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One Weekend
Charlotte Byrd
Byrd Books
Contents
Copyright
Acknowledgments
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About One Weekend
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Epilogue
About One Semester
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Read the rest of One Semester
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Copyright
Copyright © 2016 by Charlotte Byrd
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Acknowledgments
Dear Reader,
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this book. Without you, I would not be able to do what I love. Your support and generosity means the world to me.
I’m particularly grateful to my devoted and dedicated Advanced Reader Team and all of you who have read and reviewed the book prior to its official release.
I’m also sending a special thank you to Mary Wolney, Amy Monroe, and Denise Denning Toups - the wonderful people who found all the typos and errors from one of the last versions of the book. Without you, this work would not be the book that it is! Thank you!
If you would like join my Advanced Reader Team and get FREE copies of my books in return for honest reviews, please email me.
If you just want to let me know what you think about my book, please don’t hesitate to write me. I love to hear from my readers!!
Love,
Charlotte
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About One Weekend
**Stand-alone novel with a Happily Ever After, Book 2 of One Love series**
* * *
What if you accidentally married the wrong guy?
Could the love of your life ever forgive you? Could you forgive yourself? After a tumultuous first semester at Columbia University, things are finally looking up for Alice and Tristan. They are in love and it seems like nothing can break them up. But then Tristan starts his internship at a Wall Street investment bank and his busy schedule pushes them apart. Eventually, Tristan asks to take a break, shattering Alice's heart and leaving her devastated. A trip to Atlantic City with friends seems like the perfect way to let off some steam. But what Alice doesn't know is that one weekend can change her life forever. After a few too many drinks, Alice accidentally marries Dylan, her friend and Tristan's roommate! Can Tristan ever forgive her? Can Alice ever forgive herself?
Prologue
Let’s recap.
Last semester, I came to college and discovered that my ex-boyfriend was going to be my roommate. Tristan Hilton and I dated for 2 years in high school and we were best friends for many years before that. That break up was the most difficult thing I’d ever experienced. And it took a while before I stopped freaking out about being his roommate.
My first semester at Columbia was a whirlwind. I made new friends – Juliet and Dylan, my other roommates, and Tea, a girl who Tristan dated for a bit. As time passed, Tristan and I slowly became friends and then more than friends. I didn’t want to take him back at first, but then I did and we had our happily ever after. I love him and he loves me. Yes, really. If you don’t believe me, go and read One Semester; it’ll have all the details.
We got back together after finals, right before Christmas break. But now that his parents no longer live in Calabasas, California, where we both grew up, we didn’t see each other until New Year’s Eve, when we went skiing in Mammoth. He met me at the airport with a bouquet of flowers. He said he loved me. And we spent the weekend making love and skiing. And eating a few s’mores here and there.
1
As I get into the cab, I’m excited at the prospect of coming back to my new home here in the city. For one thing, my roommates were no longer strangers, but friends. Old friends. And like that old Dolly Parton song goes, “you can’t make old friends.” Unlike my first semester here, this time around, no introductions are needed. We’re going to start off right where we had left off. Laughing. Talking. Reminiscing. I can’t wait.
From what I heard, Dylan Waterhouse, my roommate who grew up in Connecticut and whose father owns a posh apartment overlooking Central Park, is back with Peyton, his high school girlfriend. Dylan and Peyton, who goes to Yale, had broken up and got back together numerous times last semester. According to Juliet, my roommate from Staten Island whose father owns a string of dry cleaners, they had got back together and broke up twice over Christmas break. But I guess they’re going through an on period. All this drama gives Juliet an insane amount of delight despite the fact that she and Dylan had a thing for close to a month last semester and I was expecting her to be a little bitter over the whole thing.
And the thing that’s even better than old friends is an old love. My old love, to be precise. I hadn’t seen Tristan since we had gone skiing on New Year’s.
“Alice!” Tristan yells as I get out of the cab in front of our building. He wraps his arms around me as I try to fish out a $10 bill to tip the cab driver.
He has recently shaved. His skin feels smooth and smells of coconut oil, his DIY aftershave. I wrap my arms around him and hug him as tightly as I can. And then…my heart jumps into my throat. I take a breath. My chest hurts and no air comes in. My heart starts to beat faster and faster. One more second and it’ll pop out of my chest.
“What’s wrong? You okay?” Tristan asks.
He pulls away from me.
“I’m sorry. I’m just…” I mumble. “I can’t breathe.”
“Oh my God, Alice. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head. “I just need a minute.”
