“That’s creepy,” I tell him as he finally steps back, and I move over to sit on the curving gold couch that winds its way through the center of the store. It’s just one continuous piece, and I have to wonder where they got it, and how they managed to squeeze it in the doors. “How do you know my size?”
“Because Miranda’s my twin, and you share shoes with her.” He waits for the associate to come back, and then takes the box from her hands. “I’ll do it.” His voice brooks no argument, and his clothes and stance clearly speak to money, so the woman moves to the side and watches as Creed kneels in front of me.
Oh.
Wow.
My heart is pounding as he looks up at me through strands of that silky white-blonde hair of his, and I wonder if this is what a peasant girl might feel like if a prince were to bow to her. My throat is tight, and I’m having trouble remembering the English language.
Slowly, almost agonizingly slowly, Creed pulls off the white lace flats I borrowed from Miranda, teasing the arch of my foot with his long fingers. My skin prickles with pleasure, and I have to close my eyes for a second to keep from moaning. When I open them, I see Creed pulling one of the heels from the box, reverently slipping my right foot into it. He ties the suede ankle clasp, and then moves onto the other.
When he’s done, he stands up and holds out a hand for me.
I’m quivering a little, but I reach up and take it, feeling a small shock of electricity at his touch. He walks me the length of the store and back, our footsteps softened by the plush rug that covers the floor.
“What do you think?” he asks as we pause in front of a mirror. I’ve only tried on one pair, but I think I’m in love. With the shoes, I mean. In love with the shoes.
“They’re beautiful, but far too expensive,” I start, but he cuts me off by turning to the sales associate. When I look up, I see his eyes burning with something that looks like desire.
“We’ll take them,” he tells me, pulling out his wallet. He hands his card over to her, and she disappears behind the counter. Those ice-blue eyes fall on me, and it feels suddenly hard to breathe. Miranda has paused in her shopping spree to stare at us.
“This doesn’t mean I’m going to winter formal with you,” I whisper, and Creed reaches out to touch my chin, lifting my gaze to his. His stare burns straight through my defenses and into the swirling depths of my emotions.
“Yes it does.”
Creed leans down, and before I can even figure out how to react, he’s brushing his lips over mine, and then pulling back. I’m still reeling from the electric shock of his mouth on mine when he turns, grabs his card from the associate with two fingers, and walks right out the door.“Maybe this was a mistake?” I whisper as Miranda finishes my makeup and combs her fingers through my hair. We’ve styled it similarly to how it was on Halloween, but with a little extra length, and Miranda’s superior skills, it looks a hundred times better.
I turn in my seat to look at her.
“What’s a mistake? Going with Creed?” she blinks at me and steps back, her pale blue dress catching the light and sending shimmery sparkles across the walls of her bathroom. We’ve never gotten ready in her apartment before, but seeing as Creed’s not only stopped picking on me, but is also taking me to the dance, it seemed safe enough.
But now, I’m starting to worry that I’m setting myself up for failure.
“What if this is, like, every teen movie ever made, where the popular guy asks the loser girl out and then throws eggs at her or takes something else to the dance …” I trail off as Miranda stares me down like I’ve lost my mind. She puts her hands on her hips and takes on a seriously scary facial expression.
“If Creed did that to you, he would lose me forever. He knows that.”
“He’s well-aware of that,” Creed drawls, appearing in the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the doorjamb, the rest of his tall, muscular form dressed in a white-on-white-on-white suit. The pants, jacket, shirt, and shoes are all the same color. The only thing that’s not is the tie, a bright gold to match my dress.
My cheeks flush, and my hands curl into the sequined fabric.
“Your presence tonight is too valuable for me to fuck up,” he continues, moving into the room and holding out a corsage. It’s made up of white roses, with one solid gold one in the center. Part of me wonders if it’s real gold. Creed opens the box and puts it on my wrist, his fingers trailing across my sensitive skin and giving me chills all over.
