“Why?” I ask, thinking about the end of first year. Part of me had really and truly believed we were going to be an item, that I could fall into his inked arms whenever I was having a hard day, that he’d kiss my hair and tell me everything was going to be okay. Now, I know he couldn’t break the Infinity Club bet, even if he’d wanted to, but … there must’ve been another way to handle that situation. He didn’t have to hurt me like that, break me, humiliate me. “Does my answer matter to you?”
Zayd exhales and looks up at the stone ceiling above us, reaching up and putting his palms over his face. His sleeves are pushed up like always, covered in rubber bracelets, and his jacket has little pins all over the lapels. A big one with the words Inked Pages and a watercolor guitar catches my attention. Underneath it, he’s got one with a snowboard on it that says Kings of Snow. Both of those names sound vaguely familial, but I’m not exactly a pop culture expert so the references escape me.
“Well?” I realize that I’m quivering slightly as I wait for his answer. I can’t decide if it’s because he smells so damn good—like geraniums, sage, and tobacco—or if it’s because he definitely added in some extra workouts over the summer. My eyes can’t stop tracing the rounded shape of the muscles in his upper arms, the way his inked skin ripples in his forearms as he drops his hands to his sides. “And don’t lie to me. I’m sick of being lied to. It doesn’t make me feel protected: it pisses me off.”
“You want me to be dead honest, huh?” he asks, dropping his head and looking right at me. My heart clenches tight, and I nod. Zayd steps forward and puts his beautiful tattooed hands on my hips. We’re standing so close together that I have to tilt my head back to look up at him. “I’m pissed-off.”
“Why?” It’s the only word I can manage, forcing myself to swallow past the tightness on my throat.
“Because you picked me, and I fucked up. You could’ve been mine, and there’s no chance for me now.” Zayd slides his right hand up to the small of my waist and gives a little squeeze before he steps back with a sigh. I’m about to say something—really, I’m not even sure what because my mouth moves faster than my brain—when Zayd turns back and grabs me suddenly.
With his left hand, he cups the side of my face, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb. There’s a new tattoo on the side of his neck that says Never Again that looks fresh. I’ve only just noticed because we’re so close.
“I wanted you before they did,” he says suddenly, dead serious. He’s looking right into my eyes with his bright green ones, and there’s so much emotion in that gaze that I can’t bear to unpack it all. “They hated you, and I liked you. From moment one, when you told me to get fucked, I was into you.”
“I did not say get fucked,” I whisper, “I told you to go to hell.”
Zayd grins, nice and sharp, teasing his lip rings with his tongue for a second.
“You really did, huh? Do you know how often that happens to me?”
“Since you’re a bit of an asshole, all too frequently would be my guess?”
Zayd snorts, and shakes his head, leaning down and putting his forehead up against mine. My eyes close of their own accord, and I sigh. Even after everything he’s done, it feels good to touch him like this. Why? I’m not a masochist or a glutton for punishment. Maybe it’s because I feel like he’s actually learning from his mistakes?
Do not underestimate how sexy that is, a person who can actually admit to their wrongdoings and try to make things right.
“Girls never turn me down,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb across my lip. For some reason, I decide to bite down on it, and his eyes go wide.
“Sometimes they do,” I whisper back, reaching up to take his hand and push it away.
We step apart, but I know I’m not the only one with a throbbing pulse because I can see Zayd’s racing, just underneath that new tattoo of his. He watches me carefully, a slight smile on his lips.
His expression doesn’t turn sour until Wind appears between us, brandishing teacups.
“Sorry to interrupt—that looked awfully sensual—but here.” He gestures with the dishes, and they clink merrily. I take my cup and saucer, watching as Zayd accepts his reluctantly. A minute later, there’s a knock on the door, and Windsor opens it so the others can come in.
Zack notices right away that something’s going on between me and Zayd, and he sighs, making himself comfortable against my headboard. While the Idols (and Lizzie) look like they’re tiptoeing around and perching on the edges of furniture, the others are perfectly comfortable, reminding me who my friends were last year when I really needed them.
