Number 32.
I put the key that Helen gave me in the lock, pressing into the door as it opens. I can smell bread baking. My first impression of the place remains. This house exudes warmth. Soft music is coming from the kitchen, and the sound of the television drifts from the living room.
I pull my coat off and walk through the entry and into the living room where I find a man seated with one leg crossed over the other, working on the crossword puzzle. He looks up at me through thick glasses and seems momentarily surprised.
“Hi there,” he gets out, flustered.
“Hi.” I smile at him. “I’m Mallory.”
He sets down his newspaper and gets up, taking a few short paces before he’s standing in front of me.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mallory,” he replies warmly. “I’m Gene.” He pushes his thick glasses back up on his nose and then offers his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you too,” I reply, giving it a shake.
Once the formality is over, he looks a little awkward, like he’s not sure what to do or say next.
“Ah, you two have met,” Helen says, peeking in from the kitchen. “I was just telling Gene that I sent you off to school this afternoon to collect your things. How was it?”
“I got everything figured out, I think,” I say, taking a seat on one of the couches. It feels like I’m falling into a cloud, and with the fire cracking and the amazing smells coming from the kitchen, I’m pretty sure if I closed my eyes for a second, I would fall asleep.
“Very good,” Gene comments, picking up his crossword again. “Did you have an easy journey?”
He peers at me over the paper. He crosses one leg over the other again, and his slacks pull up, exposing navy-and-white socks. They’re the same color as his button-up, and I wonder if he’s more fashionable than I imagined or just that detailed in his outfit choices.
“It wasn’t bad,” I reply, thinking back to the plane ride. “About seven hours direct, and I’m pretty good at sleeping on planes.” I grin at him, which causes him to smile back at me.
“A nice nap does always make the time pass quicker,” he agrees.
I hear Helen’s giggle from the kitchen.
“Gene is the king of napping. I swear, the whole world could be in flames around him, and he would be asleep peacefully in that chair.”
He looks in her direction, and I watch as their eyes connect. They are definitely still in love. Gene looks back down at his paper, concealing his smile, while I get comfy on the couch, daring to close my eyes for just a moment.
“Oh goodness,” Helen says, causing me to force my eyes back open. “I almost forgot that you haven’t met our son, Noah, yet.” She calls out, “Noah! Come down and meet Mallory.”
We wait for a moment, all three of us looking toward the staircase but not hearing any movement.
“Can’t hear anything over those games,” Gene comments, shaking his head.
“Oh. Mallory, dear, why don’t you run upstairs and just pop in his room and say hello? I’ll call up to you two in a few minutes once dinner’s ready,” she urges.
“Okay,” I reply, pulling myself up off the couch.
I can see why Gene might sleep through anything. The couch is comfortable, and with the warmth of the fire, I wouldn’t want to leave either.
I slowly take the steps one at a time, my energy crashing. I walk past Mia’s room—well, my room—and head to the door on the left. I knock once but don’t hear anything, so I turn the handle, pushing into the room.
The first thing that catches my attention is the lack of stuff. It’s almost the complete opposite of Mia’s room. She has walls covered in pictures, her desk lined with trinkets. I take a step in, looking at the bare walls. There is a bed with a blue patterned comforter, a hamper in the corner with clothes tossed into it, and one dresser with a few books and trophies atop it. There really isn’t anything else, and it has me completely intrigued.
Because, well, boys are usually messy. And dirty. But apparently, not this boy. His room is tidy and sparse. His bed is even made, for goodness’ sake. I walk over to the dresser, picking up a picture frame, running my finger along its edge.
“What are you doing?” a deep voice says from the doorway.
I almost drop the picture, but I set it back down on the dresser, trying to slow my heart rate.
I turn to the voice and take in the boy who must be Noah.
And let me tell you, he is gorgeous.
His chestnut hair grazes his ears, and he has a dark shadow of stubble along his jawline. I let my eyes slide down his body, taking in his tall, lean frame before finally connecting with his eyes.
