“I have my reasons for trying to get close to them again,” I murmur, but clearly I’m being cryptic as hell, and Miranda sighs.
“So I figured. Just … be careful, okay? Your revenge thing is fine, but don’t let it take away your natural sweetness.” She leans over to brush loose hair from my forehead, and smiles.
“I am not naturally sweet,” I reply with a roll of my eyes, and she laughs.
“Are you kidding? You’re so sweet you’re practically syrup.” Miranda pauses suddenly and glances away, biting her lower lip. I raise my brows because I can tell something important is about to come up. “Hey Marnye …”
“Yes?” I start, grabbing her abandoned yaoi manga and opening it to a random page. There’s a full page drawing of two guys on a bed, and I think … Oh. Based on the next panel, I don’t have to think about what they’re doing: I know. My cheeks turn pink as I keep flipping through.
“Jessie and I broke up.” She blurts this out in a rush and then peers up at me from under blonde brows. I’ve stacked two bean bags on top of each other to make a chair, raising myself up several inches above her. Better to be here than back in my room, all alone. For the last week and a half, I’ve begged Miranda to stay with me because I can’t bear the silence. As soon as I lay down and the light on my bedside table clicks off, I start remembering the water filling my lungs.
“Wait, this isn’t because of me, is it?” I ask, and Miranda flushes even brighter than I am after looking at the yaoi drawings. Damn. Now I feel like complete crap. I knew I shouldn’t have asked her so many times to sleep over.
“You needed me: you suffered a trauma,” she starts, and then she glances away sharply and exhales, her gaze fixated so purposefully on a copy of a book about sea turtles that I know her mind is a million miles away. When she glances back, I see she’s about to say something important, but gets interrupted by Creed.
“Boys’ love?” he asks, appearing out of nowhere and sweeping the manga from my hands before I can stop him. “How gauche. I’ve told Miranda not to waste her time reading these things: it’s basically porn in the shape of a comic book.”
“How about you get fucked?” Miranda snaps at her twin, and I raise my eyebrows. “If Marnye cared what you thought, she’d ask.” Creed narrows his ice-blue eyes at her, and they have an epic stare down that only a pair of twins could accomplish. Flames practically crackle in the air between them.
It doesn’t bother me though because Creed’s one and only admirable trait is the protective brother thing. He’d kill for his sister; I know he would.
“I’m going to excuse myself,” I murmur, standing up and slipping away.
I end up bumping—quite literally—into Zack in the next aisle. He actually looks surprised to see me, a book of poems open in one hand, his academy-issued tablet on the table next to him. Aww, he’s actually studying. Zack is by no means the top of the class, but since the school year started he’s worked his way up from the bottom twenty percent to the top fifty. Huge improvement.
“Do you need any help?” I ask, peeping at the cover to see what he’s looking at. “Ah, Emily Dickinson. Did you know many of her poems are still under copyright? She’s a classic, a legend, and she’s long-dead. Do you want to know how messed up copyright law has actually become? It used to be a tool of the people, and now it’s used against the people by corpor—”
Zack puts a finger on my lips to shush my rambling, and then leans down suddenly, replacing his hand with his mouth.
The book of poems falls to the ground between us, and I’m soon standing with my back against a wall of literature while Zack explores my mouth with his tongue. His big arms sweep around me, filling me with this sense of protection and safety. When did that happen? When did I go from hating Zack to … liking him?
We break apart with a small gasp, his dark eyes locked on mine, burning with need.
“You can tell me about Emily Dickinson, or copyright law, or random historical facts whenever you want, Marnye. I think it’s hot.”
“Hot for me to tell you the library wing was an addition added to Burberry in the early nineteen hundreds by a grant from the Vanderbilt family?” I choke out and Zack grins. He kisses me again, and I swoon so badly that if his arms weren’t there, I would fall over.
“So fucking hot. Except for the name Vanderbilt. Let’s just leave that part out.” He moves to kiss me again when a dramatic throat clearing breaks us up, a sudden foot of space appearing between our bodies as we turn to find Windsor York … lounging on top of a book case?
