London Prep: Book Two

by Dodd, Jillian

  I push the covers off, deciding that if Noah’s good mood means I get extra time in the shower, I shouldn’t question it.

  When I get downstairs for breakfast, I find Noah in the kitchen, packing his lunch.

  “Want me to make yours?” he asks over his shoulder.

  He opens up the fridge, his fingers sorting through the leftover containers and jars until he finds what he’s looking for. He pulls out a container of leftover stew from yesterday. I watch Noah spread butter across his bread, adding on the meat and potatoes before topping it with another piece of bread. His sandwich is huge, but it actually looks good.

  “Yeah, thanks,” I reply, watching him grab another piece of bread and buttering it. “Have you made this before?” I ask, putting the finished sandwich into a paper sack.

  “Something like it,” Noah comments, moving back to the fridge when he finishes the second sandwich.

  He pulls out a bag of grapes, washing them off. I pop one into my mouth, letting it burst under my teeth.

  “You’re probably the craftiest person I’ve ever met in the kitchen,” I admit, grabbing another grape.

  Noah glances over at me, his gaze falling down to my lips before moving back to my eyes. “It’s fun, making different things. And since you eat so healthy, well, it’s sort of a challenge.” He smiles.

  “Well, I definitely appreciate it,” I say, watching as he sets aside a bundle of grapes for both of us. “None of my friends in New York make their lunches. They either get something from the cafeteria or their families have cooks who prepare something the night before.”

  “And what did you do?” he asks, putting the grapes away.

  “Sometimes, I made mine.” I slip my fingers across my skirt, pressing it flat.

  “But?” Noah says, raising his eyebrows at me.

  “But, sometimes, I would have the chef make something,” I say with a laugh. “Even though my mom doesn’t work, she’s a terrible cook. And despite not working, she seems to be just as busy as my dad. She’s pretty involved in her social circles.”

  “I can’t picture you living in New York,” Noah states.

  “Really?” I ask, surprised.

  He stops, leaning his back against the counter. “Yeah. You seem to love the company here, talking to people. You enjoy Mum’s cooking for sure.” He grins.

  “I do.” A smile pulls at my lips.

  “I don’t know,” Noah says, shrugging. “I guess I just can’t see you liking being alone so much. Or really enjoying the city. I know you say you love New York and that you do dinners with your family, but I’m not convinced.”

  “What can you picture me liking then?” I ask, not sure where he’s going with this.

  “I see you liking it here,” he says, his voice quieter.

  I look up at him, catching his eyes. “Why’s that?” I ask, wanting him to continue.

  Noah keeps his eyes riveted to mine. “I can imagine you in New York. I know that will always be a part of you. The cold lines, dark colors, no-bullshit attitude. You’re straight to the point and forward. But I see you also really liking being with a family. Spending time studying, slowing down, having a mum who’s always looking over your shoulder. Having me around.” His eyes sparkle.

  “Noah, I have a family,” I say. Because the part that he’s missing is that I do love my life in New York. My friends, my parents. “And I genuinely enjoy spending time with them. We always have dinner together and explore the city on the weekends. I’m not sure what you’re saying.”

  “I’m not trying to prove anything, Mal. I’m just saying, when I imagine you in both places, I see you belonging here more.”

  He continues moving about the kitchen, grabbing something from the fridge.

  “Crisps or carrots?” he asks, holding up both.

  “Chips,” I reply, feeling a little hazy.

  Noah nods, putting chips into each of our bags, and then he zips up our lunches in his backpack.

  “Ready?” he asks, moving toward the front door.

  I nod, following him.

  But I feel so distracted by what he said.

  I see you belonging here more.

  I try to think back to my life two weeks ago.

  Waking up in New York.

  Meeting Anna for a coffee before school.

  We would pass notes in class and then go to the park to study and talk after school.

  Sometimes, we’d go out shopping, wearing our new purchases out for dinner after.

  My mind shifts to the lunches my mom hosts at our house. How the caterers would move in and out of our apartment just hours before, setting the table and bringing in food. Then, when everything was ready, it would become empty and quiet again while we waited for guests to arrive. The whole place would smell like flowers for days.

  “Talk to me,” Noah says, bumping into my shoulder.

  “I was just thinking about home.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “I was thinking about how I might have gone out for brunch with my parents yesterday. We could spend hours on a weekend afternoon not really doing anything. We would eat and then maybe go to a museum. Sometimes, I liked to stop at my dad’s office after school. I’d take him a coffee and a pastry. It was our little secret. My mom would have thrown a fit, watching us eat chocolate croissants in the afternoon like that. But it’s what made it fun.”

  “You’re really close with your parents,” Noah comments, nodding his head.

  “Yeah, I am.”

  “You must miss them,” he says, glancing over at me.

  “I do,” I reply, still feeling funny. Thinking about being home makes me feel almost nostalgic, like I’m looking back in time at my past life. “But the idea of going back to that, it almost seems strange. Of course, I want to see my parents. I miss them a lot. But I don’t know—”

  “I didn’t want to upset you,” Noah says, interrupting me.

  I shake my head at him. “You didn’t. I guess I just do like it here,” I admit, surprising myself. “More than I expected.”

