Chanel Cleeton - London Falling

“Why?”

Samir draped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me toward the door. “It sounded like fun.”

I looked up at him. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with Samir?”

Fleur laughed behind me. “That’s what I said.”

Samir leaned down, his lips grazing my ear as if he were telling me a secret. “Maybe I’m not here for the bowling. Maybe I’m here for the company.”

Our gazes met. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. There was something in his eyes that made me think he wasn’t teasing. This felt like full-on flirting. More than pretending to be friends.

I let him maneuver me down the steps before he finally released me. I immediately missed the feel of his arm around my shoulders, of my body near his. I struggled for nonchalance, trying to put some space between us, trying to get my silly, racing heart under control.

Mya shot me a look, linking arms with me. “Still sure nothing is going on?”

“Nothing at all,” I lied.

We walked toward Gloucester Road tube station, heading for the Piccadilly line to Holborn. It was late enough that the streets were crowded with people on their way home from work. We walked as a group, occasionally separated by the stray pedestrian marching toward the station. I spent most of the time talking to Michael about his semester. He had a new boyfriend and had been spending most of his time with him. The rest of the group was pretty quiet.

We all piled onto the Tube, mashed against each other in the melee that was standard for London. I usually tried to avoid the Piccadilly line at rush hour when you got the truly awful combination of pissed-off commuters and wide-eyed tourists. Everyone sort of existed in a simmering rage, fueled by frequent delays.

By the time we got to Holborn and up to the street level, I felt like I’d just run a mile.

We walked toward the bowling alley, conversation picking up now. I checked out for a bit, my attention completely focused on my surroundings. I loved Holborn. For me, it was London at its most academic. It was the home of the London School of Economics, the Holy Grail of IR. They had these amazing lecture series that were open to the public; sometimes I’d go and listen to their world-class speakers. I’d sit in the audience and pretend I was a student there, doing a master’s.

“Daydreaming?”

I turned and grinned at Samir. He understood what this place meant better than anyone.

“Maybe.”

“Are you going to apply your senior year? You should.”

“I might. It’s competitive, though.”

“True. But you’re smart. You at least have to try.”

He matched his pace with mine, walking beside me down the street. We’d broken off from the others; I wasn’t sure if he’d meant to do it or not. For a few minutes, neither one of us spoke. His shoulder brushed against mine a few times, that alone filling me with anticipation.

“Fleur wearing rented, fake leather shoes. Highlight of your night?”

I giggled. “Definite highlight. I’m taking a photo.”

He grinned, and for a moment it felt like we were sharing a secret.

“She must really like him.”

“Why do you say that?”

He shrugged, a little smile on his face. “Because we all do things that are out of character when we really like someone.”

I froze, my heart stumbling in my chest. “We? I thought that wasn’t your style.”

“Maybe I’m not the guy I used to be. Maybe I never liked anyone enough.” He paused for what felt like an eternity. “Until now.”

I stared back at him, unable to formulate a response. I wasn’t sure what that meant, and part of me was afraid to ask. Something was up tonight. There was something different between us. I couldn’t read him, couldn’t guess what he wanted. It felt like we were always a beat out of sync.

We walked the rest of the way to the bowling alley in silence.

“Hey, Maggie.” I turned at the sound of Mya’s voice. “We’re forming teams. Why don’t you and Max team up?” She shot me a knowing look that wasn’t even kind of subtle.

Samir stiffened beside me.

“Sure.”

I smiled at Max. He was cute, with dark brown hair and green eyes. He had that all-American look I’d become familiar with back home. He did look built, although sadly I couldn’t make out the outline of the famous abs. I’d have to take Fleur’s word for it.

I could see why Mya thought we would be a good fit. We had the American thing in common, and he seemed nice enough. But I wasn’t that girl. Stupidly, maybe, all of my attention was focused on the brooding and off-limits boy beside me.

We all got our shoes and headed toward the lanes. The bowling alley was upscale, with almost a nightclub feel to it—so different from the rundown place I bowled at back in South Carolina. Fleur looked predictably put out by the whole thing, but surprisingly, she seemed to be trying. Samir hadn’t even bothered renting shoes. He’d decided he would just watch. Which I soon discovered meant he would watch me.

The first few games went by fairly quickly. Max was easily the best in the group, so it wasn’t a surprise when we quickly took the lead. Fleur was hopeless. But even she settled into the spirit of it all and was soon laughing with the rest of us.

And all the while I could feel Samir’s eyes on me as he sat at the table, slowly nursing his whiskey and Coke.

Samir

IT MADE HER happy—bowling.

Her smile lit up the room and her laughter filled it and I wanted her so badly it hurt.

I’d never met anyone like her. She didn’t seem to care that we were in a bowling alley. She was just as happy here as she was sitting in the VIP section at a club. She treated life like everything was an adventure, and found pleasure in the littlest of things. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt like that. Couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so taken by something or surprised by anything. Couldn’t remember feeling that kind of happiness—

Except with her.

I took another sip from my drink, the whiskey burning a hole down my throat. Maggie grabbed her ball and walked up to bowl. I couldn’t stop staring at her legs, at her ass. She looked ridiculously hot in her orange shoes.

That guy who was friends with George—Matt or something—walked up next to her. Right behind her. My eyes narrowed as she turned back and said something to him. He laughed.

I didn’t like him. He was American and tall and built and looked like he should be working on a farm or something.

He followed Maggie up to the bowling lane, positioning his body behind hers, showing her how to roll the ball. His hands gripped her hips, his arm moving with hers, mimicking the release. She wriggled her hips for a moment and I swear my heart stopped beating. He grinned at her, still not moving his motherfucking hands from her body, and I saw red.

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