Taking The Reins (The Rosewoods Book 1) (2 page)

“Thanks,” I said. “I’m Brooklyn Prescott.”

She smiled again, “I know. I’m the orientation coordinator; they give me the files of all the new girls. Nice to meet you, Brooklyn. I’m Seychelles Spencer. But you can call me Chelly, sounds like Shelley, but spelled with a C-H. I’m a junior, too, so we’ll definitely be getting to know each other.” She hugged the clipboard to her chest with her left arm and stuck her right one out to shake hands.

“Seychelles? What a nice name.” Thanks to Dad’s job and both of my parents’ love for travel, I had a pretty good knowledge of world geography. So although I’d never been there, I knew that Seychelles was a country made up of tropical islands near Madagascar in the middle of the Indian Ocean, known for its remote beauty.

She rolled her eyes. “I was conceived on my parents’ honeymoon there. How’s
that
for a name legacy?” She fake gagged, making me laugh. She also made me wonder (and not for the first time) if I got
my
name thanks to my parents conceiving me while traveling to New York City. Mom always said she loved New York, and I wasn’t about to ask her, but you never know. Seychelles was so much more exotic, but maybe it was better I didn’t know for sure that my name was thanks to some horny vacation sex while mom was extra fertile.

Ugh, I wasn’t far behind with the fake gagging. Enough about that, though. I had more important things going on, and anyway, Seychelles was talking to me.

“I didn’t realize you were British,” she said. “I thought you were American?”

I smiled. “I am American, but I’ve been in London for a couple of years, so the accent sneaks in. It will wear off soon enough. My British friends still think I speak totally American, so I guess I sound funny to everyone.”

“Well I for one think it’s darling,
darling
,” Chelly said in a drawl that I’m guessing she thought sounded British (but didn’t). She also gave me a big wink. I liked her already and hoped we’d share some classes. Speaking of classmates...

“So, uh...” I said, looking around at the throng of students around us.

“Yes?”

“This is going to sound like a weird question...”

She waved me off. “I’m orientation coordinator; it’s my job to answer all of your questions about Rosewood. Nothing is too weird.”

I leaned in. “I thought there weren’t supposed to be any boys here?”

Chelly stared at me for a second and then took a breath and looked around. “Right. Yeah, there are boys here today helping with move in. They’re from the all-boys school a few miles from here: Westwood.”

Oh. Well
that
was disappointing.

She nodded sympathetically and I realized I must have showed my disappointment on my face. “I know, it’s a drag, right? But don’t worry, there are lots of opportunities to hang out with them. Not the same as a co-ed school, of course, but you won’t have to live like a nun for ten months.” She winked and then her eyes widened. “Unless you want to, I mean, some girls...not to say you’re a ...”

I laughed again and interrupted her stuttering when it sounded like she was just going to make it worse. “It’s okay, I knew what you meant. It’s not like I’m easy or anything, but it is nice to have guys around.” I was hardly easy—I’d barely even gotten to second base.

Chelly waggled her eyebrows at me. “True story. Anyway, once you get checked in, we’ll get your stuff up to your room. Newbie orientation and tour is tonight at seven after dinner, so don’t bother trying to find your way around this afternoon—just get settled in for now.” She glanced down at her clipboard. “Your roommate is Celia Thomas up on the third floor.”

My heart fluttered. “Any relation to Kevin Thomas?”

A smile spread across Chelly’s face. “The three-time Oscar Award winner?”

I held my breath but nodded.

“His niece.”

Wow. Okay, I shouldn’t have been quite so starstruck and Dad had warned me a lot of the kids here had famous and very important parents and that I shouldn’t get all fangirl on them, but it was hard not to get excited about being the roommate of the niece of such a famous (and hot, let’s be honest) actor.

“Seychelles!” someone hollered from one of the booths on the other side of the lawn. “We need you over here!”

Chelly gave me a shrug. “That’s my cue; I’ll see you tonight at orientation, if not before, okay? Welcome to Rosewood!”

And with that, she was gone. I turned back toward the front of the line in which I was now second, and thought about my first moments at Rosewood. Okay, so there were no guys, but if the other students were as nice as Chelly, I would do okay. And I was about to be the roommate of the niece of a VIP.

