London Prep

by Dodd, Jillian

  “What’s Wednesday night?” I ask curiously, trying to ignore Noah’s attitude.

  “It’s Naomi’s birthday party, and she’s hosting it at one of the hottest clubs in town,” Mohammad answers, picking up the cue and moving around the table to focus on his next shot. His long arms extend out, and he hits the ball with ease, sending it into the pocket.

  “On a school night?” I ask. “I wouldn’t think that the parents would go for that.”

  “They typically wouldn’t,” Noah says.

  “But?”

  “But it’s Naomi Fleming,” Mohammad cuts in. “She’s one of the most well-liked girls in school, and she’s practically royalty. She also happens to be a daddy’s girl, and let’s just say, when you get an invitation from the Fleming family, you don’t turn it down.”

  Harry nods, agreeing, but I can tell that he’s bored.

  “So, just because of the invitation from her family, your parents will let you go to a club on a school night?”

  “Pretty much,” Mohammad responds. “I’m sure Mum will hassle me about being safe and not staying out too late, but she doesn’t really have a choice. Hierarchy within the social circle dictates it. And if a Fleming wants a party on the actual day of their birth, then society says that is exactly what they will get.”

  “Wow,” I reply, taken aback.

  Because, for one, who freaking cares? It’s not the party that surprises me; it’s the fact that their families all know about it. It isn’t anything like what we would do in New York. We would gather a small group of friends and lie to our parents, telling them that we were only going to dinner. We would sleep over at each other’s houses but actually stay out partying. And if our parents figured it out, they would never be okay with it.

  Mohammad takes in my surprised look. “She rented out the entire club, and they won’t openly serve us alcohol.”

  “Ahh,” I say, finally understanding.

  “Which is bullshit,” Harry comments. “Anyway, Mallory is going to come with us.” He winks at me from across the table.

  “Harry,” Noah starts.

  I interrupt him, “She didn’t invite me.”

  “Of course not,” Harry says. “You hadn’t yet arrived when the invitations were sent out.” He lets out a sigh, like my words were silly, and continues, “She invited everyone who matters.”

  “And everyone else will show up anyway,” Mohammad adds. “They always do.”

  “Exactly,” Harry affirms. “So, it’s decided. Mallory, you will come over before the party with Noah. We’ll pre-party here. Naomi is having some people over to her house before to drink, but they don’t really know how to party.”

  “Not like you,” Noah says, shaking his head.

  He rolls his eyes at Harry and then glares at me. I glare back.

  “Do you really think it’s a good idea …” I start, but before I can even get the full sentence out, I hear responses of, “No,” and, “Mmhmm,” and an, “Of course.”

  I roll my eyes. No one is in agreement.

  “Look, it’s decided,” Harry says with a grin. “You go to our school now. You hang out with me. You’re playing billiards with us in our boys’ club, for fuck’s sake. You’re coming. Now, can we please get some music on in here? The dullness is about to sour my mood, and I’ve had a nice day. I don’t want to ruin it.”

  Harry lets out a sigh. And I feel Mohammad and Noah react.

  “Yeah, I’ve got it,” Mohammad says.

  He grabs his phone out of his pocket and turns on some rap. Harry moves his head with the beat, and I lighten up with his good mood.

  Noah throws back another swig.

  “I know, as my best mate, it is your duty to make sure I don’t drink alone, but you seem to be hitting it hard tonight,” Harry says, patting Noah on the back.

  His words are playful. But I sense a hint of concern.

  “Just one of those days,” Noah replies flatly.

  I search his face, wondering if I am actually the cause for his heavy drinking. My stomach falls at the thought. I look at his tall, stiff frame, thinking maybe he does need to let loose. When his eyes connect with mine, this time, there isn’t any anger in them. At least, none directed toward me. But I can tell something is bothering him.

  “Not to add to your stress, Noah,” Harry says, interrupting my thoughts, “but you’ll have to take care of where Mallory is staying Wednesday night. Tell your mum Olivia and the girls invited her along to spend the night with them after.”

