“So …” Zayd runs his finger along my shoulder and then tickles his fingertips across the back of my neck, making me shiver with pleasure. It feels good to be touched there, even by someone I hate as much as this asshole. “We could christen the school, take our time in each and every room. I’ve never fucked in the chapel, you know. You could be the first.”
Revulsion mixes with lust inside of me, and I smack Zayd’s hand away. He narrows his green eyes at me, but he’s still smiling. It’s an infectious sort of smile, nothing at all like Tristan’s cruel twist of lips, but I know it’s not anymore genuine. Zayd is a performer. He woos people for a living. Frankly, I’d be better off throwing my hat in the ring with Creed.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” I tell him, and this time, my voice doesn’t waver at all.
Zayd scowls at me and reaches up to play with his hair. I catch sight of the tattoo on the back of his left hand, a stylized bluebird over a black and white guitar. The rings on his fingers glitter in the light from the chandelier, and for a second there, I can’t help but think how handsome he looks. Then, of course, he opens his mouth.
“Who are you sleeping with then? Andrew? Because Creed and Tristan might get off on the virgin thing, but I have a hard time believing it. A girl like you, from Lower Banks, there’s just no way.”
“Because everyone who’s poor is automatically promiscuous?” I ask, trying not to think of my mom. She’s the exception, not the rule. “And even if I were, it’s none of your business, and it has nothing to do with the character of a person. Look at you and Tristan and Creed, sleeping with anyone you can get your hands on. And that’s not what makes you bad people. There are plenty of other things, but that’s not it.”
“Well, look at you, standing up for yourself. I bet your drunk daddy would be real proud.” Zayd steps away from me before I can figure out how to react and tugs a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
“At least my dad showed up,” I whisper, and as soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. It’s okay to defend myself, but I don’t ever want to make someone feel the way I did in junior high. Nobody deserves to feel that low. Zayd’s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare, but then he smirks and lights up his cigarette with sharp, jerky motions.
“Nice one, Charity. Guess even girls like you can come up with a clever retort every now and then.” He smokes his cigarette and stares at me, still scowling. “If you’re done dicking around, we gotta go. I don’t like being late to Club shit.”
“I’m sorry about your dad,” I say instead, and he pauses, like I’ve just slapped him. Zayd turns away and kicks open the door to my dorm, stepping out into the hallway. I can only pray there’s not enough of a cigarette smell in here to get me busted. That’d be just my luck. “What is the Infinity Club anyway?” I ask as I hold the door open and toe my sneakers on.
Zayd keeps his back to me, but there’s a band of steel in his voice when he glances over his shoulder.
“You’re a guest, Marnye Reed. Don’t fuck it up.”
“First rule of Infinity Club, don’t talk about Infinity Club?” I joke, but Zayd doesn’t laugh. Instead, he starts off down the hallway, a trail of cigarette smoke wafting behind him. With a sigh, I follow after, taking the same path as yesterday out to a gravel parking lot.
There’s a crimson colored sports coupe with dark rims and tinted windows.
“Maserati GranTurismo,” Zayd says, gesturing lamely in the direction of the car. “I borrowed it from Sheldon Barnes.” He finishes smoking his cigarette and then just chucks the butt like he expects somebody else to clean up after him. I bet for most—if not all—of his life, people have. “He’s allowed to have a car on campus because he’s eighteen, and his grandma’s like, sick or something, and she only lives fifteen minutes from here. He gets to come and go as he pleases.”
“Well, for his grandma …” I start, but Zayd’s already tossing a smirk over his shoulder at me, sea green hair flopping into his face. He reaches up and twists it into a gelled spike.
“He never actually visits the old bat. She’s got an entire nursing staff on-hand at home anyway. He just uses her as an excuse to go pick up hookers in the city.” My brows go up at that, but I can’t decide if Zayd actually means this Sheldon guy pays prostitutes for sex, or if he’s being a judgmental, slut-shaming prick again.