  Noah grins at me. “Well, you did have pretty low expectations.”

  I laugh at his response. “I guess I did.”

  Don’t pay attention.

  Statistics

  By the time we get to Statistics, I still can’t shake what Noah said.

  Because I’m wondering if he’s right.

  I do like it here.

  It feels like … home.

  And the thought that London, a place I didn’t want to come to, could feel that way is unsettling.

  Part of me wonders if it’s just because I didn’t have an option. I either had to make it my home or feel out of place for the duration of the exchange.

  But the other part of me knows that’s not true. I’ve grown to care about the Williams. About Harry. Mohammad. I’ve become accustomed to being around them, and I like it. The thought of going home, to New York, to the girl I was before being here feels wrong. I’m not sure how I’m going to handle it when I have to leave.

  When I got here and realized it wouldn’t be so bad, I thought that time would fly by, and then I would be back to my old life before I realized it. At least, I hoped that was how it would be.

  But now, the idea of going home makes my stomach twist up in knots.

  I push the thought out of my head, not wanting to deal with it right now.

  “At least class today will be easy,” I comment, trying to pull myself back into the present.

  I get out my statistics project, slamming the paper down onto my desk, already feeling accomplished. Between having this project over with and getting in an extra-long shower this morning, I decide I need to dwell on feeling grateful and happy rather than confused.

  “I think so,” Noah says, agreeing.

  When Mr. Johnson walks into class, he looks even happier than usual. His cheeks are almost rosy, and he has a sparkle in his eye that can’t be missed.

  I glance over at Noah, wondering if
he notices it too.

  He looks back at me, arching an eyebrow and grinning. He definitely noticed.

  “Morning, class,” Mr. Johnson says, taking a seat behind his desk. “Why don’t you all go ahead and bring up your assignments? Then, you will get paired up with a partner.”

  Noah gets up from his desk, grabbing on to my paper and taking it with him. I watch him drop both of them onto Mr. Johnson’s desk before he turns back toward our seats. I look around, thinking about what Mohammad told me on the phone yesterday morning.

  That Noah gets girls.

  I scan across the class, looking to see if anyone is paying attention to him. I’ve never paid much attention to, well, anyone other than who I was talking to at the moment, and let me tell you, I’m surprised by what I’m now witnessing. In one aisle, a guy is sitting in his seat, blatantly picking his nose. Two girls behind him are chatting, their eyes moving between one another and another girl. The other girl looks uncomfortable, and I instantly feel sorry for her.

  Because I know how that feels.

  I slip my eyes to another row of desks, spotting a girl whose eyes actually are on Noah. He never looks up at her, and when he sits back down into his seat, his eyes come to me.

  “What?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

  “Just looking around,” I comment, trying to sound casual.

  But now, the thought has me wondering, What else have I been missing?

  Do I really just not pay attention?

  I always thought I was an observant person. I love figuring people out, trying to understand different perspectives. I look back up, eyeing a guy. He looks familiar, and I think I have another class with him. He throws me a head nod, and I turn away from him, my eyes coming down to my desk.

  I really don’t pay any attention.

  I decide that, moving forward, I need to start looking around. I need to get out of my little bubble.

  And I think my first task should be to take notice of what Mohammad mentioned. I am going to watch how people look at Noah and Harry. How they look at Mohammad. Because, now, he has me curious about what other people think.

  Not that it matters.

  Because I really don’t care as long as I’m happy.

  But I am interested.

  “You’ve been acting so strange this morning,” Noah says, shaking his head.

  “You were acting strange this morning too,” I say back, narrowing my eyes at him.

  He smirks at me but then looks back up to Mr. Johnson, who has started speaking.

  “Let’s go ahead and get into pairs. I’ll be assigning them today,” he states, getting a few moans. He pushes his shoulders back, trying to make it obvious that he’s not going to give in to us.

  “I’m going to hand out the answers now, and I want you to go over them with your partner today. Make sure you’re clear about each step because, tomorrow, you’ll share your problem with the class.”

  Mr. Johnson pairs me with the girl seated behind me. When I turn around to her, she looks at me like she knows me. I glance at Noah, curious if he’s getting a weird vibe too, but he’s already turned to his partner. I bring my gaze back to her, wondering just how much of my and Noah’s conversations she overhears. I try not to think about it, focusing on the problem instead.

  “All right, so should we start?” I ask because she still hasn’t opened her mouth.

  “That was the most awkward class,” I say to Noah as we make our way into the hall when the bell rings.

  “Why?” he asks, his perfect brows dipping down in question.

  “The girl I was partnered up with was acting weird,” I say, trying to shake off the feeling she gave me. “She looked at me like she knew me. And I know that sounds crazy. Because, well, obviously, she kind of does since we have a class together. But then she barely spoke to me,” I continue. “We got through our problems pretty much in silence, so she was absolutely no help.”

  “Maybe she’s just shy,” Noah comments as we walk to my locker.

  “Shouldn’t you know her?” I ask, feeling frustrated.

  “I didn’t notice who you were with,” he says, running his hand through his hair.

