“Zayd …” I start as his mouth brushes up against mine. This is a bad idea, I think, but then it’s happening and my breath is leaving in a rush. Zayd’s lip rings tease my skin just before he closes that distance between us, his tongue sweeping my lower lip before he drives into my mouth. His inked hands tighten on my hips, and our bodies slow their motion, lips taking over the rhythm.

I’ve only ever kissed one guy before Zayd, and that was Zack. Zayd’s kisses are completely different, white-hot and sure of himself, like he knows he can get most any girl he wants. When Zack kissed me, it was with a dark possessiveness that scared me so bad that I stopped talking to him for a week after. Then he broke up with me, and I … maybe he was adverse to my kiss as much as I was to his?

My arms tighten around Zayd’s neck, and he presses deeper into me, melding our bodies into one. His tongue sweeps my own, controlling the kiss, but not overpowering me. It feels so good that it’s hard to remember that he hates me, that he probably kisses all the other girls just like this.

With a gasp, I find my rational brain hiding in there somewhere and push away from him, his grin sharpening, eyes locking onto mine. Wiping my arm across my mouth, I realize that I’m shaking, that there’s a warmth between my thighs that I’m not used to.

Zayd chuckles, low and seductive and suggestive, but at least most of the other students have gone back to dancing. The only ones still watching us are Harper, Becky, Valentina, and Abigail. Uh-oh. Their eyes track me as I turn and flee towards the door. Zayd had said my debt to him would be resolved by just dancing, and yet … I kissed him anyway.

At least I don’t have to worry about there being any doubt as to whether or not I played by the Infinity Club rules.

“Whoa, Working Girl, where are you going?” Zayd comes out behind me, but I’ve stopped cold. Tristan’s at the bottom of the steps with a girl pressed up against the statue on the opposite side from where Zayd’s parked the car. He’s kissing her, and one of her thighs is in his hand, but I don’t think they’re having sex … yet.

He glances up at me with cold, gray eyes, and then … this sharp burst of anger and heat snaps through him, and he pushes away from the girl. She gapes after him and reaches for his arm, but he shakes her off.

“What are you doing here?” he snaps, but not at me, at Zayd. When I glance back at the rocker boy, he’s got his inked fingers tucked into his pockets, an arrogant smirk stretched across his face. “We agreed you wouldn’t come tonight.”

“A suggestion was made, but it was never an agreement.” Zayd pauses as Creed comes up behind him, his blue eyes snapping to mine and then back over to Zayd’s face. “If you wanted to make sure it didn’t happen, you should’ve bet me.” He tosses me the keys to the Maserati. “Be my designated driver, Charity?”

“What about Becky?” I choke out, my brain whirling with the after effects of that kiss. I’m not even going to try to decipher the fight that’s going on between the three Idol boys. They won’t tell me anything, even if I ask. “I thought you were going to ‘bag her tonight’.” I can’t keep a scowl off my own face as I squeeze the car keys in my palm.

“Nah, I think I put in enough face time with you to piss her off. Once she calms down though, she’s mine.”

“You’re despicable,” Creed drawls, but I don’t think he means the Becky thing.

“Fuck you, Zayd,” Tristan growls out, his eyes burning as he takes me in. “I hope you know you came to the party with a snake tonight.”

“As opposed to what?” I ask, because I can’t shake that black widow reference. Tristan is venomous, manipulative, content to wait and plan his revenge. When he doesn’t answer me, I turn and open the door to the Maserati. Zayd smirks at his friends (or are they even friends?) and then climbs into the passenger seat. I join him, start up the car, and put it in reverse. Even though I don’t have my license, I’ve been driving my dad around since I was thirteen. Sometimes he was just too drunk to do it himself.

We drive back to Burberry Prep, but neither of us mentions the kiss. Zayd, because it probably doesn’t mean much to him. Me, because it means a little too much.

Winter formal—and winter break—are fast approaching, but I don’t know how I feel about that. I’m enjoying a quiet life of studying and hanging out with Miranda and Andrew. Zack and I have been texting, but not as often as Lizzie and me. She seems really nice, and I’m starting to look forward to her messages.

“I’m dreading the New Year,” I groan, because it feels like time is slipping through my fingers. Not being bullied has put my year into hyper speed, and now I’ve got anxious butterflies in my belly when I think of going back to that, this low grade anxiety buzzing through me, always wondering if I’m being hunted. “And I’m not sure how I feel about going home either.”

