London Prep: Book Three

  Table Of Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Friday, October 4th

  Saturday, October 5th

  Sunday, October 6th

  Monday, October 7th

  Tuesday, October 8th

  Wednesday, October 9th

  Thursday, October 10th

  Friday, October 11th

  LONDON PREP

  BOOK 3

  ————————————————————-

  JILLIAN DODD

  Copyright © 2020 by Jillian Dodd

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  Jillian Dodd Inc.

  Madeira Beach, FL

  Jillian Dodd, The Keatyn Chronicles, and Spy Girl are Registered Trademarks of Jillian Dodd Inc.

  ISBN: 978-1-946793-66-9

  Friday, October 4th

  Don’t sleep with him tonight.

  11:45pm

  “I …” I stutter, feeling caught in Noah’s hand.

  Caught in his words.

  Don’t sleep with him tonight. Promise me?

  I can smell Noah all around me. His musk is so thick that I can barely breathe.

  “You can’t ask that of me,” I finally say, tears pooling in my eyes. One escapes, rolling down my cheek and searing a line into my skin.

  I wish I were crying because I was angry. Because I was mad at him.

  But I’m crying because … I feel heartbroken.

  At my words.

  At the expression that forms on Noah’s face as he nods his head, understanding.

  Because he looks like he might cry too.

  It looks like with one statement, I’ve shattered him.

  And my stomach feels like it might bounce up and out of my throat or fall through me.

  Noah doesn’t say anything else. He just holds on to my hand, nodding his head, his eyes staying closed.

  He looks perfect.

  Lying in bed, drunk and broken, he still looks perfect.

  “Get some rest,” I whisper, wanting to soothe him. Wanting his expression to relax. I drop his hand, and my lip starts quivering. My heart feels as if it were being ripped out of my chest.

  I rush out the door, wanting to scream at the sensation. Or cry. I’m not sure if I’m hurt or scared or actually injured, but I can’t even distinguish what I’m feeling.

  But then anger rises in me. I want to slap Noah for asking that of me. I want to go back in and yell at him and tell him that I can do whatever I want.

  And that I will.

  He doesn’t have a say in what I do.

  In who I’m with.

  Tears burst from my eyes, and I rush into the nearest bathroom, falling onto the floor in a heap.

  How did everything get so messed up?

  Where did I go wrong?

  I cry, knowing I did this to myself.

  I cry because I have real feelings for both Harry and Noah.

  And tonight, I let Noah get into my head. I let him get to me.

  I put myself into this situation.

  My whole body shakes as Noah’s words echo in my ears.

  Don’t sleep with him tonight.

  Promise me.

  I let out a sob, thinking about his expression. About how helpless he looked. Because even if Noah wants me, he will never have me.

  I could never just be his.

  No matter how he feels, Harry cares about me too.

  And despite my connection with Noah, I care about Harry. Which is what makes this so hard.

  So confusing.

  If Harry knew what Noah had just said to me and saw how I’d reacted, he would never speak to me again. He wouldn’t be able to look at me.

  I didn’t promise Noah. But I didn’t tell him off either.

  I just stood there, feeling myself break apart. With Noah, it’s like I’m stuck in limbo, in this space where I can either be nothing or everything. In which Noah wants all of me for a moment. For even a second.

  He wants everything I have to offer.

  Please.

  Don’t sleep with Harry.

  We have a connection.

  Promise me?

  But then, as usual, the moment is gone.

  And he’s asleep.

  And he’s back to being my friend.

  Or hating me.

  Or wanting me to be with Harry.

  And that isn’t fair to me.

  That isn’t what I want.

  What—or who—I want is Harry.

  The boy who is waiting for me.

  The boy who is sweet and gentle.

  The boy who isn’t willing to give me up.

  The boy who cherishes me, who says I’m his angel.

  I sit on the bathroom floor and cry, getting it all out.

  I let myself mourn what could have been with Noah. Because I know that it—we—will never be anything.

  Despite my feelings for him, I don’t want that.

  This whole time, we’ve been lying to ourselves. At least, I’ve been lying to myself. I like Noah. I care about him deeply. And there has been more than one moment when I’ve wanted him.

  But nothing has ever happened.

  I’ve never let it.

  And neither has he.

  We’ve been dancing around one another like magnets for so long that, at some point, we’re bound to give in and come together—or break apart.

  And tonight … tonight, I think we broke.

  I don’t know what this means for our friendship.

  Or if we can even have one after this.

  Maybe we shouldn’t.

  What I need to do is pull myself together.

  I need to pick myself up and go back to Harry.

  Because despite being dragged through emotional torture, love doesn’t have to feel that way.

  Relationships should be beautiful.

  They don’t have to be earth shattering to be important.

  And tonight can still be special for Harry and me regardless of if we have sex.