  Noah almost chokes on his drink. “What?”

  “She would never believe that. I’ve only been here for a day,” I argue.

  “She will,” Harry replies, his gaze moving from me to Noah. “And you know she will. The last thing she wants to do is phone Olivia’s mum again. Last time, she got roped into a luncheon that about bored her to tears.”

  Mohammad laughs. “How do you even know that?”

  “She told me the story one afternoon,” Harry states. “And it almost brought me to tears. Trust me.”

  “It sounds like you’re close with his mom,” I reply, surprised.

  “Well, someone has to appreciate good old Helen. And anyway, she’s nice to me. Invites me over for dinner now and again. Always sending me home with dessert. Even lets me sneak in and fuck with Noah when he’s being stubborn and doesn’t want to come out with us.” Harry beams.

  “I see.” I smile, looking between Harry and Noah.

  “My mum is rather taken by you,” Noah admits.

  And I can tell he is considering it. I’m starting to realize that with almost any idea Harry has, Noah will really consider it.

  “Of course she is. I would be taken with myself, too, if I could meet myself.”

  “Whatever.” Noah rolls his eyes and tries to conceal a smile.

  Harry raises his eyebrows at us and then walks over to a table lining one of the walls, pulling out a box of cigarettes from a drawer. He takes one out, lighting it, and sucks in a long drag. He holds the box open toward me and Mohammad as he exhales, but neither of us takes one. Harry shrugs, taking another drag as Noah wafts away the air and opens a window.

  “It’s settled then.” Mohammad smiles, turning the music up louder and grabbing his cue stick.

  Harry puts out his cigarette and unbuttons his shirt fully. With his tie still knotted loosely around his neck, I feel a little like I’ve walked into some hot prep school daydream.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen him shirtless.

  And I can’t help but stare.

  Harry is tall and thin, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’m pleasantly surprised to discover broad shoulders, defined pecs, and a trim waist.

  I now understand what British girls mean when they say a boy is fit.

  He leads me over to one of the leather couches, wrapping one hand around my shoulders, the other around a bottle of liquor.

  We sing along to the music, watching as Mohammad and Noah play a game of pool. By the time Mohammad finally wins and we make it to the second playlist, I think both Harry and Noah are more than tipsy.

  “I needed this,” Noah says, falling onto the couch with us. He settles into the corner, resting his head back on the cushion.

  For the first time today, I think he looks less stressed. He glances at Harry and then at me, and I half-expect his expression to sour. But instead, his smile remains there, and I almost don’t know what to do. Because I’m sitting between two gorgeous boys, who are both happy. And smiling at me.

  I grin at Noah, but then I hear Mohammad across from us, and even though I haven’t seen him drink anything, he seems almost high on life. He jumps up onto the leather sofa opposite us, holding on to a cue stick.

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen, if I can have your attention,” he starts, using his cue stick as a mic.

  Harry unwraps his arm from me, sitting up and giving an enthusiastic clap. His mouth is practically hanging open with his smile, and his attention is fully on M
ohammad.

  “I’d like to dedicate this fine number to you three,” Mohammad says, pointing to us, propping his leg out in front of him.

  He sways a bit, and I wonder how long he’ll manage to stay upright on the couch before he loses his footing.

  He grabs his phone from his pocket, changing it to a new song. It blasts from the speakers, and all of a sudden, Mohammad is singing “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.”

  And he’s terrible.

  But Mohammad is so into it, you can’t help but love it. He jumps off the couch and starts dancing in front of us, spinning around. Harry is holding on to his stomach, practically rolling around on the floor with laughter.

  Noah is sitting next to me, almost giggling.

  Mohammad throws his arms up in the air as he finishes his song, his chest rising and falling from his vocal exercise and dancing.

  “Mohammad, that was amazing,” I say with a laugh as he takes a dramatic bow.

