“Before you did?” I ask, and he grins, stepping aside, so I can use my keys to get into my dorm. I set my flowers and caramels on the counter and turn around to find Zayd offering me yet another box. Holy crap. Guess today is my lucky day?
“Any idiot can buy a necklace,” he says proudly, nodding in the direction of the box with his chin. “But check this shit out.” I give him a skeptical look and lift the thin top off the box, finding a sea of colorful truffles underneath. “Homemade, motherfucker.” Zayd flops down on my bed and leans back on his palms.
“You made these?” I ask, and he shrugs.
“I’m taking Practical Skills this semester,” he says, and Miranda interrupts him.
“Translation: home economics for rich kids who’ve never done a load of laundry in their life.” Zayd flips her off, and then leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees.
“Yeah, whatever. But last week was a lesson on making artisan chocolates. As you can see, artisan fucking chocolate.” He pauses as I reach into the box to pluck one out. “Just a warning: there’s about ten milligrams of weed in each one of those.” With a scoff, I drop the chocolate back in the box as he laughs. “Sativa, it’ll keep you going all night long.” Zayd lifts his hips up and makes a dirty undulating motion that I find I like way too much. “You are going to the garden party, right?” he asks, and I shrug. There are too many parties here to keep track of. “You have to go, seriously.” He stands up comes over to stand beside me, plucking a rose from my bouquet, snapping most of the stem off, and tucking it behind my ear. “Come on, Working Girl.”
I sigh, but I know I’m getting dragged into this.
There’s a banquet starting outside at four-thirty with food and drinks and games.
“I’ll go,” I say with a sigh and both Miranda and Zayd get way too excited. Miranda hugs me, and kisses me on the cheek.
“Come back to my place and we’ll get ready together?” I nod as Zayd once again opens my wardrobe and starts digging around inside of it. He emerges with the lemon-printed dress I wore to the Cabot Scholarship Award ceremony, and hands it over to me.
“Why are you always trying to dress me?” I groan as I take the dress from him. As he passes over the hanger, Zayd curls his inked fingers around my wrist and yanks me against him.
“Because you look like a fucking hobo half the time,” he growls, and then he bites my ear, grabs a chocolate, and pops it in his mouth. “Later, ladies. See you in the courtyard.”
Zayd slams the door behind him, and Miranda turns to me like I’ve grown tentacles.
“How are you going to choose?” she whispers, eyes wide, and I gape at her.
“There’s nothing to choose.” I grab the white flats Miranda lent me when we went into town to shop, and stand up, meeting her incredulous look with one of my own. “There’s not. I’ll never forget how shitty these guys treated me.”
“Yeah, but …” she reaches out and taps the necklace with a sort of forlorn expression that I can’t interpret. Once again, I question myself and try to decide if she’s got a thing for Tristan. But no, no, it’s got to be something else, something I’m not getting. “It’s nice to be wanted, right?”
“There’s more to life than boys,” I say, and she lifts her eyes to mine, blue irises sparkling.
“Truer words were never spoken.”
Now … what the hell is that about?Creed is waiting in the courtyard when we come down, dressed in flouncy spring dresses, my necklace sparkling in the afternoon sunshine. He’s leaning against the garden wall, head thrown back, eyes closed. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the top two buttons on his uniform undone, one foot flat against the wall.
He opens his eyes and turns to us with slow precision, yawning and then stretching his arms over his head, completely and utterly unhurried.
“How many roses did you get?” Miranda demands, putting her hands on the hips of her bright orange dress. It’s citrus themed, too, just like mine, but a good three inches shorter, and two sizes smaller. “Because I’m pretty sure Tristan got a hundred.”
Creed’s face tightens up and he flicks his sister in the forehead, tucking his hands back in his pocket and leaning in close to her.
“I got plenty. I didn’t think to count.” He stands back up and his eyes flick over to me. He doesn’t say thank you, but his eyes sparkle in acknowledgement, and I flush.
“Right. Because you know you got less than he did,” she taunts, but Creed’s ignoring her, looking me up and down.
