“Yes, he is,” she repeats, raising both brows. “I know he presents otherwise, but he is.”
“You don't know that …”
“Yes, I do!” she says, spilling her lemonade in her excitement. “We're twins.” She rolls her eyes, like this should be obvious. “He's a virgin. I know that for a fact.”
I suck my bottom lip under my teeth. I'm still not entirely sure I believe her, but if that's true, then Creed is one hell of an actor.
“Why are you telling me this? And you're right: maybe it wasn't your story to tell?” Miranda grins, and shrugs.
“True, but I felt like you should know. I mean, I don't think any of the other four are … I just figured it might mean something to you.”
I'm silent for a minute, and our waiter comes out with our orders. I'm seriously reeling from the info, and I have no idea what to do with it. Does that make a difference? I think back to the hot tub again.
“Anyway, like I said, if you're not going to pick me, pick Creed.” She pauses and waits for me to say something.
“You know I love you,” I tell her, and she sighs, hanging her head.
“But not like that?”
I stay silent, and we both pick up our forks to eat.
After that, we don't mention the kiss again, but Miranda still watches me with a certain look. I'm not sure if she's given up yet, but I'm glad we had that talk.
She's my backbone at the academy, and she's right: she's the one person here who's not a part of the Club. I feel in my heart that I can trust her.
Everyone else … I'm not so sure about.
Creed and I start our tutoring sessions again, and it's a much more relaxed atmosphere than it was last year. Honestly, I feel like for the first time ever, he's actually trying. He listens when I talk, and the way he follows me with his eyes …
"Miranda's in love with you," he says suddenly, interrupting our easygoing Wednesday session in the library. Today, he brought me an entire stack of yaoi—Japanese comics focusing on boy-on-boy relationships—as a gift. I reminded him that last year, he called them gauche and rolled his eyes, but I accepted the ribbon wrapped bundle anyway because there were several in there that I really want to read.
"Um," I hedge, feeling color creep into my cheeks. "You saw everything that happened."
"She's infuriating, you know that?" he drawls, folding his arms on the table and laying his cheek on them. His eyes are so heavy-lidded right now. There's a bit of anger in his voice, but I can tell it's not meant for me. "Some twin. Hitting on the girl I've already decided I want."
"Hah, you've decided?" I give him a look. When our eyes meet, my stomach clenches. But, like, in a good way. He's an arrogant jerk, but for whatever reason, I still like him, this lazy, little rich boy.
"I just can't believe that she's interested in you, too. What are the chances?" Creed sits up and stares at me for a minute. I can't say anything when he looks at me like that. My throat's too tight. "You seem to have a lot of people interested in you, Marnye Elizabeth Reed."
"Tristan once called me a Mary Sue, maybe that's it?" Creed smiles at the joke which I find surprising. Usually just the mention of the T-word makes him frown. "Honestly, I'm still half-convinced you guys have another bet going."
"There's no bet," Creed says, scowling. But like, screw him because I have every right to be suspicious. "Nothing that involves hurting or harming you anyway."
"Well, that's cryptic," I reply, leaning back in my seat and giving him a look. Our knees bump together and a shiver takes over me. Creed notices and smiles nice and slow. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"There were other bets or suggestions of bets involving you, like the one with Zack," he says simply, shrugging. "The one he tried to make when you crashed the party at the amphitheater."
Ah, right, the night with the knucklebones. Like that wasn't creepy at all. Harper du Pont really is a special sort of monster.
"Can you tell me about it?" I query, and Creed's smile gets even more wicked. "And is there a reason you guys hate him so much?"
"Marnye, there's a whole host of things we could talk about, but there's only one subject I'm interested in."
"Creed," I warn as he leans forward, and I shoot up out of my chair.
Alright. I've accepted it. I have a bit of a thing for him. For Tristan. For Zayd. For Zack. Windsor … is just a friend, right? Or … maybe I'm just scared to admit I'm crushing on him when I'm not too sure that he likes me back?
Creed follows me as I weave through the aisles, heading back toward the history section and sliding the binder full of old school newspapers back on the shelf. We're in separate history classes, but we both have the same assignment: put together an essay on Burberry Prep and its relation to politics during the late eighteen hundreds. Ugh.
