swinging, and I couldn’t help but feel like her departure had taken all of the laughter out of the air.

I sat on the steps, staring out at the sky, taking another drag from my cigarette. It was all I could do to keep from calling her back to me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Maggie

IT TOOK ME ten minutes to get my shit together after seeing Samir out on the steps. Twenty before I was able to think about something other than how good it felt when he touched me, how easy it had been to laugh around him. It took me opening a book in order to clear my head. I was still reading when I heard the sound of the door opening.

I was closing my book and setting it down on the comforter when Fleur walked into the room.

I wasn’t even sure how to start this conversation. I didn’t know how Fleur was going to take it, or if she was even strong enough to hear it right now. But she deserved to hear it from someone who cared about her rather than someone looking for a piece of gossip.

“Nice job back there in the cafeteria. Way to be smooth.”

“It was all Mya.”

Fleur shot me a look. “Sure it was.”

“How did it go?”

Fleur sank down on the bed across from me. “It was good, I think. I don’t know. He’s nice. Quiet. I’ve never been with a guy like that before. But he’s also so shy. It’s hard to get him to talk.”

“I think it’s you. Honestly, I’ve known him for a year now, and he’s really fun. I think you intimidate him.”

Fleur frowned. “I’m not trying to.”

“I know. But I think he has this image of you built up in his head. The whole starring-in-the-French-rap-video thing, the guys, the clubs, the money. I don’t think his past is nearly as flashy as yours.”

She sighed. “I just wish he would let go a bit. I think I could actually like him if he were more relaxed with me. Half the time we just stare at each other and he doesn’t even talk. And when he does talk, I have no clue what he’s talking about. He’s so smart. I feel like an idiot around him.”

Surprise filled me. “You’re not an idiot.”

“Well, I feel like one. Did you know he’s a history major?”

I nodded.

“He talks about all these old wars; I’ve never even heard of half of them.”

“I don’t think knowing about old wars makes you smart.”

“I’m fairly sure it does in his book. And I can’t help but feel like he thinks I’m a moron.”

“Fleur, he doesn’t.”

“His friend does.”

“Which friend?”

“That guy Max. The American one.”

“I don’t know him.”

“Oh, come on. You totally do. He’s the super-boring guy with the underwear model’s body. I swear, you can practically see how cut his abs are through his T-shirts.” She shrugged. “He works out at my gym.”

I cracked up. “Definitely don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Whatever. We’ve had a few classes together, and he’s a total dick. He got pissed at me one time because I was texting in class next to him. Said it was distracting.”

As nice as George was, I had a hard time believing he’d be friends with a dick. “It is a little annoying when people do that.”

Fleur glared at me. “It was microeconomics. Do you know how boring microeconomics is?”

I laughed. “Fine. Fair enough. I’m sorry I questioned your right to text.”

“Whatever. I like George. I think. Despite his tendency to talk about old wars and his bad choice in friends.”

“If that’s not a ringing endorsement...” I joked.

Fleur chucked her pillow at me. “Laugh all you want. I’m trying here. You told me to find a nice guy. I’m trying to find a nice guy. It’s not as easy as it looks.”

Tell me about it.

“What about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, now that the Hugh thing is over, what’s next? Any cute guys on the horizon?”

I grimaced. “Not even kind of.”

Fleur sighed, leaning back on her bed. “We’re a fine pair, aren’t we?”

Yep, we both put the “fun” in dysfunctional when it came to romance.

It was now or never. “I need to talk to you about something. I don’t want you to freak out and I hate having to tell you this, but I also don’t want you to hear it from anyone else.”

“Okay.”

“There’s a rumor going around here that Costa had to transfer out of the International School because his parents found out he got a girl pregnant while he was a student.”

Fleur paled.

“No one knows who it is,” I continued, “and it’s a really quiet rumor. But I thought you should know.”

“Oh my god.”

“No one knows it was you. And with Costa gone, there’s a good chance no one will ever find out.”

Fleur shot me a horrified look. “This cannot be happening. That was over a year and a half ago. How are they just now finding out about it? How did they find out about it at all? Why the hell do they even care?”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Do you know how bad it will be if this gets out? You’ve seen what the gossip here is like. Let’s be honest, people hate me. This is exactly the kind of story that’s going to spread around school like wildfire.”

She was probably right about all of it, and I had no idea what to say to make her feel better.

