One Year (New & Lengthened Edition) Read online

  One Year

  Charlotte Byrd

  Byrd Books

  Contents

  Copyright

  Acknowledgments

  Want to Hear about New Releases First?

  About One Year

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Part 2

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Want to Hear about New Releases First?

  Books by Charlotte byrd

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2016 by Charlotte Byrd

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Acknowledgments

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you so much for taking the time to read this book. Without you, I would not be able to do what I love. Your support and generosity means the world to me.

  I’m particularly grateful to my devoted and dedicated Advanced Reader Team and all of you who have read and reviewed the book prior to its official release.

  I’m also sending a special thank you to Nicole Battalion, Denise Denning Toups, K Kouvelis, Jenni Lewis, Amy Monroe, Mandy Sawyer, Destinie Waddell, and Mary Wolney - the wonderful people who found all the typos and errors from one of the last versions of the book. Without you, this work would not be the book that it is! Thank you!

  If you would like join my Advanced Reader Team and get FREE copies of my books in return for honest reviews, please email me.

  If you just want to let me know what you think about my book, please don’t hesitate to write me. I love to hear from my readers!!

  Love,

  Charlotte

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  About One Year

  THE BESTSELLING ROMANCE EVERYONE'S TALKING ABOUT...

  Tristan was someone who once belonged in my wildest fantasies. He is cocky and self-assured, a future Master of the Universe. You know the type...

  We were going to go to the same Ivy League school. We had everything planned out. And then, suddenly, he dumped me and broke my heart.

  But I wasn't going to let that stop me from moving to New York. It's a city of millions, what were the chances that I'd ever see him again?

  And then I discovered that Tristan was going to be my ROOMMATE!

  He wants me back. I want him, too, but I also hate him.

  I'm not supposed to fall for him again...

  "Love lost and found!"

  "A delightful book about finding your true love"

  Perfect for fans of Colleen Hoover, Penelope Ward and Nicholas Sparks

  **For mature audiences only**

  ***Previously published as a two-book series: One Semester and One Weekend***

  Part I

  “Truth is everybody is going to hurt you:

  you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for.”

  -Bob Marley

  1

  I walk into my dorm room for the first time and take a deep breath. This is the beginning of something new. Something special. All through high school, I felt like college was going to be some sort of epilogue in the chapters of my life. It was everything I worked for, everything I tried so hard to achieve. While everyone else was hanging out and drinking and going to parties, I kept my nose in my books. But when this day finally arrived, it no longer felt like an epilogue. No, this is a prologue. The beginning of something special.

  “What a large room!” my mom exclaims, looking around my new home. The room is quite spacious. However, it’s not quite like the walls college students have on television and in movies. The ceiling is pretty high, but the walls are made of painted cinderblocks. White. Barren. So unlike the cozy, light pink room that I have back home.

  I walk over to the window. It’s a beautiful late August day. I’m on the 16th floor, and from here I can see into other people’s apartments across the street.

  “I just can’t believe that I’m here.” I turn around with a puddle of tears stacking up on the bottom of my eyelids. “In New York.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” My mom puts her arms around me. She knows this has been my dream since I was in middle school. Mom gives me a quick hug and looks out of the window with me.

  “I just don’t know how people live here. It’s so crammed!”

  I smile. My mom is not a fan of New York. I grew up in Calabasas, a town just north of Los Angeles, where the sky is almost always cloudless and blue and the temperature never gets cooler than 70 degrees Fahrenheit. My family’s upper middle class, but not what’s considered rich. At least not by LA standards. Still, our family of five lived comfortably in a 3,000 square foot house with a 6,000 square foot yard and a pool.

  “I hope you have nice roommates,” Mom says.

  “Of course she will,” Dad pipes in. He’s standing in the doorway, clearly not impressed. “I just can’t believe that this room costs $17,000 a year! And you have three other roommates.”

  Mom and I laugh it off. Even though my dad isn’t cheap, he always likes to complain about how much things cost.

  “Suite
mates,” I correct him. “I have one roommate and three suite mates.” Our rooms are separated by a living room with a little kitchen and there’s only one bathroom for everyone to share.

  “The room would be just as big if I’d gone to USC and the school would’ve cost just as much,” I add. University of Southern California is both of my parents’ alma mater. That’s where they met, thirty years ago.

