London Prep: Book Two

by Dodd, Jillian

“I did. I remember hearing your voice over my shoulder, and at first, I was annoyed. I had just sat down. But then I turned around and found you.” I grin across the table at him.

  “I think I have a way of winning people over.”

  “I think your lips have a way of winning people over,” I correct.

  “I told you from the start, I’m a good time, Mallory,” Harry says lightly.

  “It’s kind of funny actually. I was thinking that if I’d met you back in New York, I’m not sure we would have hit it off.”

  “What, you think my charm and wit wouldn’t have won you over across the Atlantic?”

  I laugh at his comment. “I think that, when I got here, I was … relaxed. I mean, I wasn’t relaxed, but I wanted to have fun. I guess I was open.”

  “You were … open?” Harry asks, tilting his head to the side.

  “I was open to having fun. To letting loose. Normally, I can be a bit … intense.”

  “You’re stubborn,” Harry agrees.

  “I am not.”

  “You are.” Harry laughs. “But I like that about you.”

  “You like a challenge.”

  “I do,” he says with that cocky smile. “But I don’t want you to be one. You’re not some game to me, Mallory. I hope you know that.”

  I search Harry’s face, finding him to be serious.

  “I know that.” I reach for his hand across the table.

  When he holds my hand, when his fingers lace through mine, it sends a tingle up my arm, and I bite my lip at the sensation.

  “You’re blushing,” Harry comments, his eyes on my cheeks.

  And it makes me blush even more that he notices.

  “No matter how well I get to know you, I think there are always going to be times when you make me blush.”

  He leans forward and says intently, “I hope so.”

  Marco comes back to our table to take our order. I order pasta with an olive-oil sauce while Harry orders pizza and a salad.

  “I can’t believe you ordered a salad.” I laugh as Marco walks away with our menus.

  “I had to.” Harry laughs back. “If I had just ordered pizza like I wanted, Marco would have had my head. His lecture would have never ended, and I would have had to give in to him, probably ending up with a five-course meal.”

  “So, you’re going to pawn off your salad to me when his back is turned?”

  “Exactly.” Harry grins, raising his eyebrows at me.

  I lift my water glass, taking a sip. “So, Naomi is sleeping over tomorrow night.”

  “Really?” Harry replies, looking shocked. “I didn’t realize your girls’ day had gone so well.”

  “It was actually really fun. She reminds me so much of my friend Anna, back in New York. I’m kind of excited to hang out with her. We’re having a girls’ night. Going to do face masks.”

  Harry raises his eyebrows. “Have a pillow fight in sexy pajamas?”

  “You wish.” I grin. “But seriously, I think it will be fun. And today, at Yoga, I, um, actually invited Olivia.”

  “No way,” he says in disbelief.

  “She said no. But I did ask her. I told you—and I told her—I want to get along. It was my sort of olive branch, if you will.”

  “You could give Olivia the whole olive tree, and it wouldn’t mean shit,” Harry says, glancing over my shoulder.

  “Clever.”

  “I’m just surprised you even asked. You of all people know how she is.”

  “And that’s exactly why I asked. But it doesn’t matter; she’s not having any part of it.”

  “Is that really so surprising?”

  “Not really,” I admit. “But I tried.”

  “We can’t talk about Olivia anymore. It’s a new date rule I’m instating,” Harry says, pulling my hand back across the table into his.

  “Fine,” I agree, dropping the subject of Olivia. “Tell me something. A secret.”

  “A secret?” Harry asks back, biting his lip.

  I nod at him.

  “I love crisps.”

  “I already knew that,” I tell him, shaking my head. “So, it doesn’t count as a secret.”

  “My grandfather gave me this signet ring,” he says, glancing down at his pinkie. “It’s sort of a family heirloom.”

  “That’s special,” I say, examining the ring.

  “That isn’t the secret though. The secret,” he says, leaning in closer, “is that I wear it as a reminder of the men I came from. The men I never want to be like.”