“You can’t freak out. You don’t even know if anyone knows it was you. Costa may not have told anyone. And besides, even if it does get out, you have nothing to be ashamed of. What happened to you could have happened to anyone. No one has the right to judge you for having sex with your boyfriend. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Someone thinks I did.” Fleur reached into her bag and took out her phone. She pulled something up on the screen and handed it to me.

Shock filled me at the words on the screen. It was an email from an account that looked anonymous. The email was two lines.

I know your secret. Fifteen thousand pounds buys my silence.

I met her gaze. “That’s almost thirty thousand dollars. When did you get this?”

“A couple days ago.” Fleur’s expression was grim. “I thought it was a stupid prank or something. I didn’t know what secret it could be referring to. But if someone knows about the baby, maybe this is related.”

“Do you think it’s from Natasha?”

Costa’s current girlfriend hated Fleur. If I were going to start somewhere, I would start with her. I didn’t know if she’d ever figured out that Costa had been fooling around with Fleur last year, but if she had, it would be a game changer.

“I don’t know. She definitely hates me enough. I thought about confronting her, but if it isn’t her, I don’t want her to realize she could have ammunition on me. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of thinking I’m rattled by this.”

Her words were tough, but the look on her face said it all. Fleur was hanging on by a thread.

“You can’t tell anyone. I’m not ready for anyone else to know about it yet.”

“Not even Samir?”

“No one can know. Promise me.”

“I think it would be better if you have help with this. But if you don’t want me to say anything, I won’t. What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Tears welled up in Fleur’s eyes. “I can’t talk about it. I can’t talk about the miscarriage. I can’t talk about any of it. You don’t know what it was like. No one does.” A sob escaped. “I just want to move on. I want to put all this behind me and move on. I thought it would be easier with Costa gone. But no matter how hard I fucking try, I feel like my life is defined by this one thing.”

I hurt for her. I joined her on the bed, wrapping my arms around her while she cried.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whispered. “We all have your back. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. You’re right—what happened is no one’s business. But you have people who love you, and you aren’t alone in this.”

Fleur wiped at her eyes, pulling away from me. “Thank you. I know. It’s just hard.” She sighed. “Do you think I don’t know people talk about me? That every time I enter the room everyone whispers about how I’m the girl who overdosed last semester. They all think the worst of me. They all think I’m just some party girl who deserves everything that’s happened.”

Fleur wasn’t well-liked, and she definitely had a reputation. It was tough. She was easily the most beautiful girl at the International School. Add in the gobs of money that kept her in Manolo Blahnik and Fendi, and she wasn’t exactly the most sympathetic figure. And Fleur knew she was gorgeous. She walked around campus like she owned it. Even with the current gossip going around, I’d yet to see her duck her head or give an inch. If not for the fact that she was currently sobbing in my arms, I never would have imagined anyone could hurt her. Which was silly, of course. I knew better than anyone—the most painful scars were the ones we didn’t show the rest of the world.

“The people who love you—me, Mya, Michael, Samir—we’ll always be here for you. I promise.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, offering me a weak smile.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re the strongest person I know.”

Fleur laughed. “I find that really hard to believe.”

“No. You are. You face the world head-on. You don’t apologize for yourself; you don’t let life get you down. You’re human. You make mistakes. Bad shit happens to you. But every morning you wake up ready to seize life by the balls—and you look fabulous while doing so. You’re an amazing friend. And I love you.”

I didn’t say “I love you” a lot. I told my grandmother I loved her, and that was really about it. My dad had never said it. Maybe my mom had when I was younger, before she’d left without looking back. I didn’t really remember. But in that moment, I knew I loved Fleur. On the surface we were so different. She was everything I wanted to be at times—strong, confident, fearless—and yet I saw so much of myself in her. She got me as very few people did. I was close to her in a way I would never be with Mya.

Fleur and I shared an understanding. Because underneath all of the differences, on a fundamental level, she knew what it was like to not feel worthy of being loved.

And I, better than anyone, knew how much that could fuck you up.

CHAPTER NINE

Samir

I HESITATED, MY HAND pressed against the wood-paneled door. Walk upstairs. Do not go into the common room. Don’t. Just don’t.

We were both night owls. I knew how much Maggie liked to hang out in the common room watching TV. I had a TV in my room, and yet last year I’d always found myself down here. This year, I’d been trying to avoid it. There was an intimacy to hanging out with Maggie at night. An intimacy that started out on a couch and ended up in bed.

It had been hours since I’d seen her on the steps, and I couldn’t get the image out of my mind. She’d looked lost, and whatever was bothering her seemed to be wearing on her.