  I scan the hallway, trying to find her. My eyes finally land on a girl with the same dark ponytail, her square jaw facing her locker.

  “Her,” I whisper, nodding my head in her direction.

  Noah glances over his shoulder. “That’s Rachel Jenkins.”

  “Who is she?” I ask, putting away my textbook. I go to grab my Latin book, but then I remember that we’ve got a test, and I probably won’t need it.

  “She’s nice, just quiet,” Noah says.

  “Who is?” Harry says, walking up to us. He throws his arm around Noah’s shoulders, ruffling up his hair.

  Noah grins, happy to see him.

  And I am too.

  But I’m also freaking out.

  Because it’s just Harry, Noah, and me, and I haven’t told Noah about Harry and me. And I’m wondering if it’s better if he just finds out or if I need to pull him aside.

  But now, I can’t because Harry is right here.

  And basically, I’m screwed.

  My eyes go wide, but I stay silent, pulling my lips into a straight line.

  Harry winks at me adorably.

  I smile back it him when Noah is glancing over his shoulder, looking in Rachel’s direction again.

  “Rachel Jenkins,” Noah says, bringing his attention back to us.

  Harry glances at Noah, his face pulling back in surprise. “She scares the shit out of me, mate,” Harry replies, his eyes going wide.

  “Right?” I comment, agreeing with him.

  Noah rolls his eyes at us. “She’s just quiet.”

  “Yeah,” Harry says, nodding his head, obviously agreeing. “And you always have to worry about the quiet ones.”

  Shit. I start thinking that he might be right. What if she has been listening in on my and Noah’s conversations?

  “Seriously?” Noah cuts in, looking offended.

  “What?” I ask, not sure why he’s so upset.

  “Whatever,” Noah says, giving up. He gives Harry a pat on the back before walking off toward his next class, leaving Harry and me in the hallway.

  I instantly let out the breath I was holding.

  Harry grins at me, biting his lip. “Morning, beautiful,” he says, those blue eyes sparkling.

  “Morning.” I grin back, already feeling light-headed from his presence.

  “Were you thinking about me in bed last night?” he asks, taking a step closer.

  I blush at his comment. “Harry,” I whisper, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one heard him.

  “You’re flushed,” he replies, and his voice brings my gaze back to his eyes. His face is still bruised, but the swelling has almost gone away.

  I feel my heart race in my chest as I see his easy smile.

  “We shouldn’t talk about things like that at school,” I tell him, trying to be appropriate.

  Because, yeah, we’ve flirted before. But it was innocent and fun.

  Now, the air around us feels thick, and every word slipping out of his mouth is like caramel being poured over my skin.

  “I know you were,” he says, stroking his fingers against my hand. He doesn’t grab on to my fingers, but he doesn’t move his hand away either.

  “I had a few thoughts,” I say, trying to take this conversation from full of lust to something lighter.

  “Yeah?” Harry searches my face.

  “I liked hearing your voice,” I admit, playing with his fingers.

  I look up at him through my lashes, feeling way more girlie than usual.

  I’m not sure if it’s Harry’s proximity to me or him calling me beautiful, but something in the air between us has me nervous.

  Harry bites his lip, his blue eyes focusing in on me. “Don’t worry. You can hear my voice in bed anytime you like,” he whispers.

  “Is that so?” I raise my eye
brows at him.

  He loosely laces his fingers through mine, rubbing his thumb across my palm. “Definitely, babe. I’m excited for our date tomorrow.”

  “What are you most excited for?” I ask, wondering if he’ll give me a hint of what we might be doing.

  Harry purses his lips, his eyes shifting up to the side like he’s thinking.

  When he connects his gaze back with mine, a smirk forms on his lips. “The date will be bloody brilliant—since I’m planning it, of course.”

  “Of course,” I agree.

  “But I will be most excited for dessert. You see,” he says, leaning in closer, “this girl told me yesterday that she couldn’t stop thinking about putting chocolate and whipped cream all over my body. She’s a naughty one, to say the least. And at first, I wasn’t sure about the idea. I mean, sprinkles might be delicious, but they could end up in places sprinkles should never go.”

  I laugh, knowing he’s just getting on a roll with his story.

  “Anyway, it gave me this idea that, after our date, I might have to take her back to my place and indulge her. I’m thinking something along the lines of a chocolate-covered surprise or maybe date-night delight.”

  Harry’s whole face is glowing. From the way he talks, I can never tell if he’s serious or teasing, but I think he usually falls somewhere in between. He’s always pushing boundaries to see if they’ll give, and even if they don’t, he seems content either way.

  I smile back at him. “Date-night delight. I like the sound of that.”

  “I can’t wait for our date tomorrow night,” he replies, seriously this time.

  Harry’s grin slips away, and he looks at me almost shyly, pulling my hand up to his lips and kissing my knuckles.

  The sensation makes my stomach flutter.

  “See you at lunch,” he says before dropping my hand and walking off to class.

  My lips ache, wanting to burst into another smile, but one glance at the clock in the hallway makes me realize I’m about to be late for Latin.

  Burst your bubble.

  Latin

  The bell goes off when I sit down in class, feeling like I’m floating on a cloud on a warm summer day.