Don’t even get me started on his eyes. I feel like I’m practically swimming in their rich brown color, and I’m mesmerized by them—until he opens his mouth to speak, and I instantly fixate on his lips.
Because they’re rounded and plump.
And with the softness of his lips set against the strong line of his jaw, I can’t even come up with anything to say. I just stare at him.
“I said, what are you doing?” he repeats, stepping into his room.
A flush comes to my face because—holy shit—I’m standing here, just staring. And not only staring, but also practically drooling.
“I’m Mallory,” I reply, clearing my throat, trying to find my voice.
He takes another step closer to me, his presence hitting me like a wall.
“Well, Mallory, it’s great of you to join us again,” he says, sounding perturbed.
“Excuse me?” I ask, taken aback by his rudeness. I cross my arms and try to stand my ground.
“You’ve arrived just in time for dinner, I see,” he continues. “And you’ve also managed to time it to where you showed up just after Mum made me haul your three cases up the stairs and into my sister’s room.” His eyes flare with every word.
He brushes past me, moving to sit on his bed, and I really hate him for it. Because now, I’m standing here, staring at him with my mouth open, looking completely ridiculous.
“Your mom told me to leave them there,” I sass back. He’s pissing me off. It’s not my fault Helen wouldn’t let me take my own bags up. “If you had given me the chance to thank you, I would have. And for your information, it wasn’t like I was out, gallivanting around. I was at school, getting my locker code and spending a small fortune on hideous uniforms.” I try my best to sound convincing because, well, technically, I was kind of out, gallivanting around.
I suddenly realize that I probably smell like cider. And the pub. Holy shit, he’s going to know.
He rolls his eyes at me, but his face softens. “Fine. I’m Noah.”
I calm myself by sitting on the corner of his bed and extend my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Noah.” I give him my best fake smile and try not to roll my eyes.
What a stupid and rude boy.
I mean, come on! Even though I wasn’t exactly coming from school, I was there today. And Helen had told me to put my cases there. It isn’t my fault that she insisted he carry them up for me.
To her, chivalry isn’t dead. But apparently, to Noah, it’s nonexistent.
He shakes my hand, disinterested, and then pulls away. Noah looks me over, and I don’t know how it makes me feel.
Because Noah is hot. And he also seems like a total jerk.
“I thought the British were supposed to avoid conflicts in conversation at all costs,” I ask, trying to lighten the mood.
I lean back on my elbows, getting comfortable. His bed is soft, and I almost consider leaning back fully and just going to sleep.
“Well, I’m not like most people.”
“Obviously,” I state. “Most people don’t get so worked up over a few suitcases.”
“Are you kidding me?” he says, sitting up more but still resting his back against his headboard. “Those weren’t just any normal cases. It’s like you’ve got bodies stuffed in there or something. You were informed that you’ll only be stay
ing here for three weeks, right?”
He shakes his head, and I watch his hair bounce as he moves.
“I thought you had a sister,” I counter. “You of all people should understand. Besides, I brought only essentials.” Well, maybe that isn’t true, but I would like to think all of my fifteen pairs of shoes are essential.
“Essentials? You’re going to be in a uniform all week. Yet you somehow managed to pack as though you’d be gone for months.”
“Yes, I realize,” I huff, my mind moving to the ugly plaid. “And honestly, I don’t need the reminder. I didn’t really want to accept the fact, but I was forced to this afternoon when Ms. Adams escorted me to the school shop and made me sign my soul away to the land of plaid skirts and button-downs.”
Noah’s eyes crease at the corners, and his lips rise on one side, pushing up into a sort of half-smile. Or maybe it’s a smirk. He lets out a genuine laugh. It’s deeper than I expected.
“The uniforms are a nightmare,” he admits. “So stiff and constricting.”
I raise my eyebrows at him, my dirty mind wondering what part he’s referring to as being constricted.
“Haven’t you grown up, wearing them though? I would think that you’d be used to them by now.”
