* *
She hadn’t been kidding about the shopping. Thanks to Mya, I was now the proud owner of the world’s skimpiest dress. It was hot-pink and made of some sort of stretchy fabric. It barely covered my now highly enhanced boobs, courtesy of Mya’s padded bra suggestion. The hemline fell just below my butt. High heels completed the look.
I ran a brush through my long brown hair, wishing it did more than just lie flat and straight over my shoulders. I had wanted to wear my hair up, but Mya said the neckline of the dress looked better with it down. I figured her advice was worth following.
In high school, my clothes had been cute. My grandparents didn’t believe in spending a ton of money, but we had a decent selection at some of the discount stores. I had always been able to make do.
Here I was totally out of my element.
Tonight Fleur had left for the party dressed in a skintight white minidress I could have fit maybe one thigh in. The dress looked like something out of a magazine. So did Fleur, for that matter.
A knock sounded at the door.
I stumbled over in my high heels. Mya greeted me on the other side in a gorgeous red dress.
She whistled. “Girl, you look hot. My friend Michael’s going to give us a ride. You’ll like him. He’s American, too.”
Despite the school’s advertisement that a large part of the student body was from the U.S., I hadn’t actually met any other Americans. “Sounds good to me.”
I followed Mya out, stumbling slightly on the stairs. “Shit.”
“You okay?”
“It’s the heels.”
We walked out to the front of the building, where a guy leaning casually against a black SUV waved to Mya. He walked up to her, pressing a swift kiss on each cheek before turning to me.
“I’m Michael.”
“Maggie.”
He grinned. “Where are you from, Maggie?”
“South Carolina.”
“A Southern girl. Nice. I’m from Connecticut.”
He was cute—sandy blond hair and green eyes. He was dressed in a collared shirt and dark jeans. He was exactly the kind of guy I would have liked back home.
“You girls look great tonight.”
I fought off the blush. “Thanks.”
We followed him to the SUV.
Mya grabbed my arm before we slid into the backseat. “He’s gay,” she whispered. “I didn’t want you to get a crush on him or something. But he’s a great guy and I thought you guys might get along. You’ll learn early on, there are a lot of fake people here. Michael’s as real as they come.”
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
Inside the car was even nicer-looking, the interior a combination of leather and wood. Techno music played from the speakers.
I couldn’t help but feel like Cinderella on my way to the ball.
Chapter 4
The boat was packed, students crowding around the bar area and filling the dance floor. The DJ played some song I’d never heard before. The kids on the dance floor were going crazy, moving their bodies to the beat of the music. Tables lined the walls of the main part of the boat. In one corner a guy climbed on top of the table, spraying the dancing crowd with a bottle of champagne.
Mya nudged me. “Those are the guys from the Gulf.” I stared blankly back at her. “The Middle East,” she explained. “There are a ton of them here and they party like crazy. They drink Cristal and drive Ferraris and make little effort to go to class. Piece of advice? Avoid them like the plague. They come to London and screw around with girls they’ll never take seriously. They like to show off, and for the most part they aren’t bad guys—they just aren’t boyfriend material.”
I studied the kid spraying the champagne. Got it, no Arabs. They hardly seemed like my type anyway. Their cars probably cost more than the house I had grown up in.
“So who is datable here?”
Mya’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Good question. And a tough one to answer. Most of the guys at school you can rule out straightaway. At a school this small, everyone talks. Besides, with such a small dating pool things can get a bit incestuous.”
“Ladies, anyone care to join me for a drink?” Michael stood behind us, a bottle of champagne in hand.
Mya grinned. “You got the good stuff. Nice.” She turned to me. “Do you like champagne?”
I had no idea. Being able to drink legally as a college freshman had never seemed like an option. But here I was. “Sure.”
Michael handed the bottle off to one of the girls serving drinks at the tables. She wore black shorts so short I doubted she could bend over and a skimpy black tank top barely constraining her boobs. Compared to her I looked like I should be going to church.
Michael guided us over to a little table pushed up against the wall with a small reserved sign.
“Michael always buys tables,” Mya explained, sinking down next to me.
“What do you mean he buys tables?”
“See, this way we have bottle service and don’t have to go to the bar. Instead you can sit at the table all night if you want and the waitresses serve you from here.”
I nodded as though it made sense, even though I totally didn’t get it. What was such a big deal about having to walk over to the bar?
The waitress opened the bottle of champagne, filling up three glasses. The frothy golden liquid bubbled over the top.
“A toast!” Michael announced, grabbing the first glass and raising it high in the air. Mya and I followed suit. “To the start of another fabulous year!”
Our glasses clinked together. I took a sip of my drink, the bubbles exploding in my mouth. The DJ switched songs and loud hip-hop music came over the speakers.
“I love this song!” Mya grabbed my hand. “Come on, we have to go dance.”
I wanted to tell her no because the truth was, I wasn’t even sure I could dance. I had tried a few times at family weddings, but that kind of dancing looked nothing like this—bodies gyrating to the music in a seductive beat. I followed Mya out to the dance floor, looking around, trying to figure out what to do. Finally I began moving my hips, wishing desperately that I’d had more of a social life in high school to prepare me for all of this.
Mya jerked her head in my direction. “Your roommate’s here,” she yelled over the pumping beat.
I turned.
Fleur
