I RELUCTANTLY FOLLOW Crew back to psychology class, quiet the entire walk. He doesn’t say a word either, though his body practically vibrates with some unrecognizable emotion.
I don’t know and I don’t care what’s bothering him. If it’s me?
Good. I hope I drive him out of his mind. He does the same to me, so it’s only fair.
We enter the classroom and I immediately go to Ms. Skov’s desk, my expression contrite when her gaze meets mine.
“I’m sorry I just left,” I say, my voice quiet. “Sorry about yesterday too. I’ve been—moody, though that’s no excuse.”
A sigh leaves her and she rests her hands on top of her desk. “It’s okay, Wren.”
I’m about to turn away from her when she keeps talking.
“I want you to know, I’ve been giving it some thought, and if you want to switch your partner to Sam for this project, you have my permission,” Skov says.
I turn and blink at her, shocked by her offer. “Really?”
She nods. “I can tell being with Crew makes you very uncomfortable.”
He does. He literally just chased after me, groped me and threatened me. I should tell Skov right now what he did. How badly it rattled me.
In more ways than I can describe.
But then I’d have to tell her why he chased after me, and what I saw. Which means they’d eventually get expelled, and it would be all my fault.
I don’t want the responsibility. Or their hatred.
“Did you talk to Sam about making the switch?” I ask her.
“Well, no. Not yet. But Natalie has come to me as well, requesting a new partner, and she mentioned she wants to work with Crew. Even though that goes against my views of the entire project, I don’t like seeing you so miserable.” Her gaze is knowing as it settles on me. “You look like you’ve been crying.”
“I’m fine.” I shrug, then glance over my shoulder to see Natalie trying to talk to Crew, and he’s doing his best to ignore her while Ezra watches her with puppy-dog eyes. I turn to face my teacher once more. “I don’t want to switch partners.”
Skov’s eyebrows shoot up almost to her hairline. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” My nod is firm, as is my resolve. Besides…
I don’t want Crew to work with Natalie. That’ll make her feel like she won, and I don’t want her to.
She doesn’t deserve it. Or him.
“If you’re going to work with Crew, I can’t have these daily emotional outbursts. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I bend my head, embarrassed. I don’t let things get to me like this usually. Though no one really ever tries to mess with me. I have my followers who respect what I say, and anyone who doesn’t agree with my values usually leaves me alone.
Until Crew. It’s like he can’t stop messing with me, and I hate it.
There’s the smallest part of me that doesn’t hate it, though. It’s buried deep. A small, dark kernel of pleasure unfurls in my chest every time he touches me. Earlier when he tried to hold me back, when he had his hand on my breast, I should’ve been disgusted. Frightened.
And I was. At first. But there was something else going on. It was almost thrilling, knowing he might want me. I could hear it in his voice. Feel it in the way he touched me.
In that moment, he did want me. Even if it was only for a second.
“Okay then. Go on, get to work,” Ms. Skov urges, and I leave her desk, making my way to the back of the classroom where Crew sits, Natalie in the desk next to his.
“Are we switching partners?” Natalie chirps, her gaze sliding to Crew.
He’s not even watching her. His focus is one hundred percent on me.
“No,” I say, shaking my head, my gaze stuck on Crew’s. “We’re still partners.”
“God, Skov is such a bitch,” Natalie mutters under her breath as she slides out of the seat and heads over to the empty desk next to Sam.
I settle into the chair Natalie just vacated, tamping down the wave of triumph trying to consume me. I drop my backpack on the floor and zip it open, pulling out my notebook and pencil, settling them both on the desk.
“Skov is sticking to her guns, huh?” Crew’s deep voice washes over me, leaving me warm.
I send him a secret smile, unable to help myself. “Guess so.”
School is pretty monotonous for the rest of the week. Not much is happening and we’re all preparing for finals and projects as winter break draws closer. I try my best to ignore Fig and never allow myself to be alone with him in class. I even show up late, though my seat is always empty and waiting for me. No one else wants to sit in the front and center seat.
Maggie has been distant toward me, spending her time chasing after Franklin, I guess, and never hanging out with me anymore.
It’s fine. Whatever.
I observe the way people talk to me at school, specifically everyone in my grade, and realize I exist on the fringe of every friend group among the seniors. No one truly pulls me in or seeks me out.
It’s depressing. Before Crew pointed it out, I was completely oblivious, and sometimes I think I want to go back to that state of mind. When I believed everyone liked me and they were all my friends. When I thought I was a positive influence who made a difference.
Oh, the younger girls still want to spend time with me, and I hang out with them during lunch because I have no one else, but they look to me to make themselves feel better for the choices they’ve made so far in life. The majority of them will succumb eventually. They’ll get a boyfriend. They’ll fall in love. They’ll have sex.
And then they’ll leave me behind.
Psychology class and the project is the only thing that fills me with faint apprehension. Having to face down a smirking Crew every afternoon is starting to take a toll on me, but I try my best to smile through it all. To keep our conversation as impersonal as possible, which is tough since we’re both supposed to be digging under each other’s skin, trying to figure the other person out.
I’ve already given up. I cannot figure him out, no matter how I try. He’s mean yet levels me with that fiery gaze, as if he’s envisioning me naked or whatever. He makes me uncomfortable.
And not always in a bad way either.
I wasn’t about to back down from Natalie, though. I know she’s still angry that Crew is my partner and not hers. Too bad. She’s just going to have to deal with it.