I pushed open the door, striding into the one room I’d avoided since coming back to London. In part because of the danger of being around her like this, and in part because I wasn’t sure I wanted to confront the memories. This was where everything had changed and it all hit me at once.

Just being in the common room reminded me of that night. Made me remember what it felt like to have her. It reminded me of the feeling of her legs wrapped around me, her ass in my hands, her tongue in my mouth. But the memories weren’t the only reason I’d been avoiding this room. The other very big reason sat curled up on the couch, dressed in a sweater and shorts, her legs bare.

Her surprised gaze met mine, and for a moment a flash of unease crossed her face.

“Hi.” Her voice was soft and smooth, filled with just the barest hint of the Southern accent I knew she hated, but I secretly loved.

“Hi,” I echoed. It was 2:00 a.m. We had the common room all to ourselves. A wiser man would have turned and left. My feet carried me toward her.

“Can’t sleep?”

She shook her head, wrapping the sweater tighter around her body. She was so little that the fabric all but swallowed her. It was ridiculously cute and sexy at the same time.

“You?”

“Same.”

I didn’t add that I couldn’t sleep because I’d spent the last hour in my bed, reliving the memory of her there. It was torture having the same room I’d had last year. Absolute torture.

“Are you just going to stand there? Or do you want to sit?”

Actually, I’d like to bury myself in your body.

“Sure.”

I sank down on the couch next to her, careful to keep some space between us. It hit me at the exact same moment that a blush spread across her cheeks—

This was our couch. This was the couch that had started it all.

Minutes passed with silence between us. It wasn’t comfortable silence. It was agonizingly awkward, but I literally couldn’t think of one thing to say to her.

She ran her hand through her hair, the silky strands slipping through her fingers. The scent of her shampoo filled the air. She smelled like vanilla and cookies. I was instantly hard and strangely hungry.

“How is everything?”

I struggled to concentrate on her question. “Fine. Good.” Better now. “I was surprised I didn’t see you in any of my classes.”

Maggie grinned. “I have mostly morning classes.”

“That explains it, then.”

“Is it weird, knowing this is your last year of university?”

“I don’t want it to end.” I laughed at my words, realizing how big a cliché I was. The boy who didn’t want to grow up.

“I know what you mean.”

I hated the sadness in her voice. “Rough time at home this summer?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t one thing. It was just...everything. I felt so trapped there. I love my grandparents. I mean, seriously, they’re amazing. But I can’t be myself. I’m this other person. This girl who doesn’t rock the boat and says ‘yes, ma’am,’ and ‘no, sir’ and plays by the rules. And it’s not that I want to cause trouble for them—I just sometimes don’t want to have to be that person. I don’t want to have to pretend everything’s fine when it’s not. That I’m not angry, when I am.” Her voice was raw. “I’m so tired of pretending. So tired of working so hard to be good. It’s exhausting pretending to be someone you’re not.”

Her words gutted me. With each word, something unraveled within me. I’d never heard anyone say exactly what I always felt. I knew what it was like to feel trapped in your own body, like you were playing a role you desperately wanted to break out from. I hated that she felt that way.

“You don’t have to pretend with me.”

Her eyes widened slightly.

I shrugged, embarrassment filling me. “I’m just saying. If we’re going to be friends, then you shouldn’t feel like you can’t be yourself with me.”

“You sure about that?” she asked, and I was relieved to hear the teasing note in her voice. “I’ve been known to give you a hard time.”

“I don’t mind.”

She laughed, the sound full and rich. “Really?”

“Really.” I nudged her with my knee. “It’s nice. I like being friends. I’ve missed just hanging out.”

God, I might as well turn my balls in now. What was wrong with me? This shit just kept coming out of my mouth, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

“I missed hanging out, too.”

“See? We can do this, right? Be friends.” I just had to keep my dick under control. So far, so good.

“True.” She tucked her legs up to her chest, her body curling up into a little ball. She looked so comfortable, so perfect just sitting there. I shifted on the couch slightly, my leg brushing against hers. Okay, yes, maybe I did it on purpose, but I couldn’t resist.

Besides, as long as I didn’t kiss her, as long as I didn’t run my hands under her sweater, caressing her skin, stripping that sweater off, all would be good.

I could do friends. Especially if it meant I could touch her. Even just a bit.

Maggie

THE SECOND HIS LEG brushed mine, a wave of heat spread through my body. It was weird. I was still annoyed about the girlfriend thing, still pissed at him on some level. At least I had been. But now, sitting next to him on the couch, I didn’t really care. There was something comfortable between us, underneath the tension and the awkwardness. It had been there last year when we’d barely known each other. It was the thing that made me share more with him than I did with most people.