“How did you get up there?” I choke out, and he shrugs. He’s all stretched out on the wood like it’s a hammock or something. “You’re going to get suspended,” I warn as he looks down at us with his hazel eyes sparkling.
“Don’t stop on my account. Occasionally I get tired of fucking and like to watch.” My nose wrinkles, and Zack scowls, gathering his book from the floor. Windsor doesn’t seem to care, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side. He hops down to the ground next to us. “So.” He props his forearm on the shelf above me and leans in dramatically. “I was thinking: you’ve got a few names on your list that aren’t crossed off. Small fries, though. We should knock those out, and then focus on the girls.”
“I showed you that list, so you could offer suggestions, not take over,” I say with a roll of my eyes. Windsor raises his eyebrows and gives this self-satisfied little smirk that I couldn’t force my mouth to make if I tried. Once, I stood in front of the mirror to see if I could get my expression to look as haughty and arrogant as the Idols, and I failed miserably. “I’m working my way up to the girls. They’re the most difficult.”
“You’ve also gone too soft on the Idol boys, in my not-so-humble opinion,” he continues, and I duck under his arm to head back over to Zack. Heat is still coursing through me, rampant and white-hot, infectious. Now that I’ve had a taste of him, I just want more. So much more. I could easily see dating him one day …
One day.
But the Idols already think I’m dating him, and I need the boys to think I’m accessible enough that they could get me as a date to the graduation getaway. Unfortunately, I might have to put a bit of space between me and Zack for now.
“Windsor, I told you my story, yes, but that doesn’t mean you know everything.” Told you my story, hah, please. Basically you sit across from me in The Mess everyday and work your princely magic until I spill all my secrets. “Forget about the guys for now. The girls are trying to kill me, remember? Can we focus?”
He sighs and shrugs, rolling his shoulders as he taps his fingers along the spines of several poetry volumes and then selects one at random. He flips it open, glances at the poems inside and sighs.
“I’ve memorized all of these,” he says as he flicks through the pages. “There’s nothing quite so charming as a man that can recite poetry from the heart. Wouldn’t you say so, mate?” He glances up and smiles at Zack, but Zack is not impressed. The only thing he likes about the prince is that the prince hates the Bluebloods as much as we do. What was it he said? “They’re only playing at being royals.” Pretty sure he finds them as amusing as hamsters on a wheel.
“You know, all I have is at your disposal as well …” Zack begins, running his palm over his chocolate brown hair. It’s grown out quite a bit since he got kicked off the football team, but it’s still short. I resist the urge to touch it, too. “We don’t have to put up with him.” Windsor chuckles and snaps the book closed, shoving it back onto the shelf.
“Your money, Monsieur Brooks, is all tied up in your grandfather’s spindly old hands. Isn’t that why you joined the Infinity Club? To get it back?” Zack’s face pales as I glance over at him. Holy … shit.
“You joined to get your money back?” I ask, and all the pieces start to click together. At least I have a why that explains why Zack made that bet with Lizzie. Does it make things easier? Not exactly. But it’s nice to know. Speaking of Lizzie, I’m starting to look forward
to Fridays again, so I can text her. She knows all about what the Burberry Idol girls did to me, and she is out for blood. Pretty sure I have her help and resources, too.
“I’m sorry, Marnye,” Zack whispers, and we end up staring at each other for so long that when I blink and come to, Windsor has disappeared. “I’m so sorry.” There’s nothing for me to say, so I just smile tightly and we drop the subject altogether. Zack gathers up his stuff, and we head toward the exit where Creed and Miranda are, still wrapped up in a very twin-like argument. They look like blonde, blue-eyed clones.
They pause, and in near perfect unison, turn to look at me.
My cheeks flush under their scrutiny, but Creed pretends not to notice, turning and sauntering off toward the hall. Miranda takes up my right side and starts to loudly complain about her brother’s idiocy. On the way out, we pass right by Ileana, Becky, and Harper. Creed’s already paused there, and I can hear him murmuring in low, tight tones.
Miranda does not hesitate to get involved.