Or not.

I
finally got to the front of the line. I got checked in and was handed my room key and a map of the huge building in front of me with a highlighted trail from the front door to my room. Easy. Maybe too easy?

I was thanking the girl at the desk for her help and was about to look around for Chelly to assign me ‘some muscle’ to help with my trunk, when I was hit from behind, shoving me into the table and completely knocking the wind out of me.

“Oof,” is the involuntary sound I made as all the air was pushed out of my lungs.

“Shoot, sorry!” came from behind me as I gasped for air and then turned, ready to give whoever had come plowing into me a few choice words.

But when I saw who had run into me, words and the sudden anger dissolved in my throat. Because the guy standing in front of me, breathing hard from, I guessed, running a marathon that didn’t stop until my body got in the way, was gorgeous.

Like, movie star gorgeous. Zac Efron gorgeous.

And the sheepish smile and pleading raised eyebrows just made him that much more so. And then I wondered if he
was
a movie star, on campus at Westwood in between shoots or something. He didn’t look familiar, but he sure had that look about him. He had messy brown hair that was a lot longer than the military cuts I was used to seeing on most of the guys in my life. Maybe it wasn’t always messy, but it looked like it was suffering the effects of the aforesaid marathon. Honestly, in that second my fingers tingled, wanting to run through it or fix it or just
feel
it.
Something;
I was dying to touch it.

His mouth, turned up on the right in that killer smile which was obviously begging my forgiveness, was full and lush and made for kissing. And as I took in the shape of his lips, I realized in horror that I’d just licked my own.

I quickly lifted my eyes to his, which darted up to mine a half a second later. Busted,
he’d
been looking at
my
mouth, too.

Awkward.
My face got hotter and redder and I kind of wanted to crawl under the check in table. But then I realized, unless I was having a stroke, impairing my vision,
he
was blushing, too. Which was pretty adorable in one of those high school teen movie moments.

But still, I stood there paralyzed, trying to get my brain with the program, because deep down somewhere, I knew social protocol dictated I say
something
.

Luckily, he came to the same conclusion. “I’m really sorry,” he repeated. “I’m totally late; I was supposed to be here like an hour ago, but I was helping this freshman get himself moved in and as I was running up, I tripped and...” he gestured toward me and took a deep breath, still huffing a little from his run.

“You ran into me,” I said. Like it wasn’t obvious what had happened. But I said it with a smile, like he hadn’t knocked the wind out of me. Although even if he hadn’t, I had a feeling just meeting him would have rendered me breathless. As it was, my heart was racing and not just from the physical contact.

“Right. Like I said, sorry about that.”

I waved him off.  “So you’re here to help with luggage?” I asked, holding my breath as I waited for his answer.

Suddenly, he did a big flourish with his right hand, bowed in front of me and said, in a very stiff and British voice, “Willmont Leander Gareth Davidson at your service, ma’am.”

I couldn’t help the smile. “That’s your name?” It sounded like a stuffy old man’s name. Not that I would have said that out loud, but all he was missing was “The thiiiiiiird” drawled at the end.

He saluted and clicked his heels together. “Indeed, ma’am.”

I laughed, suddenly picturing him in a livery outfit. Cute
and
funny? This guy was a heartbreaker for sure. I bet he even had a six-pack to round out the package. “Willmont,” I said, trying it out.

He cringed and gave his head a shake.

“Will?” I tried, giving him a sideways glance.

He looked up, as if considering it. “Better, I guess,” he announced and then ripped the map out of my hand. He glanced at it and then at the front of the school. “Third floor?” he groaned. “I bet the girl behind you is on the ground floor; I should have been a few minutes later.”

I felt instantly guilty and it was my turn to apologize. “Sorry. Isn’t there an elevator?”

He frowned at me and then made a big show of flexing his arms like a bodybuilder, not that I could see any muscles through his Westwood Academy sweatshirt, but my imagination could fill in the blanks. “How am I supposed to impress all the new girls if I use the elevator? Hmmm?”

“You’ll just have to do it with your wit and charm.”
And by the way, mission accomplished
, I didn’t say.

He rolled his eyes and then gave me an incredulous look. “Nice try. I know your type. You’re all into caveman displays of strength and virility.”