  But then, all of a sudden, he launches himself down on the ground with Harry, tickling at his sides. Harry is almost howling with laugher, barely putting up a fight. I laugh as they struggle to tickle one another, but then I feel Noah’s hands on my sides, and he starts tickling me. It takes me by total surprise, and I’m half-caught between blushing and crying out because his hands are all over me. And because he’s a really good tickler.

  “Noah!” I giggle, trying to wiggle my way out from under him.

  He’s practically on top of me, sitting with his knees pinned on either side of me, and his fingers are moving under my arms and over my ribs. He smiles down at me, one eye squinting at the corner more than the other. I finally grab on to both of his hands, lacing my fingers through them, pulling them away from my sides.

  “You’re not playing fair,” I huff, realizing how slack and heavy his arms are in my hands.

  He doesn’t put up a fight, giving me a chance to take in a few breaths, and our arms remain outstretched. His brown eyes connect with mine, and then they slide down my body.

  Noah’s weight settles into me, and I fully come to the realization that I’m lying under him.

  Actually, I’m pinned under him and holding on to his hands.

  Noah’s eyes search my face, and for some reason, I find comfort in them. I direct my gaze from his prominent cheekbones down to his beautiful mouth. Noah bites the corner of his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth.

  And suddenly, I feel like I can’t breathe.

  “You thought you could escape me.” Mohammad laughs, grabbing at Noah, pulling him up and off of me.

  I sit up, turning to watch them.

  Harry is laid out across the floor, clapping like an automated monkey. Noah and Mohammad are wrestling on the floor, Mohammad succeeding in tickling while Noah is swatting him away.

  I laugh with them, trying to ignore my feelings. Or more so, the feeling of Noah’s hands. How soft they were when they were holding mine. How seeing him bite his lip almost sent my body into shock.

  I laugh louder, ignoring the thoughts, trying to enjoy the moment.

  Tuesday, September 24th

  Help with the hangover.

  7:25am

  “Noah,” I say, giving him a little poke.

  He doesn’t move, and I look over at him, tucked into bed. He’s lying on his side, both hands wrapped around his pillow. He kind of looks like a child in the way he’s cradling it, but his muscular shoulders remind me that he’s definitely not a little boy.

  “Noah,” I whisper again, turning to find a pen on his dresser and using it to poke him.

  He rolls onto his back, exposing his bare chest to me. A blush spreads on my cheeks as I take in defined pecs set against creamy skin. I push my hair back off my face and shake my head at myself. If I’m going to wake up this sleeping bear, I’m going to have to be more forceful about it.

  “Noah,” I say louder, plopping down on the edge of his bed and giving him a good, hard shake.

  “What?” he mumbles, covering his face with one arm, trying to hide from me. Trying to hide from reality probably.

  Well, buddy, it isn’t going to work.

  The only thing peeking out from under his arm are his nose and lips. I try lifting his arm up, not realizing how heavy it would actually be.

  Seriously?

  I turn, examining his room, considering finding something to hit him with. My eyes land on a glass of water on his bedside table. Hmm. Maybe I should dump the water on his head. But then I decide the last thing I want to do is make him mad. He’s already grumpy.

  I start blowing on his face.

  “You overslept,” I say in between breaths.

  “Uh, stop,” he finally whines, swatting at me, his eyes still closed. “Are you blowing on me?” He waves his hand in front of his face.

  I knew the air would bother him, and there’s nothing worse than trying to sleep when you feel like your face is being tickled.

  “Yes, I am. And you should be grateful. Because we need to go to school,” I say, glancing at his clock. “In, like, five minutes!” I put my hands down onto my skirt, pressing it flat.

  And for the first time, I’m happy I didn’t drink last night because if I had, Noah and I would be in the same boat, likely both late for class.

  “Shit.” He sits up and grabs his alarm clock. “Didn’t set the fucking thing,” he growls. He throws off his covers, getting up and walking past me. A blur of naked chest moves in front of me and then is gone again when the bathroom door slams shut.

  Okay then, Mr. Grumpy.

