I DON’T LIKE BEING MADE a spectacle in front of the entire class, and that’s exactly what Crew just did. Attention doesn’t bother me, as long as it’s not negative.
What he just made happen felt negative. Almost mocking. Shoving me to the side, so we could share his desk chair, even for those brief few minutes, had been annoyingly…
Pleasant.
He’s solid. Hard muscle and hot skin. Broad shouldered with a wide chest and strong arms. Being so close to him, his arm slung behind me and across the back of the chair, I felt as if I was in a Crew Lancaster cocoon. And I liked it. I liked having him close. My heart started to race with having him so near.
It’s still racing.
I settle into my seat, dropping my notebook on top of my desk, keeping my attention on Ms. Skov, who’s wrapping up attendance. The hairs on the back of my neck slowly rise, and it takes everything inside me not to turn around and see who’s staring.
I already know. I can feel his gaze on me, heavy and brooding. As subtly as I can, I glance over my shoulder, catching his eyes on me and no one else, and then he does the strangest thing.
He smiles.
It’s small and quick, and if I told anyone else it happened, no one would believe me, but oh my God, Crew just smiled at me, and my stomach feels like a million butterflies just took flight, their fluttering wings making me tingle everywhere.
All from a brief smile.
What in the world is wrong with me?
“All right. Pair up with your partners. We’re all set there, right?” Skov settles her gaze on me, her thin brows shooting up. I barely nod, embarrassed at being called out yet again. “Okay. Get to work.”
I leave my desk and make my way back to Crew, who’s sprawled in his seat rather insolently, his expression one of pure boredom, his body language telling me he’d rather be anywhere but here.
I step over his feet and plop myself into the empty desk next to Crew, which was just abandoned by Ezra. “Did you prepare anything for today?” I ask, knowing what his answer will be.
“No.” He lifts his heavy-lidded gaze to mine. “Did you?”
Nodding, I flip open my notebook to the list of questions I jotted down earlier this morning, when I realized I had no choice, that whether I liked it or not, Crew would remain my psychology partner. “I came up with a few questions.”
“For me?” He sits up straighter, rubbing his hands together. “Let me hear them.”
I send him a strange look, surprised by his behavior. I don’t understand this boy. I know I wouldn’t be eager to hear any questions he might have for me.
“They’re simple questions—” I start, but he shakes his head, cutting me off.
“Nothing is simple when it comes to you, Birdy. I get the feeling you’re going to try and figure me out.”
He’s so right, not that I think I have a chance in doing so, not with the limited time we have to work on this project.
Figuring out Crew Lancaster and what motivates him will probably take months. Maybe even years.
“That’s what we’re supposed to do,” I stress, leaning across the desk. His gaze drops, lingering on my chest, and I realize a second too late, my breasts are basically resting on top of the desk.
I pull away, my cheeks going hot, and when he returns his gaze to mine, he’s smirking.
“I have an idea,” he says, and I momentarily forget my embarrassment, just grateful he’s willing to come up with something.
“What is it?”
“Let’s make a list of our assumptions about each other.” It’s his turn to lean in closer, those glittering eyes of his never leaving mine. “I’d love to find out what you think you know about me.”
I don’t want to know what he thinks about me. I’m sure it’s all terrible, more gossip than facts. Most of the guys at this school don’t care for me, only because I won’t succumb to their charms.
I sound like my mother with that term, but it’s true. I don’t fall for the coercion, or their lies. They flatter, they say what us girls want to hear, and next thing we know, we’re on our knees for them. Or beneath them in a bed, or a car, or whatever dark, supposedly private place they can get us into. They ask for provocative photos, claiming they’re private, and then they share them with their friends. Making them a mockery.
They don’t respect women. And that’s the problem. They’re all a bunch of bros, who are eager to add girls’ names to their sexual conquest list. That’s it.
That’s all we are.
Even Franklin and Maggie, who I thought were sort of solid, really aren’t. Theirs is a volatile relationship that I wouldn’t want.
None of the relationships at school are ones I long for. The boys are either too forward, or too immature. I’m not a particularly religious person, but I
do value my body and my morals. My parents have always stressed how careful I should be when choosing who I eventually share my love and my body with.
They do their best to talk me out of being in any sort of relationship with someone right now, especially my father.
“Well?” Crew’s deep voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I blink him back into focus. “What do you think?”
“You’ll be nice?” My voice is cautious. “You want real? Or do you want nice?”
I guess when it comes to Crew and his opinion of me, they don’t go hand in hand.
Good to know.
“Real,” I say, sounding a lot more confident than I feel.
“I want the same. Lay it all out, Birdy. Tell me all your secret thoughts about me.”
