“I don’t know,” I whisper, putting my napkin on my lap as Zayd, and then Tristan, joins our table. The table next to us has the Idol girls, including Gena and her date, as well as Ebony Peterson and Jalen Donner. The rest of the Bluebloods are split between the two tables at the base of the dais on which we’re sitting. I think the design was meant to house a wedding party or something. The stage is positioned diagonally across from us, dimly lit and waiting for the band.
According to the program that’s on the back side of my menu, the music doesn’t start until after we eat. As of right now, there’s the faintest whisper of classical music coming from the speakers.
Creed rejoins us just before dinner service starts, and Zayd gives him a knowing smirk.
“What the hell were you doing in there? Taking a shit?”
“Oh stop,” Miranda groans as Creed smirks, and scoots his chair closer to me, putting his arm around my shoulders.
“I was taking care of a little problem,” he says, his blond hair obscuring his eyes. He leans in close and turns so that his lips are against my cheek. “And I thought of you while I did it.”
“Did you just infer you jerked off in the bathroom?” I choke, and Creed leans back in his seat, all lazy and happy as a sated cat. He doesn’t answer, but Zayd’s howling laughter and Miranda’s red face tell me all I need to know. I catch her leaning in to whisper to Andrew a few times and decide that if they are dating, they haven’t been very discreet about it. They’re always together, and they do weird things, but … maybe I didn’t see it before is because there’s no spark? Zero. They look like friends, and that’s it.
The spark I’m feeling with Creed is a hundred times theirs, and I don’t even like the guy.
“It’s them, isn’t it?” Creed whispers, just before warm bread and butter is served, drink orders taken. I don’t respond, but I really don’t think so. At some point, I’m just going to have to ask.
Dinner is extravagant, as usual, but everything is good, even foods I’ve never tried before.
The eyes of every person in that room are on us, observing what the Idols eat, how they sit, what they’re laughing about. I’m now sitting at the table I spotted that first day of school, the one brimming with energy and charisma. A smile curves my lips, and a warmth bubbles in my chest.
I feel like … I belong.
After dessert is served—a fantastic chocolate torte with fresh fruit and edible silver beads—Creed stands up and offers me his hand, making us the first couple on the dance floor in the middle of all the tables. There are silver streamers made of stars above our heads, vases stuffed with fresh flowers, and little white Christmas trees decorated with twinkling lights.
The band that takes up the stage is young, hot, and clearly very recognizable. Every student in that room goes nuts when they start playing, and I feel like the gap in my pop culture knowledge is showing. Creed doesn’t seem bothered, helping me through the bouncier songs and holding me during the slow ones. He’s got this permanent half-smile on his face that I think might actually be real.
Dancing with him is not like dancing with Zayd. Zayd Kaiser is a force in and of himself, pulling me into orbit, making my body move with his. Creed is a patient teacher, showing me where to go but expecting I’ll get there on my own. I like both approaches. I wonder how Tristan would dance? The thought pops into my head, and my eyes flick back to the table to find him watching me.
He doesn’t seem interested in dancing tonight. But his gaze is dark, inquisitive. It gives me the chills—in a good way.
I focus back on Creed, his blue eyes staring into mine, his hands drifting lower. He cups my ass briefly before readjusting his hands. My mouth drops open, and his smile gets a bit wider, his eyes still half-lidded. Bedroom eyes, that’s what he has. I hadn’t figured out how to describe them before, but that’s the expression he’s always got on, like he’s about to have sex.
“You should tutor me,” he says after a while. “You’d make a sexy teacher, and I could use the boost to my grades.” My brows go up, but that’s not a bad idea. Burberry Prep has an official tutoring program I could enroll in, and get credit for. And then I’d get to spend some one-on-one time with Creed …
When the band takes a break, Creed leads me up to the top deck. Even though it’s freezing outside, we huddle up on one of the benches and look out across the water at the glittering lights of the academy campus. Creed takes off his white jacket and covers my shoulders with it, pulling me into his lap again. It’s ice-cold out here, and my thighs were sticking to the bench, so I’m more than happy with the arrangement.