I could be myself with Samir. I’d missed that. In between the butterflies and the nerves and the desire to pull out my hair, there were these moments when I felt peace. Maybe the sex stuff just complicated things. Maybe we were just supposed to be friends.

His leg was still there, resting near mine. Samir’s face was turned away from me, watching the TV. Did he realize where his leg was? Did he even care?

Was this in the friend code? I had no idea what the rules were for a guy you were friends (ish) with, then slept with, and were then friends with again. But then again, I wasn’t the one with the girlfriend. Even though I knew it was wrong, it felt too good to walk away from. I wouldn’t move closer, but I wouldn’t pull away—

“You look really uncomfortable,” Samir said, a smile tugging at his lips.

My body was contorted in a weird angle, my leg the only part even close to him.

“I’m fine.”

He sighed, raising his arm to the back of the couch. “Come here.” He gestured to the space beside him.

“I’m okay.”

“I promise I can stand you sitting next to me. We’re friends right? Friends can lie beside each other on the couch and watch movies.”

I pulled a face.

“They can. Come on. Just think of me as Michael. You’d lie next to him.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t be worried about Michael getting turned on by me sitting next to him.”

“I can behave,” he protested. “Come here.”

I wasn’t stupid. I knew by now that I couldn’t control myself around him. I knew staying away from him was in my best interest and his. I knew better than to let myself get close to him, than to let him inside. And yet, as hard as I tried to resist, he was like a magnet pulling me closer. He made me reckless, and I’d never been reckless before him.

I shifted on the couch, moving my body closer to his. He closed the distance between us, tucking me against his body like a puzzle piece snapping into place.

“Comfortable?”

Not even kind of.

It was the worst kind of agony. I was close enough to smell his cologne, feel his strong body beside mine. His breath tickled my ear. His hands hovered dangerously close to places that burned for him. He was so close—and yet so far.

“Yep.”

He pulled me even tighter against his body, a sigh escaping his lips. We both stared at the TV, neither one of us speaking.

There was nothing to say. We flirted around a line, dipping a toe or two over and then jumping back again. We played with fire, dancing on the precipice of something we couldn’t come back from.

I was so afraid I would fall.

CHAPTER TEN

Samir

“WHY ARE YOU being so weird?” Fleur asked me in French.

Most of the time we spoke in English at school—but sometimes, when she wanted to talk to me about something important or private, she switched to French.

I moved down the hallway, my strides impatient. I wasn’t in the mood to get harassed by Fleur. It was the second week of classes and things were still a mess with Maggie. I was still a mess.

“I’m not being weird.”

“I’ve barely seen you all semester.”

“School has been back for a few weeks. It’s hardly been ‘all semester.’”

“Well, I didn’t see you much this summer, either.”

I’d tried my best to check in on her, but much like my life, my summer had not been my own. “I told you, I was working for my dad. We couldn’t all spend the summer on a yacht in the South of France.”

I was being an ass. I was pissed off and taking it out on her, which wasn’t fair. I couldn’t seem to control it, though. This gnawing frustration had been building, and was infinitely worse after seeing Maggie in the common room. I’d thought allowing myself small doses would be enough. Turned out it only made things worse. Like a junkie, I craved more.

“You seem on edge. Snappy.”

“I’m not on edge.”

Okay, maybe yes, I was a little on edge. I’d been chain smoking like a maniac, and tension coursed through my body.

“You look like you need to get laid.”

I froze in mid-step. “Excuse me?”

Fleur fisted her hands on her hips. “You do. You definitely look like you’re hurting for it.”

“Jesus.”

“Well, you do.”

“I’m not hurting for it,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “I can get laid any time I want.”

Total fucking lie. Maybe I could get laid anytime I wanted. Just not by the only girl I wanted to lay.

“I take it the girlfriend doesn’t put out.”

“It’s not like that. Just drop it, okay?”

“Fine, if you’re going to be a girl about it.”

“I’m not a girl,” I protested. “I just don’t feel like taking about my sex life right now.”

Fleur smirked. “Trouble in paradise?”

She had no idea.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it. I have class in like five minutes and then I’m hanging out with Omar.”

“I feel like you’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you.” I was, a bit. But it was hard being around her with the whole Maggie situation going on. We were trying to act like nothing had happened between us. I didn’t need Fleur getting involved. “We’ll hang out, I promise. Let’s make a plan for next week.”

