Page 4 of In Deep
“Took a tumble on the staircase a few weeks ago.”
My gaze leaps back up to him. He’s staring right at me.
“Oh god,” Sophia said, “did you hurt yourself?”
“A little bruised. I’m not sure about the other party.”
“Other party?” Sophia repeats in confusion.
“Soph,” Zane said, “who’s this?” He gestures towards me and butterflies flutter in my stomach.
“This is Rosie.” Sophia wraps an arm around me and squeezes. “Isn’t she gorgeous?”
I groan.
But Zane doesn’t respond to the question. His smile twitches and he simply says, “Nice to meet you, Rosie. And good to see you, Soph.” Then he turns and walks away.
We both watch him go, and then Sophia pinches my arm. “What was all that about?”
“I have no idea.”
“He was literally drooling all over you, and you could barely look at the guy. That’s Zane Amir. I think his family owns most of London.”
“I don’t care, Sophia.”
Sophia rests her elbow on the desk and leans her cheek against her palm. “How can you not care? The man is at least six foot five and he rows. Have you ever seen a rower’s abs?”
“Still not interested, Sophia.” Although, maybe I am, just a little.
“I wish I had your self-control.”
“No, you don’t.” I pinch her back. “You don’t even need to be here studying. This all comes naturally to you. You can afford to be out screwing around.”
“You’re a good influence on me. That’s what my mum keeps saying. Try to be more like Rosie. Focused, dedicated.”
“You make me sound so boring.”
“You know what they say – all work and no play … You could play with Zane.”
“Soph!” I flip to the next page of my book. “Do you think you could explain this to me again?” I ask, pointing to an equation. “I didn’t understand it in lectures.”
“Sure.” She shuffles the book around and runs her eyes over the problem. “Zane Amir,” she mutters to herself. I can hear the amazement in her voice and I have to confess I feel it too.
Chapter 3
My room in the halls of residence is the cheapest kind. It’s barely bigger than a box with one window, one cupboard, one desk and one narrow single bed. It’s painted the same beige they’ve used throughout the college, and the heater rumbles as it spews out warmish air.
It’s why we spend most of our time hanging out at Sophia’s. Hers is five times as big, with an actual bathroom, kitchenette and lounge.
We’re there, curled up on her sofa, reading through our lecture notes for a test the next day, when there’s a knock on her door.
We both look up.
Sophia shrugs at me as if to say she’s not expecting anyone, hops up, and skips over to the door
A small man wearing jeans and a hoodie stands in the doorway. I don’t recognise him, but of course Sophia does.
She squeals in delight and hugs the man in tight, dragging him into her room.
