Oh.

Wow.

My heart is pounding as he looks up at me through strands of that silky white-blonde hair of his, and I wonder if this is what a peasant girl might feel like if a prince were to bow to her. My throat is tight, and I’m having trouble remembering the English language.

Slowly, almost agonizingly slowly, Creed pulls off the white lace flats I borrowed from Miranda, teasing the arch of my foot with his long fingers. My skin prickles with pleasure, and I have to close my eyes for a second to keep from moaning. When I open them, I see Creed pulling one of the heels from the box, reverently slipping my right foot into it. He ties the suede ankle clasp, and then moves onto the other.

When he’s done, he stands up and holds out a hand for me.

I’m quivering a little, but I reach up and take it, feeling a small shock of electricity at his touch. He walks me the length of the store and back, our footsteps softened by the plush rug that covers the floor.

“What do you think?” he asks as we pause in front of a mirror. I’ve only tried on one pair, but I think I’m in love. With the shoes, I mean. In love with the shoes.

“They’re beautiful, but far too expensive,” I start, but he cuts me off by turning to the sales associate. When I look up, I see his eyes burning with something that looks like desire.

“We’ll take them,” he tells me, pulling out his wallet. He hands his card over to her, and she disappears behind the counter. Those ice-blue eyes fall on me, and it feels suddenly hard to breathe. Miranda has paused in her shopping spree to stare at us.

“This doesn’t mean I’m going to winter formal with you,” I whisper, and Creed reaches out to touch my chin, lifting my gaze to his. His stare burns straight through my defenses and into the swirling depths of my emotions.

“Yes it does.”

Creed leans down, and before I can even figure out how to react, he’s brushing his lips over mine, and then pulling back. I’m still reeling from the electric shock of his mouth on mine when he turns, grabs his card from the associate with two fingers, and walks right out the door.

“Maybe this was a mistake?” I whisper as Miranda finishes my makeup and combs her fingers through my hair. We’ve styled it similarly to how it was on Halloween, but with a little extra length, and Miranda’s superior skills, it looks a hundred times better.

I turn in my seat to look at her.

“What’s a mistake? Going with Creed?” she blinks at me and steps back, her pale blue dress catching the light and sending shimmery sparkles across the walls of her bathroom. We’ve never gotten ready in her apartment before, but seeing as Creed’s not only stopped picking on me, but is also taking me to the dance, it seemed safe enough.

But now, I’m starting to worry that I’m setting myself up for failure.

“What if this is, like, every teen movie ever made, where the popular guy asks the loser girl out and then throws eggs at her or takes something else to the dance …” I trail off as Miranda stares me down like I’ve lost my mind. She puts her hands on her hips and takes on a seriously scary facial expression.

“If Creed did that to you, he would lose me forever. He knows that.”

“He’s well-aware of that,” Creed drawls, appearing in the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the doorjamb, the rest of his tall, muscular form dressed in a white-on-white-on-white suit. The pants, jacket, shirt, and shoes are all the same color. The only thing that’s not is the tie, a bright gold to match my dress.

My cheeks flush, and my hands curl into the sequined fabric.

“Your presence tonight is too valuable for me to fuck up,” he continues, moving into the room and holding out a corsage. It’s made up of white roses, with one solid gold one in the center. Part of me wonders if it’s real gold. Creed opens the box and puts it on my wrist, his fingers trailing across my sensitive skin and giving me chills all over.

“Valuable?” I ask, and he smirks, taking my hand and pulling me to my feet.

“Zayd and Tristan, they’re pissed off because they wanted to ask you first.” My brows go up at that. Not once did I ever get an indication that they were interested. I mean, they’ve been nice enough to me, but only comparatively to how shitty they treated me before. My palms get sweaty as Creed’s eyes go heavy and half-lidded, drinking me in like my appearance is something to savor.

Zack was not happy about the news that I was attending winter formal with Creed. I’m not even sure why I told him in the first place, but my stomach is all in knots now, and I’m starting to second-guess myself. Maybe because I want this to work out so bad? I want to go with Creed and dance the night away, see him watching me across the room the way he’s watching me now.

“Gross, get a room,” Miranda snorts, pushing past us and heading into the living room. After some encouragement from me, she and Andrew finally decided to go together. There’s a warmth to her cheeks, too, that I don’t miss. She’s as excited as I am, and I’m starting to think that I’ve been staring this puzzle in the face all alone.