  I hear a noise come from the bathroom, followed by a stream of curse words and something about the damn vanity. I realize Noah’s not just tired, but also positively hungover. And probably just stubbed his toe on the vanity.

  “I’ll just wait downstairs,” I call out, trying to sound chipper enough to motivate him, but not too chipper as to make him start cursing at me.

  “I feel like absolute shit,” Noah huffs.

  We’re moving at a turtle’s pace to school, and I have to intentionally slow down just to stay alongside him.

  “Well, that’s what happens when you drink half a bottle of whiskey,” I reply, giving him a little pat on the shoulder.

  Noah’s head is hanging down, his chestnut hair bouncing as we walk.

  “Harry likes to tell me that if you drink top-shelf liquor, it shouldn’t give you a hangover.” He smirks, obviously not believing it.

  “Never take drinking advice from Harry. I think he might actually be the only person I know to have blood with more alcohol than water in it.” I laugh.

  “You might be right about that,” Noah agrees, giving me a wry smile before his face falls flat again.

  “Why don’t we grab a coffee before class? I think it will help with the hangover,” I say, checking my watch.

  I didn’t account for the fact that Noah would be ready in five minutes when I woke him up, so we actually left the house on time. Who knew you could shower and get ready in just five minutes? I didn’t. That’s about the amount of time it takes me to put on just my mascara. When Noah came downstairs, he mumbled something to Helen about getting breakfast out, but I figured he just wanted to avoid her questions on why he was grumpy, slow, and, well, hungover.

  “I think you might be a coffee addict,” Noah comments, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “I think I am.” I laugh, agreeing with him.

  It brings a smile to his face, and before I know it, we’re around the corner and visiting the same coffee shop that we stopped in after class yesterday. It’s almost hard to believe that was yesterday afternoon. So much has gone on since then that it feels like a lifetime ago.

  Noah holds open the door, and the scent of cinnamon and baking bread hits me. I take it all in, knowing that I’d better enjoy the smell because I’m definitely not giving in to the fat and carbs.

  “Oh my word,” I say, letting the next scent—the smell of coffee—hit me. “It smells so good.”

&n
bsp; I turn to look at Noah, who takes a step into the café behind me. He looks indifferent, but then I think the smell finally gets to him, and instead of looking pleased, his face goes a little green.

  He shakes his head at me, his eyes going wide. “I’ll wait outside,” is all he manages to say before rushing back out the door.

  My lips pull into a straight line, and I feel bad for him. I thought food might help him, but a black coffee will have to do for now.

  “Here,” I say, walking back out a few minutes later, handing him a coffee.

  “Thanks.” He blushes, looking at me through his thick lashes. “Sorry about that. The smell—” he starts, but I stop him, holding up my hand.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I smile, taking a sip of my own coffee. And it is so freaking good. I practically moan as it hits my tongue.

  Noah takes a sniff of the coffee, bringing it up to his lips.

  “Why don’t you wait a bit? It’s a little hot,” I warn.

  I don’t think he’s one to typically drink coffee, and while I like mine to burn all the way down, it probably wouldn’t be the best thing for Noah to burn his mouth on top of being hungover.

  He gives me a nod. I walk next to him in silence, savoring the combination of warm coffee and the cool morning air. It wakes me up and makes me feel ready for the day. I watch as Noah brings the coffee to his nose, wrinkling it when he inhales the smell.

  When we finally take our seats in Statistics, I’m feeling jazzed. Noah hasn’t fought with me this morning. I’ve had a coffee. I’m on time to class. Things are looking good. Well, if you exclude the fact that I’m in Statistics. But even that won’t dampen my mood this morning.

  I think back to yesterday. The memory of Mohammad singing makes me chuckle. Then, my thoughts drift to Harry—taking photos with him in front of Buckingham Palace. The way he kissed me on the bus. And again when we first walked into his house.

  When I finally made it to bed last night, I wanted nothing more than to lie awake forever, dreaming about those moments, but the second my head hit the pillow, I passed out.