  “Yeah, at least you would’ve been closer to home and wouldn’t need a plane ticket to come see us.” He shrugs. I roll my eyes. We’ve been over this thousands of times before. Now, they joke about it more than anything else. They both know that Columbia has been my dream school for as long as I could remember. And when I got my acceptance packet, I think pretty much everyone knew that that’s where I was headed.

  “I’d just like to see you when it gets into the 20s and 30s here and you have class at 8 am,” Mom says. “It’s not always this nice out, from what I hear.”

  “I was fine in Colorado,” I say. Except that I’m terrified of the cold. I can’t wait for the changing leaves and the beautiful crisp fall, but the long hard winter? I don’t know.

  Both of my parents laugh. “A few week-long skiing trips hardly qualify as experience. Besides, Winter Park is a small, sunny town. A six-month winter in New York where everything gets slushy and the snow is black from the cars and the pollution is something else entirely,” Mom says.

  I nod.

  “I think I’ll manage,” I say, putting on a brave face. I turn away from the window to change the topic.

  “So which bed do you think I should choose?” The room has two of everything. Two beds. Two standing wardrobes. Two desks. Two chairs. Two windows. One looking out on 116th Street. One looking out onto Broadway.

  “If you take this one onto 116th Street, it should be a little quieter,” Mom says just as an ambulance turns on its siren and rushes down the street. “Or maybe not.”

  I decide on that one anyway.

  “If you two are done staring at the blank room, I think it’s about time to go back downstairs and get more of your stuff, young lady,” Dad says, glued to his cell phone.

  My mom and dad are both doctors, but they recently started a clinical trials consulting firm, which has made them busier than they’ve ever been when they were in practice.

  “I’ll be right down,” I say. “I’m just going to put some of these things away.”

  Right after Mom and Dad leave, the door swings open and a tall, voluptuous brunette walks in.

  “Alice?” she asks. Her whole face lights up, putting me at ease.

  “Doreen?” I ask.

  “Oh, no, no, no.” She shakes her head. I extend my hand, but she pulls me into a warm hug instead. “Call me Juliet, please. I hate Doreen.”

  “Okay.” I nod. Coming from LA, I’m well familiar with name changes. Three girls at my school changed their names officially before they got their boob jobs before graduation.

  “Oh my God, you’re so cute!” she laughs. “And little. You’re from LA, right? You have to tell me your secret. Agh, why am I still holding this?”

  She drops her bags onto her bed and leans the long mirror she’s carrying against the wall. “I thought we’d hang this on the door.”

  Aha! I finally realize it. That’s what’s weird about this room: there are no mirrors.

  “Great idea. I completely forgot to bring a lengthwise mirror,” I say. “Actually, I thought there would be one here.”

  At home, I have three in my room. I help Juliet hang the mirror on the back of our door and try to see if it still closes. It swings along with the door, but we’re just going to be careful.

  “So?” Juliet turns to me. “What’s your secret?”

  “Secret?”

  “In staying so small. I know you LA girls have your ways.”

  I smile. I look at myself in the mirror. Skinny jeans, size 1, flip flops, white t-shirt. No bra. 32A breasts. Long scraggly blonde hair. Hardly any makeup. Next to Juliet, I look like a child. She tosses her dark curls over her head to give them more volume and reapplies her bright red lipstick. She’s wearing fake lashes and every part of her face is contoured, giving her beautiful highlights across the forehead and bringing out her cheekbones.

  “No secret, really.” I shrug. I’ve had plenty of my own issues with weight.

  “Agh, if you say eat healthy and exercise, I’m going to throw up.”

  “You definitely don’t hold back, do you?” I smile.

  “No, babe. I call it like I see it. Hope that’s okay.”

  I nod. “More than okay.” I welcome her honesty. It’s a breath of fresh air after LA where everyone is nice. But too nice. No one says a bad thing to your face. Not even when you really need to hear it.

  “Mainly, I try not to eat carbs at night. Avoid processed foods. My mom buys only organic and farmer’s market food. Not too much dairy. Lean proteins and fish. Stuff like that.”

  “That explains it.” She tosses her hair again. “So no burgers with chili cheese fries?”

  I shake my head. “No, not really.”

  I shudder at the thought, actually. I may be thin here, but back home, girls from my class were much smaller. I’m what they called big-boned.