His words make me bristle. How can he take something that sounds so innocent and make it seem dirty? “I don’t have secret thoughts about you.”
“I’m disappointed.” He chuckles, the rich sound making me warm. “I have all sorts of secret thoughts about you.”
Interest flares deep, and I mentally tell it to stop. I don’t care about his secret thoughts of me. “I don’t want to know them.”
“You sure about that?” His brows knit together. He seems surprised. I shake my head. “Absolutely. I’m sure every one of them is lewd.” “Lewd.” He chuckles again. “Nice word choice.”
“I’m sure it’s accurate.” I flip past the list of questions I created in my notebook, smoothing my hand across the fresh clean page. “Are you ready?”
“We’re doing this?”
“Let’s set a timer.” I grab my phone and open up the clock app. “Ten minutes?”
He nods. “Tell me when to start.”
I set my phone on the desk and grab my pencil, my finger hovering above the start button as Crew grabs a pen, clicking it a couple of times, I’m sure only to bother me. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go.”
I start scribbling immediately all of the things I’ve heard about Crew over the years. A few of my own assumptions. Considering we’ve never really talked before, I have no clue if any of the things I’m listing are actually true or not.
Which makes me feel kind of bad, but I don’t let the guilt linger for too long.
I’m too busy writing out my list.
Crew, on the other hand, takes his time, scribbling a few words here and there. Tapping his pen against his slightly pursed lips as he contemplates whatever he’s thinking about.
Knowing that he’s thinking about me throws me a little. Makes me hesitate, my pencil still poised upon the paper, my breath lodging in my throat when I glance up to find him watching me. We stare at each other for a beat until he points the pen at me and immediately starts putting something down on paper.
I do the same, writing blindly, not quite sure if I’m actually composing words but hoping for the best.
What did he just realize? Was it good or was it awful? Knowing Crew, it was most likely terrible.
When the timer finally sounds, it makes me jump, my pencil falling to the floor and rolling in Crew’s direction. He stops it with his foot, bending down to pick it up while I attempt to shut off the alarm. I finally manage it at the same time he hands me my pencil, his hand covering almost the entire thing.
Forcing me to touch him when I take it from him.
His fingers slide over mine, electricity crackling between us at the connection, yet his expression is completely neutral. As if what just happened never happened at all.
Again, another figment of my imagination.
“Read me your list,” he demands, his voice smooth as silk as it washes over me.
I shake my head, frowning at the scribbles across my paper. “I need to decipher what I wrote first.”
He holds a single sheet of paper in front of him, his eyes narrowing in seeming concentration. “I’ll go first then.”
I lean back in my chair, my entire body stiff with worry. Pressing my lips together, I swallow hard and wait for the horrible words to come.
“My assumptions about Birdy.” He glances at me over the top of the paper. “That’s you.”
I huff out a laugh, though there’s really no sound. “Right.”
“She’s nice to everyone. She wants people to respect her. To listen to her. Though really most everyone just takes advantage of her.”
I remain quiet, absorbing his words.
“She’s a good student. Smart. She wants teachers to admire her. To think she’s a hard worker. Some admire her too much.” The pointed look he sends my way has me immediately thinking of Figueroa.
Doubtful. But whatever.
“She surrounds herself with a lot of people, but I never see her with actual friends. She’s closed off. Thinks she’s better than everyone else. Judgmental.”
I wince at that particular word.
“…she’s also a prude. A virgin. Not interested in sex. Probably scared of it. Scared of guys. Scared of everyone. Possible traumatic experience in her past?” He lifts his gaze from the paper, his eyes meeting mine. “And that’s it.”
My mind is awhirl with a mountain of things. None of them positive. I’m not scared of guys. I’m not scared of anyone.
Well, this particular guy makes me feel a decent amount of fear, not that I’d ever admit it.
“That was plenty, don’t you think?” I try to smile at him, but it comes out so twisted, I give up.
“You don’t have an opinion about any of my thoughts?” He raises his brows in question.
“There was never a traumatic experience in my past.” “Are you sure about that?”
That he would even doubt me… “Yes,” I say firmly.
We’re quiet for a moment, watching each other, his gaze finally dropping from mine to stare at the scribbles on his paper. All while my mind goes over what he said about me.
Take advantage of her. Closed off.
Has no friends.
Judgmental.
A prude. A virgin.
Scared of sex.
None of that is true. I have friends. I don’t let people take advantage of me, and I’m very open. I’m not afraid of sex. I’m just not interested.
The only thing that’s true is I’m a virgin. And proud of it.
“Your turn,” he says softly, yet again interrupting my thoughts.