I double over and put my head in between my knees. I’ve never had a panic attack, but that’s what I heard Dr. Drew say to do in situations like these. Tristan patiently pats my back and waits.
I take one deep breath. And then another. Slowly, my heartbeat r
eturns to normal. It hits me. It’s love. I’m actually overwhelmed by love.
“Okay, I’m good.” I stand up straight. I’m no longer sweating, but I’m suddenly keenly aware of how sweaty I am. My shirt is soaked and I’m getting colder with every second. Tristan stares at me with his brows furrowed and his face as serious as I’ve ever seen it. He’s concerned.
“Sorry about that,” I say. “I just got a little too excited about seeing you, I guess.”
He takes me into his arms again.
“Are you okay?” he whispers.
“Yeah.” I nod. “I think that was a mini-panic attack or something. No worries. It’s over.”
I look up at Tristan’s face. At the end of last semester, his tan had started to wear off. But now, it’s back again. It’s almost certainly from surfing and skiing over Christmas break. I take a moment to admire how nice his body feels next to mine. Even through all the layers of clothes, his arms feel strong and powerful. His piercing eyes sparkle under the lights of the city and alternate between hazel and green depending on the angle.
Tristan’s light brown hair is longer than it was last semester, falling into his face. I move a few strands out of his face. My fingers brush over his lips, which are glittering and soft despite the cold weather and lack of Chapstick. He purses them and kisses my fingers lightly. Then he pulls me closer. Tilting my head upward, he kisses me. His tongue brushes across my upper lip and my knees grow weak. We start to move in unison, as if we’re dancing to the same melody. My breaths match his breaths. His shoulders drop at the same time as mine rise. It’s a game of give and take with neither of us giving or taking too much.
A sudden gust of wind assaults us, bringing us back to reality for a moment. It’s almost 10:30 pm and 23 degrees on Broadway in January.
“Let’s go inside,” Tristan whispers without pulling away from my lips.
“Okay,” I mumble back. This is our special game – talking through our kisses. It’s something we have done forever and it’s one of the things that I love most about us.
2
We go upstairs. Juliet, Peyton and Dylan are there, hanging out in the living room. Juliet and I share one room; Dylan and Tristan share another. We all share the living room, kitchen, and bathroom. After a ton of hugs and kisses, the guys serve us all drinks and we catch up. Or rather, I catch up. Everyone else has been here for a few hours already and, from the looks of it, the drinks were already flowing.
I haven’t seen Juliet since December, and I’m taken aback by how beautiful her hair is. Juliet is a voluptuous brunette with porcelain skin and to-die-for silky hair. I don’t know how she makes her hair so shiny, but I’m jealous. She gave me all of her products to use last semester, but my hair never got that lustrous, no matter what I did.
Dressed in high heel boots, a tight turtleneck sweater and a short black skirt, Juliet is the epitome of chic. I, on the other hand, look like the ‘90s threw up on me. I’m wearing leggings, a shabby t-shirt that’s way too thin for this weather, and a plaid button down shirt.
Dylan hands me a beer. He’s dressed in his usual uniform – a Nautica sweater, loafers, and slacks.
“Hey, Dylan, do you own any other clothes?” Juliet asks as if she’s reading my mind.
“What do you mean?” He shrugs.
“No, he doesn’t,” Peyton laughs.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Dylan asks, looking down at his clothes.
“You look like you just stepped off a sailboat in Nantucket.” Peyton smiles.
She’s making fun of him, but it’s obvious that she loves him and his clothes. He’s an L. L. Bean cover model and she’s the Connecticut queen on his arm.
Come to think of it, Juliet and Peyton could be sisters. They have almost identical chocolate hair, similar disapproving looks, and opinionated, know-it-all, coy smiles. Except that Juliet’s a lot curvier than Peyton. That’s really an understatement. Peyton’s so thin, she’s practically malnourished, and that’s coming from someone who lives in LA.
Dylan and Juliet play beer pong while Peyton’s nose is stuck in her phone. The fact that Juliet and Dylan are still on good terms is shocking to me. I mean, they slept together for over a month last semester after Peyton fell in love with her Resident Advisor at Yale. And yet, here they all are – Dylan and Peyton are back together without bruised egos or hard feelings and Juliet and Dylan are friends again. Honestly, they’re the epitome of some sort of post-relationship awakening – the image of modernity.
“Okay, kids,” Juliet says, finishing her beer. “It’s been fun catching up, but I’ve got to go. I have a date.”
“You’ve only been here a day and you’re already going out?” I ask.
“Hey, mama’s gotta play.” She shrugs.