“You stay the fuck away from my brother,” she hisses, shoving Ileana in the shoulder. The first year girl stumbles and whirls on her with narrowed eyes. Harper and Becky just stand there, smirking. Seeing them all together like this brings those memories roaring back to the surface, and I feel sick. I think I sway on my feet, but Zack puts a hand on my elbow and steadies me. “He might want a good name to go with our fortune, but you won’t see a damn dime of the Cabot money. You’re not good enough to be his hairdresser let alone his girlfriend or future bride.”
Creed doesn’t argue. Actually, I think I see the corner of his mouth twitch in a barely suppressed smile.
“This conversation doesn’t involve you, dyke,” Ileana snarls, and Creed’s face turns to stone. Ileana whips back around toward him, but it’s too late: whatever they might’ve been talking about is over. Hopefully they weren’t doing much more than breaking up or exchanging quips. I mean, the girl tried to freaking drown me.
I glance over at Creed, but his ice-cold stare is focused on the Idols.
“She said you should be kicked out,” I blurt suddenly, nodding in Harper’s direction with my chin. “Harper did. She thinks Windsor should be an Idol and not you.”
“Yeah, well, that was before I realized he was a Brothel client, too, just like all the rest of them.” Harper grabs Ileana by the arm and pulls her back. “Forget about Cabot. There are other, better guys to choose from.”
“None as rich though,” Creed drawls, tucking his hands into his pockets, and letting this lazy smirk take over his face. “Enjoy your dwindling fortune. Being old money is nice, but only when you actually have money.”
“Screw you, Cabot,” Ileana snaps, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. Maybe eventually, I’ll cut hers off, too. “You’re making a huge mistake here. Fucking huge. You’ll never be respected in the Club. You’ll always be the new guy whose mommy bought his way in.”
“And you’ll always be the girl with the chip on her shoulder because I’d willingly fuck the Working Girl before I’d ever lay hands on you.” Creed turns on his heel and saunters off as my eyes widen, and Ileana’s mouth drops to the floor. The glare she turns on me is pure hate.
“Next time,” she snaps as Harper and Becky flank her, “there isn’t going to be a prince to save you.”
I’ve been secretly dreading Valentine’s Day since … well, the school year started. Last year was eventful enough. This year … I’m not sure what I should do. I decide that, as much as it pains me, I have to send the Idol boys roses. If I want to draw them in the way they did me, why not use the same techniques?
So, I order a rose each for Tristan, Zayd, and Creed as well as for Zack, Miranda, Andrew … and Windsor. Why not? At the last minute, I even order one for Jessie. She might not be dating Miranda anymore, but she’s still getting picked on by the Inner Circle, and I feel like it’s at least partially my fault.
“What a quaint little tradition,” Windsor says, pausing next to the seller’s booth to sniff the bouquet that’s on display. That’s his personality right there: he’s very much a stop and sniff the roses type. “But I have too many girlfriends to send out roses. If I tried, I’d probably forget a good half dozen, and that wouldn’t be pleasant, now would it?”
I give him a disgusted look, and he smiles at me, bending down to sign the form as I frown.
“You just said you’re not sending flowers? What are you doing?”
Windsor reaches into his pocket and pulls out a five dollar bill, tossing it on the table and stepping back.
“You don’t want a flower? Really, it’s the least I could do for my new friend. You’re truly the only person who talks to me who doesn’t want money, sex, or gossip.” Wind shrugs his shoulders and then pauses as Tristan approaches the table, pausing next to me, his peppermint and cinnamon scent overwhelming as I suck in a sharp breath.
I’d sort of forgotten how awe-inspiring it was to stand so close to him. That moment on the boat when he grabbed my arms and kissed me hard and fast. “Just remember that Creed isn’t the only one that’s interested.” My heart melted when he said that. Even knowing it’s all a lie now doesn’t make that feeling go away.
“Fuck these stupid roses,” he says, his voice like the fine edge of a knife. I’m okay where I’m standing now, but one wrong move and I’m going to get cut. I’m going to bleed. “I’ve put myself on the Do Not Send List.”
Tristan … is talking to me? I blink stupidly at him.