“Want to go bowling?”

I stopped in my tracks. For like the millionth time today, Fleur had completely caught me off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Bowling. Tonight. In Holborn. There’s a group of us going.”

“Bowling?”

“It might be fun.”

“Okay, you’re asking me why I’m being weird? Since when do you bowl?”

“George is going.”

“George?”

She flushed. “He’s nice.”

“Sure he is.”

I knew Fleur had changed after her overdose, but I hadn’t realized she’d basically had a lobotomy. If Fleur was going bowling, then hell had officially frozen over. Although I wasn’t sure what was weirder: that she was going bowling, or that she was going bowling with a guy like George.

“He is nice. You should give him a chance.”

“That’s not what I do. You either. What gives?”

“I’m turning over a new leaf. Maggie suggested it. I think she may be onto something. Besides, you know how Maggie is. Once she gets her mind on something, there’s no turning back.”

I did know Maggie. Maybe better than anyone. That was the problem. She was frustrating and exciting and confusing. She was hard to read and impossible to forget. And she was killing my sanity.

“So are you coming or not?”

I stared blankly at her.

“Bowling?”

Right. “Definitely not. I have no desire to bowl. I’m pretty sure there isn’t any amount of money you could give me to make me even consider it. Besides, George is not my idea of a good time. The guy’s less exciting than a trip to the dentist. I don’t care how nice he is.”

Fleur glared at me. “Fine. The rest of us will have fun without you.”

“Is this a group date?” This thing got lamer by the second.

“I told you. Maggie’s the one pushing us to go out. She organized it.”

Motherfucker.

“So Maggie’s going?”

“Yeah, it was her idea. She thought it would make George more comfortable to do something on his terms.”

How was I going to tell her I wanted to go now?

My resolve was crumbling. Maybe it had never been there to begin with. My efforts had been half-assed at best. At a school this small, it was difficult enough to try to avoid Maggie, harder still when I didn’t want to.

“Makes sense.” I hesitated for a moment, not used to having to explain myself. “Okay fine, if everyone else is going, I’ll go.”

Fleur stared at me like I had three heads. “Are you serious? After all that, now you want to go?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to go,” I lied. “But I’ll go.”

Fleur’s eyes narrowed. “Are you just going to make fun of George?”

“No.”

“Seriously, you have to promise not to make fun of him.”

I was surprised she even cared—it was unlike her to be this concerned about someone like George.

“Fine. I promise.”

There was one reason I was going bowling and it had nothing to do with George.

Maggie

“YOU GUYS READY?”

There were six of us—me, Michael, Mya, Fleur, George and George’s friend Max. Max was a year ahead of me and though I hadn’t met him before, he seemed nice enough. Hopefully his presence would make things a little less awkward for George.

I loved bowling. Jo and I bowled all the time in South Carolina. I wasn’t any good, but it was a ton of fun. Plus I couldn’t resist the idea of Fleur in rented shoes.

“We’re just waiting for one other person,” Fleur called out.

“Who?” My body collided with someone. I looked up—

“Me.” Samir grinned, and my heart lurched like a boulder tumbling off a cliff. “Sorry I’m late.”

“You’re going bowling?”

His smile deepened. “Yes.”

“Bowling? Like rented shoes and pizza and eighties music? Bowling?”

He laughed, the sound reverberating through my body, all the way down to my toes.

“Why?”

Samir draped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me toward the door. “It sounded like fun.”

I looked up at him. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with Samir?”

Fleur laughed behind me. “That’s what I said.”

Samir leaned down, his lips grazing my ear as if he were telling me a secret. “Maybe I’m not here for the bowling. Maybe I’m here for the company.”

Our gazes met. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. There was something in his eyes that made me think he wasn’t teasing. This felt like full-on flirting. More than pretending to be friends.

I let him maneuver me down the steps before he finally released me. I immediately missed the feel of his arm around my shoulders, of my body near his. I struggled for nonchalance, trying to put some space between us, trying to get my silly, racing heart under control.

Mya shot me a look, linking arms with me. “Still sure nothing is going on?”

“Nothing at all,” I lied.

We walked toward Gloucester Road tube station, heading for the Piccadilly line to Holborn. It was late enough that the streets were crowded with people on their way home from work. We walked as a group, occasionally separated by the stray pedestrian marching toward the station. I spent most of the time talking to Michael about his semester. He had a new boyfriend and had been spending most of his time with him. The rest of the group was pretty quiet.