  Harry’s face grows serious, his jaw twitching. I look down at the ring, not sure how to feel.

  “Harry, do you think that you wear your insecurities on your sleeve?” I don’t know if I should have asked him that, but I’ve been wondering about it ever since Noah said it.

  Harry runs his thumb across my hand and then lets out a heavy sigh. “You can’t hide from your past, your family. You can’t hide who you are. It’s foolish to try. It’s better to constantly be reminded of what you want—or in my case, don’t want.”

  “You said before that, one day, you’ll be expected to put on a suit and tie, and you will. How does that match up with not wanting to be like your dad or your granddad?”

  Harry shrugs. “I’m not sure, honestly. I guess that’s something I haven’t figured out.”

  I nod, biting my lip. “I appreciate you being honest. And for telling me a secret,” I add with a smile.

  Harry gives me a shy smile, but we’re interrupted by Marco and our food.

  I figured it was the end of that topic, but once the pizza, pasta, and salad are all spread out across the table and both of our plates are filled, Harry continues, “You know, I only told you a secret, so I could get one back.”

  “What do you want to know?” I ask as I take a bite of pasta.

  And it’s delicious. My eyes practically roll back as the flavors of basil and garlic mix in my mouth.

  “Something dirty hopefully,” Harry says with a grin, but then his face turns serious again. “Honestly, anything.”

  I take another bite, trying to think. It’s hard to come up with a secret when you’re put on the spot, and I’m actually amazed at how quickly Harry shared one with me.

  “I’ve always wanted to be a realtor. My mom, even while I was growing up, was usually off at this lunch or that event. It always felt like she is really busy, doing nothing. Accomplishing nothing. I think that scares me,” I admit.

  “Not accomplishing something?” Harry asks.

  “It sounds bad, and I know it’s not right to say that about my mom because she loves her life. Her and my dad’s life. Maybe I just want to feel important. Work is one way people get that satisfaction filled, I suppose.”

  Harry smiles. “Most people want that. To feel fulfilled. Like what they’re doing matters. You shouldn’t be ashamed that you want that.”

  “I guess there are worse ways to feel fulfilled,” I say shyly.

  “Can I tell you another secret?” Harry says as he wipes his mouth, finishing his pizza.

  “Tell me.” I nod.

  “This place,” he says, looking around, “I’ve never brought anyone else here.”

  “Not even Noah?” I ask, the question slipping out of my mouth before I can stop it.

  “No.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  “It’s good to have something for yourself, you know? Sometimes, it’s nice to feel like you have a part of your life that isn’t for anyone else. That no one else knows about. It can’t be judged.”

  “You know that Noah, even Mohammad, would never do that to you, right?”

  “I know,” Harry confirms. “But you’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to bring here.”

  I take in his words, realizing that they mean more to me than the date or the flowers, because Harry just confided in me.

  We finish our food, say good-bye to Marco, and then are off, walking down the street.

  “Thank you for tonight,” I sa
y, wrapping my hand around Harry’s arm, hanging on to him. “Dinner was amazing.”

  But more than just dinner was amazing. Harry opened up to me tonight.

  He shared secrets with me.

  He took me to a place that he hadn’t taken anyone else.

  And I’m starting to wonder if I’m going to be the one who is slow to open up. Because I thought Harry would be hard to crack. I thought, with all of his struggles, with his family, he would never let me in.

  But he’s been sweet and romantic.

  He’s been genuine.

  And he’s not holding back.

  “I’m glad you liked it. But the night’s not over.”

  “It’s not?” I ask, glancing up at him.

  “Of course not. I promised you dessert!”

  A few minutes later, we’re around a corner, standing in front of an American diner.

  “Oh my God,” I state, taking everything in.

  The restaurant has a 1950s drive-in vibe. The place is busy. Waitresses are flying around, and a wide bar sits along one wall with the kitchen behind it. Burgers and French fries and milkshakes are at almost every table.

  When we slide next to each other in a booth, Harry grins at me. “What do you think?”

