Stuck With The Four Hotties

I only have to survive one more week until fall break. Then I can go home and see Dad. Then I can take a break from all of this. To be quite honest, it’s exhausting. Not only am I studying my ass off, working out for the cheer team, and playing the harp in every spare second of my time, but I’m always on high-alert at. One wrong move, and I’m dead.

On the plus side, these last few weeks have been almost … fun? Miranda has stopped talking to her twin completely. I mean, like complete and utter silence. Even I can see that it’s killing him. He looks almost pale and sad when he thinks nobody’s looking. If he’s even remotely aware that there are eyes on him, he puts up his arrogant, haughty front like a shield.

Kathleen Cabot appeared the Monday after the Halloween party in her white stretch limo, marched down the stone halls in her Louboutins and grabbed her son by the ear. According to Miranda, she’s this close to pulling him out of Burberry Prep and enrolling him in an all-boys military academy. She’s beyond disappointed him in, beyond fawning over me (in front of Creed), and basically begged me to keep tutoring him.

It’s a chore, but I do it. We sit side by side in the library every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for two hours, and speak in low, clipped, studious tones. I get credits for it, at least, and I don’t try to sabotage his work. It’s enough for me to do my job.

After we finish up on that last Monday, I start to pack up my things and Creed leans back in his chair. With his angelic white-blond hair and ice-blue

eyes, the white of the second-year uniform looks like it was made for him. The way he lounges, too, is quite incredible, like he’s boneless and deserves to be carried about on a golden litter.

“Do you like tormenting me?” he asks, and I turn to gape at him.

“Are you serious?” It’s now my turn to lean back in my chair, and give him a once-over. “That’s a joke, right? You know who started this, don’t you? I’ll give you a hint: it wasn’t me.”

Creed doesn’t react. Actually, he looks like he’s about to fall asleep. Or have sex. Maybe the latter and then the former? I have no idea.

When he reaches out and tucks some loose strands of rose-gold hair behind my ear, I’m too startled to react.

“The girls want to kill you,” he says, and I’m actually quite sure he’s not

speaking metaphorically. “Watch out for them.”

“And you?” I retort, crossing my arms over my chest. Creed’s eyes drop to the bare bit of skin above my blouse. It was a bit hot in here, so I took my red tie off and unbuttoned a few buttons. It feels like he can see everything, the way he’s staring at me. “What do you want?”

“I want you to leave,” he says, stressing that last word and then falling back into the usual nonchalant gaiety of the idle rich. “Get out of Burberry Prep, and make yourself at home somewhere else. Why not go buddy up to your friend Lizzie at Coventry Prep?”

“Lizzie and I are not friends,” I bark, and Creed laughs, the sound just as merry as Miranda’s. However, where she reminds me of the school bell, happily reminding us all it’s time for learning, Creed’s bell-laugh is like the death knell of a church tower during a funeral.

“You seem to be friends with Zack Brooks. How is it he gets a free pass and she doesn’t?”

“He did not get a free pass,” I say, forcing myself to stay calm. Creed wants me to get pissed off and react. We just stare at each other, and it doesn’t escape my notice that his shirt is also unbuttoned. I can see a bit of his chest, and my fingers twitch on the edge of my chair. Also, our knees are far too close, just a scant two inches apart. If I moved, I’d bump against his long, long legs. I stay perfectly still. “You saw what I did to him. Be glad all I’ve done is destroy your relationship with your mother and sister.”

Creed’s jaw clenches, the only sign that I’ve struck a nerve.

“If I wanted you to fall to your knees and weep for my mercy, I could have that.” He leans suddenly toward me until our faces are inches apart. “I

could destroy you, Charity.”

“Really? Because everything you’ve thrown at me thus far has been weak as hell. I’m not afraid of you, Creed Cabot.” We maintain this stare down, even though it kills me. His lips are so close, I can remember what they tasted like the night of the winter formal, that glorious night that I sat on his lap and kissed him in the crisp cold winter air. Crap. He smells good, too, like fresh linens and soap. Don’t think about his sFent, Marnye, that’s ridiFulous. “You can say all these horrible things if you want, but you’re not going to act. Because if you do, you’ll dig your own grave. Your sister already hates you, just keep pushing her and see how evil you can get before she abandons you completely. It must hurt a lot, to lose a twin.” I cross my arms over my chest as Creed exhales and closes his eyes.

Yep.Têxt © NôvelDrama.Org.

He’s like a neutered dog.

I was right to cross him off my list.

“You were bullied, too,” I whisper finally, and he sits back, looking away sharply. His pretty blond hair falls forward and covers his face. He taps at his lips with a long finger, and I just can’t help but admire how long all of his limbs are. He’s tall and trim, but still muscular. The way his shirt pulls at his shoulders gives away a developing physique. “How could you do that to me?”

“How could you choose Zayd?” he hisses, turning back to me suddenly. I remember the way his face looked when I walked down the steps into the graduation gala in that red dress. My heart hurts a little, but I push the feeling aside. “Zayd.” Creed laughs, the sound dry and reedy, and then he stands up. Well, more like he unfolds his long limbs from the chair, towering over me as he reaches up and pops open one more button. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He takes off around the table, pausing to meet up with Ileana Taittinger.

I watch him flirt with her as my insides twist into a dangerous knot. She’s got an old name, a very well established family legacy. Hmm.

Maybe I crossed his name off just a little too soon? I’ll have to keep an eye on them.

For now, I gather my books, rise to my feet, and leave

the sanctity of the library.