“Marnye, you sweet-sweet thing.” He makes me sit on the toilet until most of the um, liquid is gone and wiped away, kneeling down in front of me and reaching up to palm the heavy weight of my bare breast. “I’m nowhere near done with you,” he whispers, pulling me down to the floor and climbing on top of me. His fingers find their way inside my heat, his thumb easing over my clit. He kisses and sucks at my neck, leaving hickeys that feel too good for me to worry about what they might look like later.
“I love you, Marnye Reed,” he whispers in my ear, just as my climax hits like a wave and shatters me to pieces, body, heart, and soul.Tristan opens the bathroom door and steps out, letting it close behind him while he scouts around to make sure the coast is clear. Of course, it isn't even remotely clear.
Lizzie Walton is waiting.
As soon as I hear her voice, I pause, leaning my ear against the door.
“You've been in there for quite a while, Tristan,” she says, her voice thick with hurt and frustration.
“So what? Do you monitor how long I go to the bathroom for? Is there a time limit on the act?”
“Don't do that. Don't get angry with me because you don't know how else to act. We know each other too well to play those sorts of games.” Lizzie pauses. “Marnye, you can come out now.”
Crap. Crap, crap, crap.
I'm sweaty, and shaky, and honestly I'm ready to go back to my room and scream into a pillow. There are so many emotions running through me; I need time to process them all.
The last thing I want to do is face Lizzie Walton.
But she knows I'm here, so I step out into the quiet hush of the library, the soft murmur of voices, and the scratch of old pages being turned.
Lizzie is looking right at me with her amber eyes, her mouth in a flat line, her expression unreadable.
I don't know what to say to her. Is there anything I can say really? Anything that'll make it better that is?
“You two …” Lizzie starts, but Tristan steps partially in front of me and cuts her off.
“What we were doing in there is none of your business, Lizzie,” he says, and the way he looks at her, I can tell he's sorry, too. He cares about her, but in the same way he cares about Creed. As a friend. That's it. When he looks back at me, there's a brightness in his eyes that makes me catch my breath.
He turns back to Lizzie again, and I remember his words from before. “I was waiting for you to fight for me.”
I step forward and curl my arm around Tristan's.
“I'm sorry, Lizzie,” I tell her, feeling one of the tight knots in my stomach come undone … and another one reform. “I wanted Tristan to choose between us so badly that I didn't think about asserting myself as much as I should have. I—”
“I love him,” she says, her eyes filling with fat tears that roll down her cheeks and land on the black chest of her uniform. “I love him enough to choose him and only him. So what about you, Marnye? Is Tristan your choice then?”
A flare of fear shoots through me, lighting me up on the inside. Do I choose Tristan? Have I chosen him? But … I can't choose. Not yet. Just the idea of it makes me sick. It's only January; I still have months left to make that decision.
“Don't pressure her,” Creed drawls, appearing from the sea of books with my bag and Tristan's both thrown over his shoulder. He saunters out and pauses beside us. If I didn't know him as well as I do, I might not notice the way his fist clenches around the strap of the bag, or how his ice-blue eyes are dark with jealousy. “She doesn't have to make that decision now.”
“Seriously?” Lizzie asks, looking between Creed and Tristan. “It doesn't bother you that she refuses to pick a guy? Not at all? Because that's all I ever wanted: for Tristan to pick me.” Tristan reaches into his pocket and pulls out his handkerchief, but Lizzie doesn't accept it. Instead, she backs up even further.
“Different things make different people happy,” Creed says, coming to stand beside Tristan. “I've gotten everything I've ever wanted, my entire life, just as I've wanted it. For once, there's a what-if. That's enough for me.”
“This is bullshit,” Lizzie murmurs, running her fingers through her hair. “This is … I can't believe this is happening.”
“Don't do this,” Tristan tells her, but when he moves forward, she moves back again.
“I came to Burberry Prep for you, left all my friends behind. I …” she starts, and then stops, turning on her heel and taking off through the library. One of the librarians yells at her to stop running, but Lizzie ignores her, disappearing from view.