Zayd was sure that Miranda and Andrew were together. I’m starting to think that, too, although I can’t figure out why he’d ask me on a date, or why she’d push me to go to tonight’s dance with him. Something’s off, especially in regards to Tristan. Maybe he knows? Maybe there’s a reason none of them want Creed to know?

He leads me out and over to elevator where Tristan, Zayd, and Andrew are already standing. Tristan and Andrew are glaring at each other, but Miranda pretends not to notice, taking Andrew’s arm and giving Creed a small sideways glance that only I seem to notice.

“Where are your dates?” I ask the other two Idol boys. Creed stiffens up beside me, and he levels that icy glare of his on his friends. Well, maybe peers is a better word choice. “I assumed you two would be going with Harper and Becky?”

Zayd grins and shrugs his shoulders, his suit jacket red and covered in pins, his pants tight and tucked into boots. His hair’s slicked back nicely, and his tie is straight, but he’s very much the picture of a rock star.

“Goin’ stag, checkin’ out my prospects,” he says, eyeing me up and down and then letting out a whistle. “Although if this frigid fuck drives you off tonight, I’ll be nice and warm and waiting. Lookin’ hot there, Working Girl.” I narrow my eyes on him, but some small part of me warms at his words. Creed notices and slips an arm around my waist, pulling me close.

“Don’t you two look pretty,” Tristan drawls, his gray eyes taking us in. I wonder if maybe he’s holding out on taking a date because of Lizzie or something, but she assures me they haven’t talked since the night at the casino. Still, I think he’s in love with her. “What an enchanting couple you’ll make.” His words are dry and sarcastic, and he seems salty as hell, but for the life of me I can’t figure out why.

“No date?” I ask again, but Tristan ignores me, stepping into the elevator as soon as the doors are open. We head down to the first floor and join the crowd in the courtyard. Everyone’s waiting to get into one of the limos lined up outside, so we can be ferried over to the harbor.

The dance is taking place on an old-fashioned steam boat called the L.B. Burberry, after the school’s original founder, Lucas Benjamin Burberry.

“You guys know the story behind the steamboat, right?” I ask as the crowd parts for us. Tristan leads the way and people just move aside instinctually, leaving a clear path from the elevator to the steps. The next limo in line is quickly vacated by the students that were climbing in, and left for us.

Half of me is thrilled by the attention, and the other half is … disturbed. What a life these guys lead.

“Some guy built it for his mistress, right?” Zayd asks, scooting into the limo and then folding his hands together behind his neck like he owns the place. Knowing him, he probably owns a limo that’s even nicer than this.

“Not his mistress,” I choke out as Creed takes a seat and then pulls me onto his lap, just like he did in the car that day. My whole body goes white-hot and then dulls to an agonizing simmer. I do my very best not to shift around on top of him. If I feel him harden up beneath me right now, I might die. “For his wife. He had the boat designed just so he could take her to dinner on the top deck. She’d always wanted to go to New Orleans and do a steamboat cruise on the Mississippi, but she got sick and couldn’t travel.” My heart clenches, and I know my inner history buff is showing, but I can’t help myself.

“That’s so romantic,” Miranda says, squeezing Andrew’s arm. He gives her a look, and the two of them pause to stare at each other before scooting apart. Creed is watching, and his eyes narrow.

“Are they fucking?” he whispers, and his breath tickles my ear, making me squirm. He grunts, and then we end up staring at each other. Too late. I can feel his body responding to me, his arms curling tighter around my waist. My heart is beating so loud right now that it’s giving me a headache.

“I don’t … I don’t know …” I whisper back as he leans in further, hand traveling up my side.

Another person slides into the limo, and we all turn to see Harper, followed by Becky, Abigail, and Valentina. Fantastic. Their dates come next, and I recognize the scowling face of Gregory followed by John. The last Idol, Gena Whitley, is nowhere to be seen. I’ve noticed she has her own circle of friends she gravitates to sometimes.

“What are you doing in here, Harper?” Tristan snaps, and he sounds like he wants to kick her butt right out onto the pavement. The door closes, someone taps the roof, and off we go. Harper is smiling, but the expression reminds me of a shark.

“I’m your date to the dance, what else, silly?” she says, her pink dress riding up her thighs as she scoots to Tristan and latches onto his arm. He shakes her off with a dark scowl, but it doesn’t seem to faze her. She’s made of strong stuff, that one. His expression would scare the shit out of me. He looks like a man who’s just run into an obstacle that’s blocking something he really, really wants.