We all piled onto the Tube, mashed against each other in the melee that was standard for London. I usually tried to avoid the Piccadilly line at rush hour when you got the truly awful combination of pissed-off commuters and wide-eyed tourists. Everyone sort of existed in a simmering rage, fueled by frequent delays.

By the time we got to Holborn and up to the street level, I felt like I’d just run a mile.

We walked toward the bowling alley, conversation picking up now. I checked out for a bit, my attention completely focused on my surroundings. I loved Holborn. For me, it was London at its most academic. It was the home of the London School of Economics, the Holy Grail of IR. They had these amazing lecture series that were open to the public; sometimes I’d go and listen to their world-class speakers. I’d sit in the audience and pretend I was a student there, doing a master’s.

“Daydreaming?”

I turned and grinned at Samir. He understood what this place meant better than anyone.

“Maybe.”

“Are you going to apply your senior year? You should.”

“I might. It’s competitive, though.”

“True. But you’re smart. You at least have to try.”

He matched his pace with mine, walking beside me down the street. We’d broken off from the others; I wasn’t sure if he’d meant to do it or not. For a few minutes, neither one of us spoke. His shoulder brushed against mine a few times, that alone filling me with anticipation.

“Fleur wearing rented, fake leather shoes. Highlight of your night?”

I giggled. “Definite highlight. I’m taking a photo.”

He grinned, and for a moment it felt like we were sharing a secret.

“She must really like him.”

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugged, a little smile on his face. “Because we all do things that are out of character when we really like someone.”

I froze, my heart stumbling in my chest. “We? I thought that wasn’t your style.”

“Maybe I’m not the guy I used to be. Maybe I never liked anyone enough.” He paused for what felt like an eternity. “Until now.”

I stared back at him, unable to formulate a response. I wasn’t sure what that meant, and part of me was afraid to ask. Something was up tonight. There was something different between us. I couldn’t read him, couldn’t guess what he wanted. It felt like we were always a beat out of sync.

We walked the rest of the way to the bowling alley in silence.

“Hey, Maggie.” I turned at the sound of Mya’s voice. “We’re forming teams. Why don’t you and Max team up?” She shot me a knowing look that wasn’t even kind of subtle.

Samir stiffened beside me.

“Sure.”

I smiled at Max. He was cute, with dark brown hair and green eyes. He had that all-American look I’d become familiar with back home. He did look built, although sadly I couldn’t make out the outline of the famous abs. I’d have to take Fleur’s word for it.

I could see why Mya thought we would be a good fit. We had the American thing in common, and he seemed nice enough. But I wasn’t that girl. Stupidly, maybe, all of my attention was focused on the brooding and off-limits boy beside me.

We all got our shoes and headed toward the lanes. The bowling alley was upscale, with almost a nightclub feel to it—so different from the rundown place I bowled at back in South Carolina. Fleur looked predictably put out by the whole thing, but surprisingly, she seemed to be trying. Samir hadn’t even bothered renting shoes. He’d decided he would just watch. Which I soon discovered meant he would watch me.

The first few games went by fairly quickly. Max was easily the best in the group, so it wasn’t a surprise when we quickly took the lead. Fleur was hopeless. But even she settled into the spirit of it all and was soon laughing with the rest of us.

And all the while I could feel Samir’s eyes on me as he sat at the table, slowly nursing his whiskey and Coke.

Samir

IT MADE HER happy—bowling.

Her smile lit up the room and her laughter filled it and I wanted her so badly it hurt.

I’d never met anyone like her. She didn’t seem to care that we were in a bowling alley. She was just as happy here as she was sitting in the VIP section at a club. She treated life like everything was an adventure, and found pleasure in the littlest of things. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like that. Couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so taken by something or surprised by anything. Couldn’t remember feeling that kind of happiness—

Except with her.

I took another sip from my drink, the whiskey burning a hole down my throat. Maggie grabbed her ball and walked up to bowl. I couldn’t stop staring at her legs, at her ass. She looked ridiculously hot in her orange shoes.

That guy who was friends with George—Matt or something—walked up next to her. Right behind her. My eyes narrowed as she turned back and said something to him. He laughed.

I didn’t like him. He was American and tall and built and looked like he should be working on a farm or something.

He followed Maggie up to the bowling lane, positioning his body behind hers, showing her how to roll the ball. His hands gripped her hips, his arm moving with hers, mimicking the release. She wriggled her hips for a moment and I swear my heart stopped beating. He grinned at her, still not moving his motherfucking hands from her body, and I saw red.

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