"Marnye," he repeats, and I spin around. It's still so new to me to hear the boys call me by my name. Zayd still occasionally says Working Girl, and both him and Tristan say Charity, but there's an affectionate little tint to it now that I actually like. I'm all about reclaiming and re-purposing words.
"What?"
Creed leans in close, putting his hands on the metal shelf on either side of my hips. He doesn't touch me, but there's barely a hairbreadth between us. My mind conjures up Miranda's words: For what those boys did to you, they should let you date them all until you make up your mind.
"I've been patient, but on the inside, I'm wasting away."
"Drama queen," I blurt, and then after a second, "drama prince." Creed has always struck me as more of a prince and less of a king. And it's not because he's inferior to Tristan, it's just … he's different. If he spent less time trying to be or beat Tristan, and more time on his own endeavors, he'd be a force to be reckoned with.
Creed smirks, and I do my best not to sigh as his scent overwhelms me. He always smells so damn clean, like laundry detergent on fresh crisp cotton, hung out in the bright sun and brisk breeze to dry. Wow, Marnye, waxing poetic much?
"It's true." He leans in close and presses a kiss next to my left eye. My body shudders, and I hear him make this satisfied male sound. "I've been on pins and needles. And you have no idea how much I want to punch Zack."
"He's a good guy," I whisper, but it's so hard to think with Creed this close to me, his uniform just slightly disheveled, the top three buttons undone and revealing just a glimpse of flat, smooth chest underneath.
He makes a small sound of acknowledgement, but that's about it.
"I want to kiss you so bad right now," Creed drawls, and my pulse skyrockets. I can hear the blood pounding in my head.
"What's stopping you?" I whisper back, and his half-lidded eyes go wide. As slowly and lazily as he does everything else, he moves his front hand from the shelf and places it on my hip. His other hand comes up and he tickles beneath my chin with his long fingers. My head drops back and my eyes close as he leans in toward me.
Our mouths brush, but just barely. It's too much of a tease, and I feel myself start to shake with all of this suppressed need, all these crazy hormones. I've spent two years chasing after and being chased by the Idols. At this point in our relationship, we're working on forgiveness, and trying to build new friendships.
Before, there were obstacles in front of us every time we kissed, whether I was aware of them or not.
But right now, there's nothing but air.
Lifting up on my toes, I complete the contact, my lips pressing tight against his.
Heat sears through me, and Creed surges forward, pressing his entire body against mine. His knee goes between my legs, and his right arm sweeps my waist. My back is now pressed tight to the books, the front of my body rubbing against Creed. I can feel my nipples tighten to hard points, my core flush with warmth.
Creed parts my lips with his tongue, tasting me, and making this rough sound that's so at odds with his insouciant personality that I'm almost startled into putting my hands on his shoulders. He presses deeper into me, testing my limits, but I'm completely relaxed. I want to see what happens when we kiss without restraint.
My right hand slides down, and I slip it inside his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin against my palm. He groans, and I forget for a minute that we're in the library. My hand comes down and I forcefully part a few more of those buttons.
"Fuck," he curses after a minute, turning his head away from mine. We're still all pressed together, and with my right hand, I can feel his heart thundering in his chest. "Damn it. Why do I like you so much?"
"My winning personality?" I joke, and Creed snorts, but we're both panting and shaking. There's a tension inside of me, like a string's been pulled taut between my lips and my core. I want … more. More than this. So much more. "The real question should be: why do I like you? You're a major jerk, Creed Cabot."
"An insufferable asshole," he agrees, turning back to look at me. This time, the heavy-lidded bedroom eyes aren't just for show. This time, I can tell he wants more, too. Creed's kind of a … virgin. That's what Miranda said. Do I believe it? Does it matter?
Or maybe it does?
Maybe I'd rather lose my virginity to another virgin?
Or am I overthinking this?
"We should get back to the project," I whisper, but I don't take my hand out of his shirt.
"I'm not going to lie: I have a raging hard-on right now. I am absolutely not going back to write about crusty old white dudes."
"You …" I start, but then words just fail me. I'm stuck between a giggle and a fresh bloom of lust. My eyes drift down, but Creed beats me to it by grabbing one of my hands and placing it right over the hard bulge in his crotch. I make a small sound, and he groans. When he lets go of me, I don't move my hand.