With a gasp, I find my rational brain hiding in there somewhere and push away from him, his grin sharpening, eyes locking onto mine. Wiping my arm across my mouth, I realize that I’m shaking, that there’s a warmth between my thighs that I’m not used to.
Zayd chuckles, low and seductive and suggestive, but at least most of the other students have gone back to dancing. The only ones still watching us are Harper, Becky, Valentina, and Abigail. Uh-oh. Their eyes track me as I turn and flee towards the door. Zayd had said my debt to him would be resolved by just dancing, and yet … I kissed him anyway.
At least I don’t have to worry about there being any doubt as to whether or not I played by the Infinity Club rules.
“Whoa, Working Girl, where are you going?” Zayd comes out behind me, but I’ve stopped cold. Tristan’s at the bottom of the steps with a girl pressed up against the statue on the opposite side from where Zayd’s parked the car. He’s kissing her, and one of her thighs is in his hand, but I don’t think they’re having sex … yet.
He glances up at me with cold, gray eyes, and then … this sharp burst of anger and heat snaps through him, and he pushes away from the girl. She gapes after him and reaches for his arm, but he shakes her off.
“What are you doing here?” he snaps, but not at me, at Zayd. When I glance back at the rocker boy, he’s got his inked fingers tucked into his pockets, an arrogant smirk stretched across his face. “We agreed you wouldn’t come tonight.”
“A suggestion was made, but it was never an agreement.” Zayd pauses as Creed comes up behind him, his blue eyes snapping to mine and then back over to Zayd’s face. “If you wanted to make sure it didn’t happen, you should’ve bet me.” He tosses me the keys to the Maserati. “Be my designated driver, Charity?”
“What about Becky?” I choke out, my brain whirling with the after effects of that kiss. I’m not even going to try to decipher the fight that’s going on between the three Idol boys. They won’t tell me anything, even if I ask. “I thought you were going to ‘bag her tonight’.” I can’t keep a scowl off my own face as I squeeze the car keys in my palm.
“Nah, I think I put in enough face time with you to piss her off. Once she calms down though, she’s mine.”
“You’re despicable,” Creed drawls, but I don’t think he means the Becky thing.
“Fuck you, Zayd,” Tristan growls out, his eyes burning as he takes me in. “I hope you know you came to the party with a snake tonight.”
“As opposed to what?” I ask, because I can’t shake that black widow reference. Tristan is venomous, manipulative, content to wait and plan his revenge. When he doesn’t answer me, I turn and open the door to the Maserati. Zayd smirks at his friends (or are they even friends?) and then climbs into the passenger seat. I join him, start up the car, and put it in reverse. Even though I don’t have my license, I’ve been driving my dad around since I was thirteen. Sometimes he was just too drunk to do it himself.
We drive back to Burberry Prep, but neither of us mentions the kiss. Zayd, because it probably doesn’t mean much to him. Me, because it means a little too much.Winter formal—and winter break—are fast approaching, but I don’t know how I feel about that. I’m enjoying a quiet life of studying and hanging out with Miranda and Andrew. Zack and I have been texting, but not as often as Lizzie and me. She seems really nice, and I’m starting to look forward to her messages.
“I’m dreading the New Year,” I groan, because it feels like time is slipping through my fingers. Not being bullied has put my year into hyper speed, and now I’ve got anxious butterflies in my belly when I think of going back to that, this low grade anxiety buzzing through me, always wondering if I’m being hunted. “And I’m not sure how I feel about going home either.”
Miranda looks at me sympathetically, but her family’s going to Paris for winter break. Staying in the big, cold academy with a skeleton staff was fine for fall break, but not over winter. I want to celebrate Christmas, decorate a tree, have a ham and sweet potatoes with marshmallows. Besides, I can’t stay mad at my dad forever; I miss him.
“You seem to be getting along with the guys okay,” Miranda offers, her mouth twitching at one corner. I roll my eyes, but I know we’re going to talk about this again. “Those videos of you kissing Zayd—”