“So who’s your date?” Tristan asks.
“His name’s Brayden. He’s a stockbroker,” Juliet announces in her usual way. Name, occupation or major. I’m Alice, English major. Dylan is Dylan, undecided. And Tristan is Tristan, economics major.
* * *
* * *
As soon as Juliet leaves, Tristan nudges me to go unpack in my room. I smile and tell everyone that we’re going to go unpack. They all nod and pretend they don’t know what we’re going to do.
“You think you’re so mysterious,” I say when we’re both alone in my room.
“No, not really.” He shrugs and pulls me close to him. “I just want to be alone with you.”
Tristan presses his lips onto mine. My knees grow weak again. Shivers run up and down my body.
“No, no, no.” I shake my head. “I do actually have a lot of unpacking to do.”
I pull away from him and unwrap his arms from my body. But when I lean over my suitcase, he’s around me again. Holding me tight. Close. I feel my body temperature rising.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he whispers in his most soothing voice. I smile. Turn around to face him. It’s not that I don’t want him. I do. More than anything.
“What do you want?” I ask. The huge smile on my face is so wide, it’s hurting my face, but I can’t make it vanish.
“You,” he says and tosses me into bed.
“You’re as light as a feather!” Tristan adds, the words that every girl dreams of hearing.
He climbs on top of me, cradles my head. He moves my hair off my neck and kisses it lightly. His kisses send shivers down my body and make my feet feel numb.
I lift his head up to my lips and kiss him on the mouth. I bury my hands in his hair. His hands remain at my sides, but his lips move along with mine. I feel him push into me.
I hear footsteps outside the door.
“What’s that?” I ask, pushing him away.
“Nothing,” he mumbles and starts to kiss my neck again. He gives me light little kisses along my collarbone, driving me wild. But something at the door is worrying me.
“What if Juliet comes back?” I ask.
“She won’t,” he says without stopping. “She’s on her date.”
“So who’s that? Outside?” I ask.
“Shhh.” He puts his finger across my lips. “That’s just Dylan and Peyton. They won’t come in.”
“How do you know?” I ask. I don’t know what’s worrying me. But something is making me stall. I’m trying to buy time. But why?
“They won’t come in because I never intrude on them. They owe me.”
I know he’s right. I take a deep breath. Just relax. I’ve done this a million times. We’ve done this a million times. This is Tristan. You love him. And he loves you.
As Tristan’s mouth makes his way from my collarbone further down, to my breasts and then around my ribs and down to my belly button, I start to relax. All thoughts of intruders suddenly vanish and I’m calm.
Wordlessly, Tristan pulls off my shirt and undoes my bra. He stands above me as he pulls off his own shirt. He isn’t flexing, but the muscles in his stomach still make a perfect six-pack.
“You’re s
o hot,” I say, running my fingers over each pack.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” he says, snuggling out of his jeans. He kisses me lightly along my hipbones and tugs at the top of my leggings. I’m getting warm in between my legs. I lift up my butt to help him pull them off me. With one quick swoosh, I’m suddenly completely naked. No leggings, panties, or socks.
Tristan presses his body close to mine.
“You feel nice,” he mumbles, as we start to move in unison. I thread my fingers into his hair. His thick hair is so silky that my fingers can’t seem to find traction.
He kisses me behind the ear as he finds his way into me. We fumble around at first, trying to find the right pace. But quickly, start to move together. Energy builds up within me. I let out a moan.
“I love you,” he moans into my ear.
“I love you too,” I whisper as he sends me over the edge. I curl my toes as warmth pulsates throughout my body. I close my eyes and disappear into another world. Tristan moves faster and faster until he collapses on top of me.
My mind goes blank as my body goes limp. I can’t feel the lower half of my body.
“Thank you,” he says, sighing and rolling over next to me.
“No, thank you,” I mumble.
3
We lie quietly next to each other for some time before either of us speaks again. It’s still hard to believe that I’m lying here, next to him.
Tristan Hilton.
The guy who was my best friend for many years until one afternoon when he kissed me and we became more than friends. In high school, I thought he was the love of my life. And when his family moved up to the Bay Area in the beginning of our senior year, my heart broke into a thousand pieces. But he promised me that we would make it. We would go away to college together and we would be together forever. And after we finally made it through that year apart, when we got into the same school and almost had everything we had ever dreamed of, we broke up. No, that’s not true. I say that to make myself feel better. But it was really he who broke up with me. The world turned to black. And there was nothing I could do to bring life into it. And then things got worse. I came to college, thinking I would start over, and I found out that he was going to be my roommate!