  “It’s awesome.”

  “I thought it was fitting. Figured you might be missing home, and nothing cures homesickness like comfort food.”

  I take in Harry’s easy expression and instantly feel so much for him. I want to cry in his arms and hold him and kiss him, all at once.

  I pull him to my lips.

  Harry’s hand moves to my waist, and he kisses me back.

  It’s a slow, soft kiss. And it’s perfect.

  A waitress interrupts our kiss, handing us a menu, and a few minutes later, she comes back, taking our order for one giant banana split.

  “It was really thoughtful of you to bring me here,” I say, placing my hand on his thigh. “Though I’m not sure there are actually any diners in New York like this.”

  “Don’t get too excited,” Harry replies, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. His fingers move to the top button at his neck, undoing it. “I was going to take you back to my house, to my bed,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “But Mum’s home, so the sexy night I had envisioned wouldn’t have gone quite as planned.”

  “Could you imagine your mom walking in on us kissing and feeding one another dessert in your room?” I laugh.

  “Oh, I can imagine it,” Harry says, shooting me a wink.

  “I would be mortified.”

  His cheeks turn pink, and I wonder if maybe he would be mortified too.

  “Holy shit.” They’re the only words that come out of my mouth when the waitress sets down our banana split. Because. It. Is. Massive.

  Harry looks like he’s in heaven, taking in the ginormous bowl of banana, chocolate, and ice cream that is all for us.

  “I love America,” Harry says, taking the first bite of ice cream, shoving a spoonful into his mouth. His eyes practically roll back.

  “Enjoying yourself?” I tease.

  Harry takes another bite, licking his spoon full of whipped cream clean. “I definitely am.” His blue eyes connect with mine before he looks down, seeing my clean spoon. “You’re not eating?”

  “I was just enjoying watching you eat first.” I grin, my stomach fluttering, “You’re distracting.”

  “Imagining my tongue a few other places?” Harry waggles his eyebrows at me.

  I flush at his words, feeling like I’ve been caught. Because even though part of me was just admiring his enthusiasm for the dessert, another part of me was thinking about me being on his lips instead.

  “Here,” Harry says, pushing a spoonful of chocolate and banana toward me.

  My lips part in response, and I take in the flavors. “Wow. That is really good.”

  “Tell me about it,” Harry says, stabbing the banana, breaking a piece off. “Have another.” He brings up a spoonful to my mouth, this time with more whipped cream and nuts than anything else.

  I’m not normally the type to like being fed, but Harry does it almost mindlessly, in between his own bites. And I like that he does it.

  That he thinks about me so naturally.

  I pick up my spoon, scooping up another piece of banana. I push the whipped cream to the side, knowing that if I eat too much of it, I’ll definitely have a sugar headache in the morning.

  But Harry doesn’t seem to notice because, a second later, his finger is in my mouth, and I’m sucking warm chocolate off of it.

  “Harry,” I whisper, flushing again.

  I look around the diner, but no one is paying any attention to us.

  There are a few groups sipping on milkshakes, fighting over baskets of fries.

  “What?” he replies, biting his lip before refocusing his attention on our dessert.

  “So, what do you think? Did this fulfill your date-night delight fantasy?” I ask, grinning.

  I dip my finger into the whipped cream, placing a dollop on his nose. Harry wrinkles it and wipes the cream away with his finger.

  “I think I would rather have you covered in chocolate than this banana,” Harry whispers. He leans closer to me, smelling of sugar and chocolate. “But for tonight, this will have to do.”

  Harry presses his lips against mine, and I push my fingers through his hair, pulling him harder against my mouth. When his tongue slips across my lips, I know that I would much rather be in bed with him than here at this diner.

  “Mmhmm,” I say, ending the kiss. “You know, I was thinking, we should meet at school early tomorrow.”

  My mind moves back to school today, to Mohammad upset in Latin.