“There’s a Do Not Send List?” I ask, and he nods.
Windsor makes a noise behind us.
“That’s a fabulous idea … sign me up. Or rather unsign me up.”
Tristan and I both ignore him.
“Did you hear about the spring break trip for the honor students?” His voice is so hard to read; it’s impossible for me to figure out what he’s thinking.
“To Paris?” I ask, and he nods briefly. Of course I’ve heard of the trip. It’s been featured like a prize in every school newsletter since that first week in September, a special treat to dangle in front of the student body to get everyone to work harder. The thing is, I’ve heard the Plebs talking: it’s just Paris, who cares? Pretty sure the only person here who hasn’t been to France is me. “I haven’t let myself think about it. I’ve been so busy that my grades have slipped …”
“You’re still number one in the class,” he says, gray eyes so dark they’re more of a charcoal than a silver right now. I wonder if he’s thinking about that test and essay, how he’d probably be the highest ranked student in the school if I hadn’t sabotaged him. Or rather, if I hadn’t turned his sabotage back on him. “It’ll be me and you on that trip. Nobody else comes close.”
“I …” Have no idea. Tristan looks up, meets Windsor’s eyes, and sneers before he heads off down the hallway without so much as a goodbye. Interesting.
“Sunny, cheerful bloke, isn’t he?” Windsor asks, coming to stand beside me with his hands in his pockets. “And, by the way, I asked them to make an exception: you’re the only person allowed to send me a rose.” He bends down and gives me another of those quick, European cheek kisses. My silly American heart takes it far too personally, and I have to hold back a small sigh. My fingers touch my cheek, and I turn away to head down the hall, being careful to avoid the boys for the rest of the day.
With Tristan and Windsor both on the Do Not Send List, most of the attention on Valentine’s Day goes to the girls. All the Idol women are showered with roses, same goes for Valentina and Abigail. I guess the Plebs used to call them the fucked-up foursome. Must be the fucked-up fivesome now with that horrid bitch Ileana in their ranks.
Me, I get roses from Miranda, Andrew, Windsor, and Zack.
They’ve all written super sweet little cards, and I even get a tiny present from Zack, wrapped in shimmery opalescent paper. He grins sheepishly when he delivers it to my dorm later.
“It goes with the one I gave you for your birthday,” he tells me,
and I realize with a start that I’ve never opened it. I excuse myself on the pretense of needing to pee, and grab the unwrapped package from my wardrobe drawer, popping into the restroom for some privacy.
There’s so much tape on the package, that I have to use my nail clippers to cut into it.
Inside, there’s a pair of season tickets to the San Francisco Symphony clipped to a small rectangle of cardboard. My mouth drops open, and I feel terrible for leaving the gift for so long. To be quite honest, I forgot all about it. My loss, I suppose, since I could’ve used these during winter break to go with my dad.
When I step out of the bathroom, Zack’s waiting on the edge of my bed with the other gift. I hold the tickets up and he smiles, not like he’s upset or anything, but more like he’s not surprised either.
“I figured you hadn’t opened it,” he says, and I cringe. “That’s okay. At least you’ve got them now.” I sit down next to him and carefully unwrap the new package, finding another ticket to match the first two. “You know, in case you wanted to take Miranda or something …” he adds, but I know we’re both thinking about if he and I were to go together. We’re sitting so close that I can feel his body heat, and I have to close my eyes against the curiosity about what would happen if I were to give in and go to him.
“Thank you for these. You always give such thoughtful gifts.” My hands are trembling, and my heart is racing. Pretty sure those are the only words I’m going to be able to get out. I like Zack now, I really do. Part of me wishes he really was my boyfriend. Maybe, later, he can be. Just not right now.
“Are you going to the garden party?” Zack asks softly, but I’m already shaking my head. I have a few deliveries to make: small care packages for each of the Idol boys with an attached, handwritten note. I miss you. It’s the best I can do. I’ll deliver them while they are all at the party, so I don’t have to see their faces when they read it. If one of them were to reject me outright … I can’t think about that: my dad’s wellbeing is on the fucking line.
Bad, Bad Blu Bloods Page 22