  Tonight isn’t ruined because Noah is constantly conflicted.

  Because he’s always stuck, trapped by his emotions.

  But I’m not.

  My life can continue on regardless of what we are.

  Regardless of how he feels.

  And I want it to continue with Harry.

  I’m not going to let Noah’s words or his inaction ruin what Harry and I have built.

  I let out a groan, wiping at my face. My insides are twisted up so tightly that I’m stuck between feeling furious and relieved.

  Because Noah never seemed to care what was going on in my relationship with Harry.

  But now, once I’m happy, that’s when he decides to speak up?

  When Harry and I have finally found our footing and are starting to get serious, that’s when Noah decides to tell me he wants me?

  After he told me that he retracted his offer?

  Noah says we have chemistry.

  That he wants me.

  That he cares.

  But he asked me not to sleep with someone else even though he knows that he will never slee
p—or be—with me.

  And it’s bullshit.

  The thought pisses me off even more.

  I get up off the floor, pushing my shoulders back.

  I’m not going to spend another second crying over Noah or his words. Because Noah’s a wreck.

  He’s beautiful and alluring. Timeless. But he will take me down with him, and together we will sink.

  I turn on the faucet, bringing a handful of water up to my face. I wash off my makeup, clearing away the streaks of mascara running down my cheeks.

  Once my makeup is gone, I press my hands down over my hair, making sure it’s still in place. I look at myself in the mirror, taking in my reflection. My eyes are red, but my skin is clean. I look like a blank canvas. Like I’ve washed away my makeup, my tears, my disappointment.

  And I needed to. But now, it’s time to turn things around.

  To have fun. To go back to Harry.

  To show myself that I’m not weighed down by Noah’s words.

  That he can’t get to me.

  Special, special, special.

  12:10am

  I walk out of the bathroom, feeling like a different person. I don’t feel like someone who just had their chest cracked open. Like someone who was lying on the floor, crying. I feel like someone who has made a decision.

  I feel like someone who knows exactly what they want.

  I feel powerful. Like nothing can stop me.

  I quicken my steps until I’m back in the billiards room, my whole body searching for Harry. I scan the room, easily finding him. He’s relaxing on a sofa, a glass hanging lazily in his hand. I take in his wide grin, watching as he sits, talking to Mohammad and Olivia.

  I move toward him, past Naomi and George, who are in the middle of a game of pool. She’s leaning over the table, aiming her shot.

  Harry must not notice me because he looks surprised as I sit down on the couch next to him.

  “Hey,” he starts.

  But before he can continue, I kiss him, pressing my lips against his, forcing his mouth open, slipping my tongue in. I place my palm against his jaw as he kisses me back, feeling like I can finally breathe again.

  I break our lips, pulling back to find Harry looking at me happily. I turn my attention to Mohammad and Olivia, who are both gawking. Mohammad’s eyes are the size of saucers, and Olivia’s mouth is about to come unhinged from hanging open so far.

  She forces her mouth shut and narrows her eyes at me.

  “Noah all right?” Harry asks, breaking the silence.

  His blue eyes are on me, and I instantly feel bad for being such a disaster upstairs.

  Because I know this is what I want.

  “He’s fine.” I nod, the reply falling easily out of my mouth. “But now that he’s been put to bed, I’m ready to have some fun.”

  “Anything particular in mind?” Harry asks, cocking his head to the side.

  His eyes are sparkling at me, and I bite my lip, taking in his strong jaw and wide smile.

  “Shots,” I declare, glancing over to Mohammad and Olivia.

  Because I am very ready for a drink.

  The entire drama that just unfolded with Noah had a sobering effect, and at the moment, I can’t think of anything better than feeling happily buzzed. I don’t want to think about Noah or what he said. And now that he’s finally upstairs and asleep, it means I can let loose. I know that he won’t be silently judging me from a corner or longingly looking at me like our lives are some Shakespearean tragedy.

  No.

  I want to have fun with my friends and flirt with Harry.

  I want to be happy.

  And dammit, I’m going to be.

  “Fuck it, let’s do some shots,” Harry says, standing up from the couch.

  I take in Mohammad’s expression, watching the wheels turning behind his eyes.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask, trying to figure out what he’s so focused on.

  “We can’t just do shots,” Mohammad finally says.

  “Don’t tell me you’re already done for the night.” I pout.

  Because Mohammad is probably the most fun out of everyone here, and if he’s having a good time, I know everyone else will too.

  “Hell no, Miss America,” he says, swatting his hand at me like I just insulted him. “I’m thinking one better. Body shots.”

  He wiggles his eyebrows at me, and I grin, not even thinking before I answer, “I’m so down.”

  Harry looks at me, stunned, but before he can say anything, I pull Olivia up off the couch.

  “We’re doing body shots,” I call out, capturing everyone’s attention.

