“Valuable?” I ask, and he smirks, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet.
“Zayd and Tristan, they’re pissed off because they wanted to ask you first.” My brows go up at that. Not once did I ever get an indication that they were interested. I mean, they’ve been nice enough to me, but only comparatively to how shitty they treated me before. My palms get sweaty as Creed’s eyes go heavy and half-lidded, drinking me in like my appearance is something to savor.
Zack was not happy about the news that I was attending winter formal with Creed. I’m not even sure why I told him in the first place, but my stomach is all in knots now, and I’m starting to second-guess myself. Maybe because I want this to work out so bad? I want to go with Creed and dance the night away, see him watching me across the room the way he’s watching me now.
“Gross, get a room,” Miranda snorts, pushing past us and heading into the living room. After some encouragement from me, she and Andrew finally decided to go together. There’s a warmth to her cheeks, too, that I don’t miss. She’s as excited as I am, and I’m starting to think that I’ve been staring this puzzle in the face all alone.
Zayd was sure that Miranda and Andrew were together. I’m starting to think that, too, although I can’t figure out why he’d ask me on a date, or why she’d push me to go to tonight’s dance with him. Something’s off, especially in regards to Tristan. Maybe he knows? Maybe there’s a reason none of them want Creed to know?
He leads me out and over to elevator where Tristan, Zayd, and Andrew are already standing. Tristan and Andrew are glaring at each other, but Miranda pretends not to notice, taking Andrew’s arm and giving Creed a small sideways glance that only I seem to notice.
“Where are your dates?” I ask the other two Idol boys. Creed stiffens up beside me, and he levels that icy glare of his on his friends. Well, maybe peers is a better word choice. “I assumed you two would be going with Harper and Becky?”
Zayd grins and shrugs his shoulders, his suit jacket red and covered in pins, his pants tight and tucked into boots. His hair’s slicked back nicely, and his tie is straight, but he’s very much the picture of a rock star.
“Goin’ stag, checkin’ out my prospects,” he says, eyeing me up and down and then letting out a whistle. “Although if this frigid fuck drives you off tonight, I’ll be nice and warm and waiting. Lookin’ hot there, Working Girl.” I narrow my eyes on him, but some small part of me warms at his words. Creed notices and slips an arm around my waist, pulling me close.
“Don’t you two look pretty,” Tristan drawls, his gray eyes taking us in. I wonder if maybe he’s holding out on taking a date because of Lizzie or something, but she assures me they haven’t talked since the night at the casino. Still, I think he’s in love with her. “What an enchanting couple you’ll make.” His words are dry and sarcastic, and he seems salty as hell, but for the life of me I can’t figure out why.
“No date?” I ask again, but Tristan ignores me, stepping into the elevator as soon as the doors are open. We head down to the first floor and join the crowd in the courtyard. Everyone’s waiting to get into one of the limos lined up outside, so we can be ferried over to the harbor.
The dance is taking place on an old-fashioned steam boat called the L.B. Burberry, after the school’s original founder, Lucas Benjamin Burberry.
“You guys know the story behind the steamboat, right?” I ask as the crowd parts for us. Tristan leads the way and people just move aside instinctually, leaving a clear path from the elevator to the steps. The next limo in line is quickly vacated by the students that were climbing in, and left for us.
Half of me is thrilled by the attention, and the other half is … disturbed. What a life these guys lead.
“Some guy built it for his mistress, right?” Zayd asks, scooting into the limo and then folding his hands together behind his neck like he owns the place. Knowing him, he probably owns a limo that’s even nicer than this.
“Not his mistress,” I choke out as Creed takes a seat and then pulls me onto his lap, just like he did in the car that day. My whole body goes white-hot and then dulls to an agonizing simmer. I do my very best not to shift around on top of him. If I feel him harden up beneath me right now, I might die. “For his wife. He had the boat designed just so he could take her to dinner on the top deck. She’d always wanted to go to New Orleans and do a steamboat cruise on the Mississippi, but she got sick and couldn’t travel.” My heart clenches, and I know my inner history buff is showing, but I can’t help myself.
