The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,46
can't say anything when he looks at me like that. My throat's too tight. "You seem to have a lot of people interested in you, Marnye Elizabeth Reed."
"Tristan once called me a Mary Sue, maybe that's it?" Creed smiles at the joke which I find surprising. Usually just the mention of the T-word makes him frown. "Honestly, I'm still half-convinced you guys have another bet going."
"There's no bet," Creed says, scowling. But like, screw him because I have every right to be suspicious. "Nothing that involves hurting or harming you anyway."
"Well, that's cryptic," I reply, leaning back in my seat and giving him a look. Our knees bump together and a shiver takes over me. Creed notices and smiles nice and slow. "What exactly do you mean by that?"
"There were other bets or suggestions of bets involving you, like the one with Zack," he says simply, shrugging. "The one he tried to make when you crashed the party at the amphitheater."
Ah, right, the night with the knucklebones. Like that wasn't creepy at all. Harper du Pont really is a special sort of monster.
"Can you tell me about it?" I query, and Creed's smile gets even more wicked. "And is there a reason you guys hate him so much?"
"Marnye, there's a whole host of things we could talk about, but there's only one subject I'm interested in."
"Creed," I warn as he leans forward, and I shoot up out of my chair.
Alright. I've accepted it. I have a bit of a thing for him. For Tristan. For Zayd. For Zack. Windsor … is just a friend, right? Or … maybe I'm just scared to admit I'm crushing on him when I'm not too sure that he likes me back?
Creed follows me as I weave through the aisles, heading back toward the history section and sliding the binder full of old school newspapers back on the shelf. We're in separate history classes, but we both have the same assignment: put together an essay on Burberry Prep and its relation to politics during the late eighteen hundreds. Ugh.
"Marnye," he repeats, and I spin around. It's still so new to me to hear the boys call me by my name. Zayd still occasionally says Working Girl, and both him and Tristan say Charity, but there's an affectionate little tint to it now that I actually like. I'm all about reclaiming and re-purposing words.
"What?"
Creed leans in close, putting his hands on the metal shelf on either side of my hips. He doesn't touch me, but there's barely a hairbreadth between us. My mind conjures up Miranda's words: For what those boys did to you, they should let you date them all until you make up your mind.
"I've been patient, but on the inside, I'm wasting away."
"Drama queen," I blurt, and then after a second, "drama prince." Creed has always struck me as more of a prince and less of a king. And it's not because he's inferior to Tristan, it's just … he's different. If he spent less time trying to be or beat Tristan, and more time on his own endeavors, he'd be a force to be reckoned with.
Creed smirks, and I do my best not to sigh as his scent overwhelms me. He always smells so damn clean, like laundry detergent on fresh crisp cotton, hung out in the bright sun and brisk breeze to dry. Wow, Marnye, waxing poetic much?
"It's true." He leans in close and presses a kiss next to my left eye. My body shudders, and I hear him make this satisfied male sound. "I've been on pins and needles. And you have no idea how much I want to punch Zack."
"He's a good guy," I whisper, but it's so hard to think with Creed this close to me, his uniform just slightly disheveled, the top three buttons undone and revealing just a glimpse of flat, smooth chest underneath.
He makes a small sound of acknowledgement, but that's about it.
"I want to kiss you so bad right now," Creed drawls, and my pulse skyrockets. I can hear the blood pounding in my head.
"What's stopping you?" I whisper back, and his half-lidded eyes go wide. As slowly and lazily as he does everything else, he moves his front hand from the shelf and places it on my hip. His other hand comes up and he tickles beneath my chin with his long fingers. My head drops back and my eyes close as he leans in toward me.