We both pause at the sound of a door opening, and I slip out from underneath him, landing on the floor on my knees.
I scramble to my feet, fixing my shirt, feeling my pulse pound.
Zayd pads into the living room area and opens the mini-fridge, pulling out a soda before he pauses and turns to look at me, standing there in my pj's in view of the door. I'm not sure he can see Zack though. His eyes stray to Zack's broken couch bed, and the pile of blankets on the floor, before he looks back at me.
"I knew I should've taken that fucking couch bed," he growls, popping the top on his soda as Zack rolls back to his side of the bed, one arm thrown across his eyes as he groans.
Zayd and I stare at each other for a long, hot moment, my eyes traveling down his tattooed muscular form. He, too, is shirtless, and my body throbs in response.
Crap.
Crap, crap, crap.
My mother lost her virginity young, and used sex as a tool and a weapon to get what she wanted. I never wanted to be like her, so I've held back, pushed the natural feelings inside of me down. But looking at Zayd's inked body, and then glancing back at a shirtless Zack, I wonder how much longer I'm really going to be able to stay sane.
"Maybe you should have," I whisper, and then I excuse myself to the bathroom, running the shower, and slipping into it. There's a need deep within me that's hard to place words to. I take care of it myself, then turn the shower to cold for one, last icy spritz, and then climb back into bed.
Zack's already asleep when I get back, but I'm pretty sure I see tissues in the trash can on his side.
We don't talk about what almost happened for quite some time after.The Monday after our trip into town is Parents' Week.
Dad shows up as usual, but he's skinnier than when I last saw him, and he's definitely got less hair. That stresses me out to no end, but I push through the emotions, spending as much time with him as I can, having picnics in the gardens, inviting him to watch the cheerleading routine we've been working on, and letting him listen to the harp solo I've been practicing.
He gives the boys wary looks, but he doesn't say anything, and I do my best to show him that I'm doing okay here, that I'm happy.
We steer clear of the ex-Bluebloods and their families. It's not hard, considering I've got Kathleen Cabot around most of the time, making conversation with Dad, and generally putting up a barrier of don't mess with me vibes. The woman is a legend, and the richest person at the school. Nobody bothers her.
For the third year in a row, Zayd's dad doesn't come. He seems resigned to it at this point, but I make an effort to invite him to spend some time with me and Charlie. What's really interesting is that William Vanderbilt doesn't show up either. I would've thought he'd be here, harassing his son.
"He's probably thinking of the best way to punish me," Tristan says with a scowl, his hands tightening into fists. He stares toward the front of the property, gray eyes dark with anger. If William treated his son so poorly before, when he was more or less doing what he wanted, what's going to happen now?
My heart aches for Tristan, but I'm not sure what, exactly, I can do.
William Vanderbilt is a billionaire—or former billionaire if the rumors about the family's money running out are true—and I'm just a high school student with a notebook, a list of rules, and a crush.
On Friday, we attend the big game, and this time, I don't sabotage Zack, I cheer him on. He carries Burberry Prep to their greatest victory of the season, and a chance at the playoffs. When he comes off the field, all sweaty and streaked with dirt, throws his arms around me and kisses me in front of everyone, I let him.
That's how the rumors start.
By Halloween, they're full-blown.
"Your name, with the word slut, is scrawled all over the bathroom mirrors," Miranda says, chucking the lid of her shoe box against the wall in frustration. "I used the emergency line to report the graffiti, but Ms. Felton says the staff is already aware of it, and that they're actively working to clean it up. When I challenged her and said that, no, I was just in there, and they weren't, she told me that it's in every single student restroom on campus."
Miranda huffs, and throws back sheets of shiny white-blond hair over her shoulders. She's so mad that she's shaking.
I'm almost disturbingly calm, examining my outfit as it sparkles on the bed.