Noah runs his fingers through his hair, and I turn onto my side as I prop myself up on my elbow.
“Yeah of course, but it doesn’t make it any better.”
“Fair,” I tell him.
Noah’s eyes move from my chest and down my legs. When they work their way back up, I feel a flush rising with his gaze.
“Why were you in my room, Mallory?”
My eyes go wide at his question.
Is he trying to be rude?
Or maybe seductive?
His voice is low and deep, and I can’t figure out what he’s thinking. The realization hits me that I’m sprawled out across his bed. And I don’t even know if I’m welcomed to be.
I slowly sit up. “Your mom told me to come up and introduce myself. She said she’d call us when dinner was ready.” Why else would I be in your room?
Noah nods his head at me. “What do you think of my room then?” he questions, his eyes drilling into mine.
“Well,” I say, feeling a little more comfortable as he changes the subject, “I like it actually. It’s clean and organized. It shows that you’re probably a bit more the straight-and-narrow type.”
“Really?” he asks, his nose crinkling up like he doesn’t believe me.
“Well, obviously. And your sister’s room is crazy and fun. She seems like she’s super free and artsy.”
Noah nods. “Mia is exactly that. She’s stubborn but carefree. We’re pretty different in that way.”
“I can imagine,” I comment back, laying my head down onto the bed and looking up at the ceiling.
There’s a moment of silence, and I half-wonder if I should say something, but then Noah speaks, “And what are you? If we were in your room, what would it say about you?”
I think back to my room at home. “It would say that I don’t care for a lot of clutter. I like organization but style. It would say, I enjoy being refined, collected, and in control.”
“Our rooms seem to be quite chatty, don’t they?” Noah comments, that half-smile coming back.
He raises his perfectly shaped eyebrows at me, and I realize that he cracked a joke.
“I suppose they are,” I agree, letting out a laugh and feeling all the tension from before deflate. “I think that’s why I’d like to be a realtor. It’d be fun to match people’s personalities to properties.”
“Dinner!” Helen calls out, and we’re suddenly both up off the bed and walking downstairs.
Gene is already at the table, and I’m basically right there with him because the food smells amazing. Helen sets dinner onto the table, and we immediately dig in.
My eyes practically roll back with pleasure after trying her potatoes.
“Mum’s the best cook,” Noah says to me, taking a bite of a green bean.
I nod in agreement. “This is absolutely delicious. Thank you,” I say to her.
No one really says anything afterward, and dinner is a little awkward, but I didn’t expect anything else from my first night here. I do my best to answer the few questions Gene asks me, most pertaining to my travels and New York. I have to work painfully hard to keep my eyes open. I feel like I could fall asleep right here, but it’s the last thing I need.
Not because it would be embarrassing, even though it would be, but because of Noah. He hasn’t said anything else to me. He just keeps staring at me from across the table. And I can’t figure out what to make of him. He is intense. And kind of rude. But also has this odd sense of humor that’s sort of funny.
And he did carry up my bags.
A knock echoes in the room, and everyone turns to look in the direction of the front door.
“Noah, dear, will you get that, please?” Helen says, taking another bite of her potatoes, seemingly not fazed by the interruption.
“Yeah,” Noah says, pushing his chair back and walking to the entryway.
I hear him speak to someone. Then, the door closes, and he’s back, standing in the living room with two bags in hand.
“Delivery,” he states, looking at me.
“Oh! My uniforms,” I say, standing up from the table.
“More clothes. Shocking,” he says flatly.
“Here,” I say, walking over to him. “I’ve got it.”
I try to grab on to the bags, not wanting this to be yet another thing that he holds against me. Because, honestly, I can carry my own freaking bags up to my room. But Noah won’t let go, and I end up in a tugging match with him, trying to set my uniforms free from his hands.
“Don’t be silly, dear,” Helen says. “Noah will take it up to your room for you after dinner. Now, both of you, come sit back down and finish your meal.”