Miranda looks at me sympathetically, but her family’s going to Paris for winter break. Staying in the big, cold academy with a skeleton staff was fine for fall break, but not over winter. I want to celebrate Christmas, decorate a tree, have a ham and sweet potatoes with marshmallows. Besides, I can’t stay mad at my dad forever; I miss him.

“You seem to be getting along with the guys okay,” Miranda offers, her mouth twitching at one corner. I roll my eyes, but I know we’re going to talk about this again. “Those videos of you kissing Zayd—”

“Please don’t,” I groan, pausing outside the elevator in Tower One on our way to homeroom. “I already told you, that was just part of a bet.”

“Whatever you say,” Miranda whistles, pausing as Tristan approaches us, sans his usual gaggle of girls. The elevator doors open, and he holds out a hand, gray eyes sharp and focused. He looks like he wants something. Oddly enough, he looks like he wants me. I’ve had that thought many times over the past week, ever since the party at Becky’s. I try to figure out when this shift happened, when the Idol guys started being marginally nicer to me, and I can pinpoint it to just after the Halloween party.

Makes a girl wonder.

“Ladies first,” Tristan says, but it’s said with such intense feeling, that a shiver runs down my spine. I’m not about to argue, and I think the Idol/elevator rule is stupid, so I walk in and lean against the back wall with my bookbag held tightly in front of me. Tristan presses the button for floor twelve, and we all sit in silence. “Miranda,” he says finally, but the doors are opening and she’s scoffing, bolting out and into the classroom without even waiting for me.

“What’s going on between you two?” I ask him, and he drops a dark gaze on me. His raven-black hair shines in the sunlight as we step into the classroom. It’s blue-black, and feathered in the front so that it falls softly across his brow. I wonder what it’d be like to run my fingers through it? The thought crosses my mind, and I feel a hot blush fill my cheeks.

“Going on between us?” he asks, like he’s considering the question. “Mm. Why don’t you talk to your friend and fulfill your end of Creed’s bet?” He moves into the classroom ahead of me, but when his usual flock of girls bounces up to him, he brushes them aside and takes a seat, cracking open his laptop.

Interesting.

Something is definitely going on with the Idol guys. Harper watches Tristan for a moment before turning her narrow-eyed gaze to me, mouth tightening. She flips me off when he’s not looking, and then turns away to take her seat next to him. Before she can pull out the chair, Tristan’s grabbing the back of it and turning a dark glare on his fellow Idol.

An angry, whispered conversation passes between them before her eyes go wide and she storms off, nostrils flaring with rage. After a minute, Tristan turns around and makes eye contact with me.

“This is your new seat,” he says, pulling the chair out, and then going back to his laptop.

I’m so shocked that I don’t even argue, sliding into the chair as Harper sits next to Miranda. My best friend and I exchange a look across the room, but I can’t decide if mine should be relief, excitement, or confusion.

The guys are being nice to me, but why? And for how long?

Some part of me knows it won’t last. The rest of me … wishes that it would.

Because Burberry Prep is a boarding school with strict on/off campus privileges, most of the students have had their winter formal gowns all along. Me, I couldn’t afford one, so Miranda brings over some extra dresses for me to try on. It’s like a repeat of Halloween all over again, me trying on things that are too tight, too short, not remotely my style.

“You can’t wear holey jeans to the dance,” she tells me, eyeing my expression of distaste in the full-length mirror on the back of my wardrobe door. “Just pick one. You look gorgeous in every single one.” Miranda leans back on my bed, dressed in a sparkling blue gown that shows off how stunning her natural eye color is. She’s a goddess in pale blue, with her blond hair coiffed and decorated with pearls. And this isn’t even her trying, just a practice run. On the day of, she’ll be irresistible. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Andrew’s going to ask you to go with him.”

“Andrew?” I ask, because after our one date, and that one time he put his hand on my knee, I haven’t gotten any vibes off of him that he’s interested in me. “Really? I don’t think he’s into me like that.” I snap a photo of myself, and send it to Lizzie. I see the dancing dots that shows she’s typing, and then I’m inundated with screaming emoji faces.

You look freaking amazing! she sends, and I smile. That’s all Miranda’s said, too, but I don’t feel pretty. Maybe it’s just my nerves getting to me, but I’m not as excited about the dance as I should be. On a whim, I also send the photo to Zack.

He doesn’t answer right away, and I put my phone on the bed. My hands run down the silver sequined front of the dress, but I shake my head. It doesn’t look right with my new, edgy haircut. A pang of agony goes through me when I imagine how nice my brunette waves would’ve looked with this outfit. Miranda could’ve used some of her magic on me, twisting my unruly locks up into a fancy do.