My right arm is around is neck, fingers teasing the fine blond hairs there.
We don’t talk, just watch the horizon as the boat makes it way along the shore and then turns around to head back toward the harbor. Between the food and the dancing and … whatever this is that’s happening between me and Creed, I find that my eyelids are starting to droop. I end up resting my head on his shoulder, nestled in the crook of his neck.
“Thank you for the shoes,” I whisper, and then Creed’s turning and lifting my chin with his fingers.
Slowly, almost slowly enough that it feels like we’re not moving at all, Creed and I lean in. His fingers slide to the back of my neck, and our mouths meet. There’s no tongue at first, just lips, but then Creed pulls me closer, adjusting my body so that I’m straddling him.
I’ve never done anything like this before, and my body throbs like crazy. It feels so damn good, I want to keep going. My hands curl together behind Creed’s neck and we kiss until I feel him stir beneath me again.
No.
Shit, no.
I’ve known this guy for four months, and he’s treated me like crap for most of them.
“I … have to go,” I whisper, tearing away from him and racing down the length of the boat to the bathroom.
Before I can slip in the door, Tristan is stepping in front of me and blocking my way.
“What—” I start, and then he grabs me by the hips, pulling me forward and crushing me against his body. Creed’s jacket slides off my shoulders and flutters to the ground as Tristan digs his fingers into my hair and claims my mouth with his own.
My entire body collapses in his arms.
My own fingers dig into the front of his sharp black tux, clawing for more. It’s like I’ve been shot with Cupid’s arrow, slowly drowning in need and want. Wake up, Marnye! I shout at myself, but I can barely move, barely breathe. The only thing that matters in that moment is that Tristan’s tongue is sweeping against my own, his hands squeezing my hips.
He takes me to the edge of what I can handle, and then steps back abruptly, releasing me.
His gray eyes glimmer with lust, and even though he’s now scowling at me, it’s quite clear that he’s interested.
“What … was that for?” I pant, bending down to pick up Creed’s jacket. My heart is pounding. I’m going to have to tell him about this kiss. I have to.
“Just remember that Creed isn’t the only one that’s interested.” Tristan turns and stalks down the length of the boat. My lips are swollen, my heart pounding, and I know I’m going to need a moment before I can face any of the guys again.
I slip into the bathroom and push in the door to the first stall without checking to see if it’s occupied.
It is. And it’s not locked.
It swings open and reveals Miranda, sitting on the toilet with her lipstick smeared and tears running down her face. She snaps her gaze up to me, eyes wide, and then shoves the door closed again.
When she comes out a few minutes later, we don’t mention it.
“I’m going to grab another torte,” she says finally, disappearing and taking the awkwardness with her.
After going to the bathroom and washing my hands in the coldest water I can manage, I head back to Creed, and I blurt it out.
“Tristan kissed me,” I whisper, feeling my cheeks flush as he turns his half-lidded eyes on me. “And I think … I kissed him back.”
“Do you like him?” Creed asks, lounging on the bench, the only noticeable sign of his discomfort the way his hand curls into the white fabric of his slacks.
“I don’t know,” I whisper, sitting down beside him.
I’m so confused.
Thank god winter break starts tomorrow.
I’m not sure how much of this I can handle without a breather.Dad’s waiting for me in the visitor parking lot, standing next to his rusted-out Ford with his hands in his jeans pockets. He smiles at me, but I’m having a hard time smiling back. Climbing out of the air-conditioned leather palace of the academy car, my pleated skirt billowing gently in the wind, I feel like I’m straddling two realities.
“Hey,” I whisper as his eyes take in my hair. I hadn’t thought to mention it. I was too pissed about Parents’ Week, and honestly, it didn’t seem like he had the emotional capacity to handle any of my crap. He’s struggling enough on his own. The driver gets out and shuts the car door behind me before taking off.
Then it’s just me and Dad, standing alone in an empty parking lot.
“Your hair looks nice,” he says, and at least I think he actually means it. He’s dressed in a plaid button-down and new jeans, and it seems like he’s actually trying. Charlie seems sober, too, which is a relief. Last night was fun, if a little confusing, and I’m a bit too tired to drive us both the whole way home. “When did you decide to cut it?”
