I See London 1 by Chanel Cleeton

Author:Chanel Cleeton [Chanel Cleeton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: College Students, New Adult Romance
ISBN: 9781459255470
Google: Kc0xAQAAQBAJ
Amazon: B00FNJVRYQ
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-02-02T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

“Three, two, one…happy new year!”

I stared at the TV, watching the glittery ball drop in Times Square. It was depressing as hell to ring in the New Year by myself.

My grandparents had lasted until ten before going to bed. Jo and I were supposed to hang out together but she got sick, leaving me with a New Year’s Eve special hosted by a pop star I’d never even heard of.

If I were in London right now, I’d probably be out at some fabulous club with my friends. In South Carolina I sat by myself in a pair of ratty old pajamas.

Four more days.

My phone beeped. I leaned over, grabbing my cell off the table.

Happy New Year xxxx

It was a British cell number, but not one I recognized.

Thanks. Happy New Year. Who is this? I hit send and waited for a response.

A minute later—

Samir…what are you wearing? Xxx

I burst out laughing. Classic Samir. It had only been a few weeks since I’d last seen him, but I missed him. Even despite our fight. I missed joking around with him—no one else gave me shit like he did and no one else made me want to throw it back. I couldn’t resist—

Wouldn’t you like to know?

A few seconds later—

Yes.

My heart pounded. My phone beeped again.

I’m sorry about that night. I was worried about you.

I blinked, re-reading the text, surprise filling me. I’d never heard Samir apologize for anything. And the fact that he was worried about me? That was new. I’d only seen him worry about Fleur.

The thing about Samir—which I would never, ever tell him—was that it was tough to stay mad at him. He was too funny, too charming when he wanted to be, too everything.

I’m sorry, too. I was drunk and angry.

I hit send and set my phone down, flipping off the TV.

A minute later my phone rang. “Hello?”

“Hi.” Samir’s voice filled the line.

I grinned. “Hi.”

Silence descended.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No. Not at all. I was just getting ready for bed.”

“So it’s the perfect time.”

“Something like that.”

“Wish I could be there.”

I chuckled, the knot in my chest slowly unraveling, “Sure you do.”

“How’s your break going?”

Horribly. My dad hadn’t even bothered calling on Christmas. And the “gift” he’d gotten me screamed of my grandmother’s attempt to buy something and pass it off as being from him.

“Let’s just say I’m ready to go back to London.”

“God, you and me both.”

“Where are you?”

“Gstaad. Switzerland. Skiing. It’s cold. I hate being cold.”

“I don’t know how you bear it. Rough life.”

He laughed. “Sometimes.”

I looked around the tiny room I grew up in—the worn carpet, the sheets I’d had since middle school. I doubted our lives could have been any different. It was weird to see my life overlap like this—the old and the new.

We made conversation for a few minutes—small talk about the weather, what our friends were up to. I lay back in bed, curling up under the sheets, listening to his voice, his accent lulling me to sleep.

“Maggie?”

“Yeah?”

“Getting sleepy?”

“Sorry. Yeah. It’s late here.

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