Noah raises his eyebrows, taunting me, and frees himself of my grip. He sets the bags down onto the ground and moves past me, back to the table.
“Now, don’t forget school starts at eight,” Helen continues. “Of course, you’ll walk with Noah to school. He’ll make sure you get to where you’re going. And he will wait for you after your last class. Nothing to fear about your first day,” she goes on, seemingly pleased with herself.
“Mum,” Noah says, looking at her, shocked, like the thought of having to walk with me to school is unbelievable.
And I take offense to his reaction. Because you know what? I’m not too thrilled about it either.
“It isn’t any trouble, is it, dear?” Helen says firmly, pointedly looking at Noah.
Noah sighs, almost in defeat. And I find the fact that he seems to have a soft spot when it comes to his mother mildly satisfying.
“It isn’t any trouble,” he repeats even though his facial expression says the exact opposite.
“I’m glad that’s settled,” Helen states before getting up and clearing the table.
By the time I’m tucked into bed, I can’t even imagine waking up in the morning for my first day of classes.
Monday, September 23rd
No freaking breakfast.
Statistics
I barely make it into my seat as the bell rings, struggling to catch my breath. “I can’t believe you,” I whisper angrily to Noah.
“You can’t believe me?” he replies, glaring at me. He crosses his arms in front of him, causing his oxford shirt to pull tight across his chest. “It took you forever in the bathroom this morning. Mum made me wait for you.” He shakes his head.
His rude comment makes me turn my attention away from his well-defined arms and broad shoulders and back to his annoying mouth.
“Seriously? I thought I would be kind and let you stick to your routine, and I would adapt to it. I was trying to be thoughtful. But what does that get me, ladies and gentlemen?” I say, raising my voice.
Noah’s eyes switch from indifferent to attentive, and he star
ts scowling at me.
“That almost gets me a tardy pass on my first day and no freaking breakfast.”
“You’re dramatic.” He rolls his eyes at me before grabbing on to his backpack and pulling out a notebook.
“No, I’m really not,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m now without food or coffee, and I have to sit next to you.”
At first, his comment pisses me off, but then I realize something and smile. Noah’s eyes catch mine, and he tilts his head.
“What?” he asks.
“Well, since I have the joy and honor of sitting next to you in Statistics each morning for the next three weeks, I intend to make you pay for inducing my morning crankiness. If you don’t give me more time in the bathroom, it will be my mission to make Statistics hell for you,” I reply, feeling smug.
Take that, Noah! My deduction skills are sharper than I expected this morning, and I silently pat myself on the back.
Noah’s face softens, and he leans closer. The scent of fresh soap envelops me, and my mind is torn between appreciating it and being mad about him being a bathroom hog.
“Can I let you in on a little secret?” he asks, his eyes staying connected with mine.
It’s not the response I was expecting, but I keep my gaze locked on his.
“What?”
“I happen to be good—well, actually, great—at statistics. Now, you, on the other hand, apparently aren’t the best at it. So, though your threats are entertaining, you’re going to need me.”
My mouth drops at his statement as he leans back into his chair. How in the hell did he know I was pissed about taking Statistics?
I practically growl at him, trying to shoot daggers out of my eyes, but he just lets out an easy laugh as our teacher walks through the door.
“Settle down, everyone,” he says, smoothly sliding his briefcase onto the desk before taking a seat on the edge, casually crossing his feet.
From his glasses and rolled chinos, I can already tell that he’s the avocado-toast type. He looks smart and cultured, and he wants you to know it.
“All right, since you’re all aware, today is the due date for our projects. First off, I want to congratulate those of you who completed it and warn those of you who haven’t. This is a large mark, and each day late will lose you points. If you haven’t gotten it in, come and talk with me after class. For those of you who have, well done.” He smiles. “Today, we will go around and hear what each of you have been working on over the past week and a half, but before we do, I’d like to introduce you to a new student.” He nods his head at me, motioning for me to stand up.
London Prep Page 4