  “That’s more like guy food, isn’t it?” I ask.

  “Not when it’s 20 degrees out and you’re coming back from the bar at 4 am. Those spicy fries will really warm you up from the inside out.”

  Again with the cold. Before it scares me even more, I decided that it’s time for me to go help my parents with the rest of my bags.

  My phone beeps.

  Where are you? Dad texts.

  “I’ve gotta go,” I say. “Need to get the rest of my stuff from downstairs. Are you going to stick around? But my parents are here. I’d love for you to meet.”

  “Yes, definitely!” Juliet smiles and tosses her hair again. Apparently, hair can never have enough volume.

  2

  I walk out into our living room. The accommodations here are a bit more furnished: an ugly blue couch that desperately needs a throw or a few pillows to make it look at least mildly presentable and two identical green recliners that look like they came from some third-rate thrift store. Is there actually a store that manufactures these ugly things? A halfway acceptable coffee table, which has a French country distressed look, except that it’s not cute. It looks like it was actually distressed by the passage of time, not a carefully planned painting job. And a few end tables, which are mismatched in both color and height. Everything in this living room is wrong. And yet, everything about this place feels so right!

  My palms grow sweaty from the excitement. I’m actually in New York.

  N-e-w Y-o-r-k!!!

  I feel like I’m in some fabulous movie, about to embark on the adventure of my life. I’m ready to put on a fabulous pair of fall boots, black tights, and a little black skirt and walk around Central Park with a latte like a real New Yorker!

  “Alice?” His voice pierces my fantasy. I know who it is before I turn around. It’s a voice I could never forget no matter how I try.

  “Alice? Is that you?” He grabs my arm, turning me around.

  “Tristan? What’re you doing here?” I ask.

  “What’re you doing here?” he asks.

  We stand, staring at each other for a moment. He hasn’t changed. Not much. But there wasn’t much time for him to change. It has only been two weeks since our infamous break up. Still, he looks more grown up. His light brown hair is shorter now. He’s dressed in a nice pair of slim cut jeans, which accentuates his ass, and his favorite light blue t-shirt with an outline of a penguin on the front. He’s as tan as he always was, that’s what happens when you surf every day of the summer, no matter what. But his eyes are bluer than they used to be. Maybe it’s the light. Or the distance.

  “Alice, can you help me-” Juliet comes out of our room. “Well, hello there. I’m Juliet,” she says flirtatiously.

  “Hi, I’m Tri
stan Hilton,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m your new suite mate.”

  “Oh sweet! I didn’t know this place was co-ed. Did you, Alice?”

  No, I didn’t know either. I also didn’t know that it was possible to be assigned to the same suite as your fuckin’ ex-boyfriend. And not just some ex-boyfriend, the one who broke your heart into a million tiny pieces.

  “Man, you’re quite tan, isn’t he, Alice?”

  “I’m from California.” He shrugs.

  “Ah, that explains it! Alice is from California, too.”

  “Yes, I know.” He nods. “We actually know each other.”

  Juliet jumps back in surprise as if this news means as much to her as it means to me.

  “You went to the same high school?” she asks.

  “What’re you doing here, Tristan?” I ask.

  “Listen, this is some sort of accident, okay? I didn’t mean for this to happen. I didn’t even know this suite was co-ed. I was assigned here. Just like you.”

  “Well, I can’t stay here if you’re going to be here,” I say.

  “What?! Why?” Juliet throws her arm around me. “No, you can’t leave, sweetie. Who knows what kind of crazy girl I’m going to have to room with next.”

  I shake my head. I can’t deal with this. I can’t even be in the same room as him!

  “Tristan?” I hear my mom’s voice from somewhere behind me. “What’re you doing here, Tristan?”

  “Hello, Dr. Summers. Dr. Summers.” Tristan gives both my parents a brief hug. My dad is actually so surprised to see him that he manages to look away from his phone.

  “It looks like Alice and I have been assigned to the same suite.” He shrugs.

  “Mom, I have to go talk to someone about moving. I can’t stay here. Live with him.”

  “Alice, don’t be rude,” she whispers to me and then turns back to Tristan. “How’s your mom and dad, Tristan? Are they here?”

  “They’re in New York, but they had some errands to run. We’re meeting up for dinner later, after I unpack and stuff. I think they’re going to come see the place then.”