Page 104 of Filthy Rich Boys (Rich Boys Of Burberry Prep 1)
Miranda isn't dating Tristan, and she's not dating Andrew either.
Miranda is … gay.
I turn away and take off before they notice me spying on them, but honestly, I feel a sense of relief. I was expecting the worst, like a hidden pregnancy or something, but this is … this isn't even noteworthy. In a good way, I mean. Like I said, I'm a fierce LGBT ally.
For the next few days, I keep things cool, normal. But now that I know, the way Miranda acts makes a whole lot more sense.
Before I tell Creed, however, I decide to confront Tristan.
“You knew didn't you?” I ask him, planting my hands on my hips and staring down at him as he sits on one of the stone benches in the courtyard and scrolls on his phone. Tristan lifts his gray eyes up to mine, and I find myself licking my lower lip without even meaning to. One look from him and I melt.
“Oh? So you finally figured it out?” he asks me, scooting over and patting the spot next to him on the bench. If this was anyone else, that’d be a harmless gesture, and I’d just sit. But with Tristan, there's so much more to it. I’m afraid to sit that close to him.
“Is there a reason you didn't want Creed to know?” I ask, cocking my head to one side. “He thinks you and Miranda are sleeping together, you know that?” Tristan shrugs his shoulders, but his eyes land on the necklace that he gave me, and I reach up to touch it without thinking.
“No reason. It just wasn't any of my business.” He stands up, and takes a step forward, towering over me. His fingers reach up and brush along the side of my jaw, a smirk taking over his lips when I shudder. “But it is yours. You and Creed had a bet.”
Tristan cups my face and leans down. For a second there, I think he's going to kiss me again, but instead he just puts his lips right up against mine, so I can feel it when he talks.
“That girl she was making out with, that's Jessie Maker. Her parents are Evangelical Christians, they won't be happy with the news.” Tristan runs his tongue across my lower lip, and then steps back. The absence of his body makes me feel cold.
“Is this going to hurt either of them, me telling Creed?” I look into Tristan's eyes, but he just shrugs. I sigh, but it looks like I'm going to be on my own with this one. It was my arrogance that got me into this mess after all. I should've stopped playing poker after I'd won the first round. Lesson learned.
Tristan brushes past me, making sure his fingers linger on the back of my hand before he moves away. I listen to his footsteps on the gravel path before I turn and head for Creed and Miranda's apartment.
Fortunately, Creed’s the only one that's home. He lets me in, and the spark between us flares to life.
“You figured it out,” he guesses, his words vaguely echoing Tristan's. Creed crosses his arms over his chest and waits for me to talk.
“I did,” I start, and then I don't know what to say. It seems so anti-climactic. Miranda being gay isn't a problem, and it shouldn’t matter to anyone. Then again, I know Creed’s just worried about what it is that she’s hiding. Maybe, like me, he's expecting the worst. This should be a relief for him. “Miranda is dating a girl named Jessie Maker,” I say, waiting to see what his reaction is going to be. The skin around his eyes tightens imperceptibly, but that's it.
“You're sure?” he asks, and I nod. Creed exhales and drops his arms by his side, and I'm glad to see that he’s not upset. “That’s it?”
“You're not going to bother her about it, are you?” I ask, but he just stares at me and shrugs his shoulders. Oh, well, that’s reassuring. I feel sick with guilt already, but when I think about violating the Infinity Club’s rules … I know that was never an option.
“I just want to make sure she doesn't get hurt,” Creed says, and it's the most genuine thing he's ever said to me. There’s a brief pause before he speaks again, changing the subject with effortless ease. “Would you like to go to dinner with me?” he asks, and even though I know he just means to take me to The Mess, my heart warms and I nod.
Everything seems fine … until next week when the shit hits the fan.I hear the fight before I see it, the sound of grunting, the painful crack of flesh against flesh. Miranda and I exchange a look, take off down the hallway, and turn the corner to find John Hannibal beating the ever living crap out of Andrew.