I glance down at the paper in my notebook, squinting at some of the hurried words I wrote. I can’t make out all of them, but here I go.
“Crew Lancaster believes he’s untouchable, which he mostly is. He’s arrogant. Demanding. Sometimes even a bully.” I chance a quick look at him, but he’s not even paying attention to me. He’s tapping his pen against his pursed lips and I get caught up in the shape of his mouth yet again.
There is no reason for me to be so fascinated with his lips. He says horrible things. That’s reason enough to hate that mouth. To hate him, and everything he stands for.
I force myself to keep reading.
“He’s smart. Charming. Teachers do what he says because his family owns the school.”
“Facts,” he adds.
I roll my eyes and continue.
“He’s cold. Doesn’t say much. Scowls at people a lot. Not very friendly at all, yet everyone wants to be his friend.”
“It’s the name,” he says. “They only care because I’m a Lancaster. They want to get in good with me.”
He interjects a lot, while I didn’t say a thing.
“He’s threatening. Cruel. He doesn’t smile—like ever. Probably not happy with his life,” I finish, deciding to add something at the last second. “Has poor little rich boy syndrome.”
“What the fuck is that?”
I ignore his f-bomb, trying my best not to visibly react. “Come on, you know.”
“I want to hear you explain it.” His voice is deadly soft and the gleam in his eyes is so, so cold.
Taking a deep breath, I tell him, “It’s when your family ignores you completely and money is the only source of love. They pay attention to you when they deem it necessary but otherwise, you’re just a prop in their so- called family life. You’re the baby, right? They’re too busy getting involved in everyone else’s lives, while they forget all about you.”
His smile is not friendly. It’s downright menacing. “Interesting description. I get the sense you’re familiar with that sort of treatment.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
“Harvey Beaumont is your father. One of the largest commercial real estate brokers in all of New York City, correct?” When I just stare at him, he continues, “My brothers are in the business. They know all about him. He’s a ruthless motherfucker who has an enormous collection of priceless art.”
Hearing him call my father, a mother-bleeper, is a tad disconcerting.
“My mother is the collector,” I admit, the words falling from my lips without thought. “It’s the only thing she’s got in her life that makes her truly happy.”
Oh God. I hate that I just admitted that to him. He doesn’t deserve to know anything about my private life. He could take any info I give him and twist it. Make me sound like a sad little girl.
Which according to him, I am. And maybe he’s right. My mother doesn’t particularly like me. My father uses me as a prop. They’re both too controlling over my life, and use that to say they want to protect me. I thought I had friends, but I now I’m not so sure.
“The penthouse in Manhattan that showcases all of the art—you grew up there?”
I try to ignore the alarm rushing through my veins at his words. At his familiarity with my life. A life I don’t really feel a part of anymore, since I’ve been at Lancaster Prep for most of the last three years, going on four.
Sitting up straighter, I push all thoughts of poor pitiful me out of my mind and smile politely at Crew.
“We moved to that apartment when I was thirteen,” I confirm. “And you’re an only child.”
My smile fades. “How do you know all of this?”
Crew ignores my question. “No other brothers or sisters, right?”
I am my father’s pride and joy, and my mother’s worst nightmare. She told me exactly that last summer, when we were on vacation on the Italian Riviera and my father bought an extravagantly priced piece of art by an up- and-coming artist he just discovered.
We just discovered. My father purchased the piece because I liked it, completely ignoring her opinion. Mother hated it. She prefers more modern pieces while this artist had works that harken back to the Impressionist period.
She was so angry with me when Daddy bought that painting and paid an enormous amount of money to have it shipped home. She said he didn’t listen to her anymore, only to me, which wasn’t true.
Harvey Beaumont doesn’t listen to anyone but himself. “No siblings,” I finally admit. “I’m an only child.”
“That’s why he’s so overprotective of you, right? His precious daughter, promised to him thanks to a—weird purity ceremony.”
His gaze lands on the diamond ring on my left hand, and I immediately drop it into my lap. “You all just love to make fun of me for that.”
“Who’s ‘you all’?”
“Everyone in my class, at this entire school. It’s not like I was alone at that ball. There were other girls there—some even currently attend this school.
The ceremony wasn’t creepy. It was special.” I close my notebook and bend down, reaching for my backpack. I shove everything inside and zip it closed before I stand, slinging the backpack over my shoulder.
“Where are you going?” he asks incredulously.
“I don’t have to tolerate your questioning any longer. I’m leaving.” I turn away from Crew and head for the doorway, ignoring Ms. Skov calling my name as I exit her classroom.
I’ve never left class early before, but at this moment, I feel powerful. And I didn’t even apologize.