  After the awkwardness at lunch and the weirdness between Mohammad and Noah and me the past few days, I think we could use a fun morning tomorrow. A sort of fresh start.

  Well, as fresh of a start as you can get on a Wednesday morning before school.

  “Oh?” Harry replies, his blue eyes growing brighter. “Someone want to get freaky in a classroom?”

  I roll my eyes at him. “Someone was thinking that things have been sort of weird between you, me, Mohammad, and Noah. I think Mohammad was upset that you didn’t confide in him last night even though he would never really admit it. And Noah’s always upset about something. Anyway, I think I have an idea that would bring us all together.”

  Harry’s eyebrows dip in, his forehead creasing. “Don’t tell me you want a foursome.”

  “Harry!” I shove his arm, but his mouth forms a silly grin, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from grinning along with him.

  “No,” I state. “I was thinking that we should meet up at school early tomorrow to figure out why exactly Mr. Johnson always comes to class so happy.”

  I grin at Harry—well, more at my brilliant idea of bonding us—and raise my eyebrows at him.

  “Fuck yes,” he replies, his eyes lighting up. “I’m so down.”

  “Good. I think Mohammad will love it. I think he misses you.”

  “Can you blame him?” Harry replies cockily.

  “Can you be more self-absorbed?” I fire back.

  “I could be.” Harry winks but then drops his smile. He laces his hands around my waist, pulling me closer to him. “It will be fun. And you’re right; the boys will love it. A little early morning adventure.”

  “A little early morning adventure,” I repeat, liking the way that sounds.

  “I’ll message Mohammad,” Harry says, grabbing his phone out of his pocket, sending out the text.

  “And I’ll make sure to tell Noah.”

  Harry nods at me before taking another bite of banana split. His gaze flicks up to me, and I want to drown in his blue eyes.

  “Tonight’s been amazing,” Harry whispers, his lips at my ear.

  His hand slips down to my thigh, and it sends goose bumps across my skin.

  “Tonight has been amazing,” I barely get out as Harry’s lips find their way ba
ck onto my own.

  A sweet tooth.

  10pm

  Harry walks me home and kisses me on the front steps.

  I really don’t want the night to end, but somehow, I manage to make it in the house and up to my room just before ten. I quickly change and get ready for bed.

  I’m hanging up the dress I wore when I hear Noah in the hallway.

  “You never mentioned that you had a date tonight,” he says, leaning against the doorframe.

  “I didn’t think you would care,” I reply.

  I can’t help the smile on my face. Because, now, anytime I look at this dress, I’ll think about my date with Harry and how perfect it was.

  “I don’t,” Noah states.

  “So, why would I tell you then?” I ask as I plop down onto my bed.

  Noah clenches his fist at his side, looking irritated, but then he smiles at me. “Because you wanted to be my friend.”

  “What?” I say, confused.

  “You wanted to be friends,” Noah repeats. “I thought friends told one another if they had something important going on.”

  I think about what Noah said.

  You wanted to be friends.

  “Yeah, I guess friends normally would. But it’s weird, Noah.”

  I pull in my feet, sitting crisscross. I half-expect Noah to stay at my door, but he falls onto the end of my bed and lets out a sigh.

  His brown eyes move to meet mine. “I don’t want it to be weird.”

  “I don’t either.” But just because I don’t want it to be doesn’t mean that it isn’t. “I don’t know what I can tell you or what I’m supposed to say.”

  I smooth my hair with my hands, fidgeting.

  “Relax,” Noah says, grabbing my hand. He brings it down into my lap, dropping it there. “You can tell me everything.”

  “Everything?” I question.

  “Of course.” He nods his head, his brown hair bouncing. “Nothing is off-limits, so that way, you have nothing to worry about. Don’t think about how you sound or if you make sense. Just say how you feel.”

  I search Noah’s eyes, wondering if he really wants me to say how I feel. “Can I ask you a question then?”

  He nods.

  “Do you just want to know that I have a date, or do you want to know how I felt about that date? Because I feel like those are two completely different things.”