“Hardly,” I said, silently cursing that my voice broke on the single word.

“Whatever,” he said and bent to grab a handle of my trunk, the weight of which obviously surprised him. “Jesus, are you sneaking your boyfriend in here, or something?”

“No! I don’t have a boyfriend,” I blurted out. Ugh.
Smooth one, Brooklyn. Like this guy is
really
interested.
There was no way on this planet earth that this guy wasn’t already taken, with like fifteen girls in the wings.

He glanced at me, obviously amused, and then looked away, scanning the crowd. Probably for his girlfriend...

“Hey Jenks!” He hollered, looking toward another guy in a Westwood hoodie who was talking to Chelly as she consulted her clipboard. “Jenks!” he repeated. “Over here.”

Jenks (First name? Last name? Nickname?) finally looked up at Will, nodding before turning back to Chelly. He said something to her and then nudged her gently with his elbow before coming over. The way Chelly smiled and watched him walk away from her, it was obvious she was checking out his butt and liking what she saw. I could hardly blame her (were
all
the guys from Westwood movie-star beautiful?) but it was a bit embarrassing, nonetheless. I caught her eye and she winked, obviously not quite as embarrassed. Maybe Jenks was her boyfriend; that little elbow nudge he gave her was telling and I couldn’t exclude the possibility that they were a couple.

She sure could do worse; tall and ginger, with his Prince Harry good looks and a butt I hadn’t yet seen, but was Chelly-approved, he certainly held his own in the cute guy category.

“Grab the other side, would you?” Will said as he leaned down again to grab the steamer trunk handle.

“Where to?” Jenks asked, looking at me, not yet making a move to help Will with the trunk.

“Third floor,” Will answered for me before I could open my mouth. “South wing.”

Jenks groaned but then suddenly turned toward me. “We haven’t met, so I’m going to assume you
didn’t
choose a room at the very end of the third floor just to torture us.”

The old, shy Brooklyn would have fallen over herself to apologize over the location of her room (which I had no control over) but the new Brooklyn decided she wanted to flirt a little more with this very cute boy in front of her. And his friend.

I glanced at Will before looking Jenks in the eye and saying, “As a matter of fact, I did it just so you boys could impress me with displays of your strength and virility. I am a cavewoman at heart, after all. Carry on.” I waved at the trunk, feigning impatience.

Jenks looked at me like I was insane, but Will barked out a laugh, making me feel clever and a little bit powerful. “I like you,” he said, picking up the trunk. “Come on, Jenks, you heard the lady...er...cavewoman.”

Before picking up the trunk, Jenks turned to me and stuck out his hand. “Evan Jenkins, since that clod over there didn’t see fit to introduce us.”

“Hey,” Will said. “I would have.”

We both turned and looked at him, waiting.

“Evan Jenkins, this is...” he looked at me for help, since he must have realized in that second I hadn’t told him my name.

I smirked and held out my hand. “Brooklyn Prescott. Nice to meet you.”

Evan smiled. “Likewise. Now let’s get this ridiculously heavy trunk upstairs.”

“Brooklyn,” Will said, like he was considering my name, the same way I had his only moments before. “I like it.”

“I’m glad it meets your approval,” I said, enjoying our banter.

“Come on, you two,” Evan protested, picking up his end of the trunk. “You can flirt on the way.”

I almost choked on my own saliva.

Running ahead of them so I wouldn’t have to respond to Evan’s remark or worse, acknowledge it in front of Will, I led the boys up the concrete stairs, through the open doorway and into the Rosewood main building.

From the research I’d done online when my parents told me I’d be attending, I knew the dorms were in this main building, along with administrative offices, dining hall and some of the smaller classrooms. Behind it was the rest of the campus, scattered about in several stone buildings, many that were smaller copies of this one. There was also a running track, baseball diamonds, soccer fields and a whole indoor sports complex, with an Olympic sized pool, squash courts and a full gym. Not to mention the stables—what I was most excited about. I’d had to give up my equestrian lessons when we’d left the States—Mom refused to drive in England, and with Dad always off at his meetings, I was stuck without any way to get to stables. But now that I was attending a school with horses, I was eager to get back into riding.