  “That sounds disgusting,” Olivia says at my side as I drag her over to the pool table.

  “It sounds fun,” I correct, not taking her attitude.

  Because if I’m going to have fun, then she needs to have fun too.

  I turn my gaze to George and Naomi, realizing that this is going to interrupt their game.

  “Do you mind if we clear off the table?” I ask.

  “For body shots?” George laughs, already pushing the balls into the pockets. “Not. At. All.”

  I walk over to the liquor cabinet, Mohammad at my side.

  “We need limes,” he says, shifting around the bottles until he finds some tequila. “And salt. Lots of salt.”

  Before I have a chance to say anything, he’s out of the room. I pour myself a shot of tequila, deciding that I might as well do one now, just to take the edge off.

  I down the shot, letting it burn.

  “Already started?” Harry says at my side.

  I can feel his breath on my cheek, and it warms me more than the tequila.

  “Don’t worry. I promise I’ll stay standing long enough to do a shot off of you.” I look up at Harry through my lashes, wishing that it were just the two of us alone in this room. I pour myself another shot, deciding one more won’t hurt.

  “Someone’s getting a little heavy-handed,” Harry says, stopping the shot glass at my lips.

  “For you then?” I ask, holding it up for him.

  He glances between my lips and the glass, leaning in closer. His blue eyes are on me as he takes the glass from my hand and throws the shot back.

  I smile at him as Mohammad rushes back into the room.

  “All right, we’ve got everything we need,” he says, setting down a plate of lime wedges and a saltshaker next to the tequila.

  “How are we supposed to do body shots when we’re all in dresses?” Naomi asks, now at my side.

  I look between us, realizing she’s right.

  “That’s a fair question,” Olivia adds, crossing her arms.

  And I can tell from her tone that she isn’t too happy about me kissing Harry so openly.

  “The boys will have to just make do with licking salt off of us,” I reply, shrugging.

  Because even though body shots sound fun, I’m not about to hike up my dress to let them suck tequila out of my belly button. If anything, the fact that we’re all wearing dresses sort of saves us from getting sticky.

  “That’s not as fun.” Mohammad pouts, pouring tequila into a shot glass.

  “Cheer up. We can still take the shots off of your stomachs.” I smile and raise one eyebrow at him.

  “I think that’s fair,” Harry cuts in, his eyes on me.

  I flush, wishing Mohammad would just let us skip the whole body shot part and move straight to the drinking tequila part.

  “All right, who wants to go first?” I ask.

  I glance between Olivia and Naomi, but neither of them looks convinced. George has a huge smile on his face while Thomas seems more hesitant. Katherine and Collin look excited but stay quiet.

  “Fine, I’ll go.” I push my shoulders back and decide that if I want this to happen, I need to take the initiative. “And I’m calling upon Naomi to be my body.”

  I grin at her.

  She tilts her head at me, a smile forming on her lips.

  “I accept
.” She giggles, bouncing up and down like she’s proud to be the first one chosen.

  And I think just about everyone in the room watches her boobs bounce, more distracted by her chest than her excitement.

  Naomi moves to the edge of the pool table, her hands preparing to brace her weight. But before she can jump up, George’s hands wrap around her. He picks her up and then sets her down in one fell swoop.

  “There you go.” He smiles at her, nodding his head in approval.

  She beams back at him.

  I roll my eyes and move past him.

  “All right, lie down,” I instruct.

  Naomi scoots her butt further onto the table, splaying herself across the dark green fabric. Her dress tumbles out around her, and she really does look beautiful.

  “Here,” Mohammad says, handing me a lime.

  “Would you mind holding the shot glass?” I ask.

  I contemplate letting George do it, but I think he might be too distracted to stay focused on the simple task. His eyes have glazed over, and he’s looking at Naomi laid out on the table like he’s never seen anything so perfect.

  And I can’t blame him.

  “No problem,” Mohammad agrees, handing Naomi the salt.

  “Where do you want it?” she asks, leaning up with the saltshaker.

  “Wrist.” I lick her wrist and pour some salt onto it. I hand her the lime, instructing her to lie back down and put it into her mouth.

  “Tequila?” Mohammad asks, holding out the shot glass.

  My eyes slip down Naomi as I try to decide where I could set the glass.

  “Cleavage, obviously.” I grin at him, poking one of Naomi’s boobs.

  “Hey …” she says, but with the lime in her mouth, it comes out muffled, and she starts laughing instead, her chest shaking.

  Mohammad tries to place the shot glass down on her, but it won’t stay still.

  “No laughing,” I say, willing my voice to be firm.

  But I just end up laughing along with her. And I’m not the only one. Everyone else seems to be chuckling, watching Mohammad struggle to set down the glass.

  “If you don’t stay still, the tequila’s going to end up on you,” Olivia warns, looking amused.