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,