He’s mine.
When it’s finally Friday, I feel as if I can breathe a sigh of relief. I’m going to see my parents this weekend, and I can’t wait. Not because I’m dying to see them—I was with them only a week ago for Thanksgiving—but my father and I are going to an art exhibit Saturday that features an up-and-coming artist whose work I strongly admire. Plus, I’m eager to get away from campus. I’m tired of being here already, and I still have two weeks until winter break.
And my birthday—that big bash I planned on hosting for my supposed friends? I don’t know why I’m even bothering.
I’m going to cancel it. Who would come anyway? It’s not like there will be drugs or alcohol. I’d be surprised if anyone showed.
After that depressing thought, I shove it from my mind before I allow it to completely crush me.
I’m walking down the hall, heading for my last class of the day when I hear someone from behind me clear their throat.
“Wren, hey.”
I turn to find Larsen Von Weller standing in front of me, a smile curling his lips.
He’s a senior like me. Quiet. Smart. Athletic but not a complete jerk like some of the jocks that go to this stupid school. Attractive with brown hair and brown eyes. A lean yet muscular build.
“Hi,” I say with a faint smile, wondering why he’s talking to me.
We were closer our freshman and sophomore years, when we had more classes together, and saw each other throughout the day. We sort of went on separate paths junior year because of our class choices, and now we never really speak.
“How are you?” he asks.
“I’m good.” I nod, glancing around the hall, watching people walk past us, their gazes curious when they see who I’m talking to. “How are you?”
“I can’t complain.” His smile is easy. “I heard a rumor.”
“Oh?” God, what does he know?
“Yeah. That you’re going home this weekend.” He smiles.
I frown. “Where did you hear that?”
His expression turns sheepish and he shoves his hands in his front pockets. “My mom mentioned it to me because I’m going home too. My parents invited yours over for dinner Saturday night, and your mom mentioned to mine that you would be coming.”
“Oh. Yes, I guess I am.” I didn’t realize his parents were friends with mine, but my father never turns down a friendship. He views almost everyone in his life as potential business since he’s in real estate. Someone is always looking to buy or sell something in his eyes.
“It’ll be good to catch up, don’t you think?” he asks, keeping pace with me, as I start walking.
“Definitely.” I offer him a quick smile, stopping near my classroom door. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Something to look forward to.” He flashes me a brilliant smile. “See you tomorrow, Wren.”
Larsen walks away quickly, getting swallowed up in the crowd, and I watch him go, leaning against the wall to stay out of the way of the people rushing to their last class.
“What the hell was that about?”
I turn to find Crew standing there, a glower on his face, staring in the direction Larsen just left.
“What exactly are you referring to?”
“Larsen. Why is he sniffing around you?”
I wrinkle my nose, disgusted by his chosen terminology. “It’s really none of your business.”
I stride into the classroom with Crew on my heels. “It’s my business when I know the guy is a fucking perv.”
“You two must be great friends then.” I smirk at him from over my shoulder, settling into the chair right next to his.
We’ve been merely coexisting the last couple of days, but in this moment, I’m fired up. Ready to give him a piece of my mind.
“I’m not friends with that asshole. He’s a smug prick,” Crew spits out as he sits down.
“Sounds familiar.” I drop my backpack on the floor beside me, turning to glare at him. “Stay out of it, Crew. It doesn’t concern you.”
“If he messes with your mental state, it’ll definitely concern me. We have a project to work on.”
“My mental state is precarious only because of you.” It’s pure habit when I pull out my notebook and pencil. Crew isn’t going to talk to me or give me anything. He never does. I could ask him an endless list of questions and he’d still remain mum. It’s so frustrating.
He’s frustrating. Claiming that Larsen is a pervert when they aren’t even friends. How would he know?
“He’ll make it worse,” he retorts.
“How?” I’m genuinely curious. “What could he do to me that would be so awful?”
“God, you really are that innocent, aren’t you?”
I flinch at his words. I hate that he makes me feel terrible for being a nice person. I can’t help it if I’m not completely corrupted like he is. “I’d rather be innocent than hard and jaded like you.”
Crew ignores my insult. “You really want to know what Larsen is up to?”
“Please!”
“He puts on this—sweet act for the girls. Like he wouldn’t harm a fly. Very aw shucks of him, you know? He works his wholesome act on an unsuspecting girl, and the next thing she knows, she finds herself on her knees with his dick in her mouth while he secretly records the entire transaction,” Crew explains.
I physically recoil at his words. That sounds absolutely awful. And Crew makes it sound so clinical with his use of the word ‘transaction.’
Is that all sex is to him? A transaction? An exchange of bodily fluids?
Gross.
“He records it?” I ask, my voice hushed. I don’t want anyone else to hear me say that. Too many people pay attention to me and Crew when we talk already, and I have no clue why.
Crew nods, his expression grim. “Then he sells it to his friends.”
A gasp leaves me. “What? Why?”
“For beat-off material? Come on, Birdy. You don’t think every guy in this place would love to see you on your knees for someone?” The look he gives me makes me think he might want to see me in such a—vulnerable position as well. “If Larsen was able to capture that, he’d be the hero of Lancaster Prep.”
“That is so—disgusting.” I stare down at my desk. Crew’s words are on repeat in my brain. I don’t know if I believe him. He thinks the worst of everyone. I’ve never heard of Larsen doing anything like that before. While I make sure I’m not involved in any scandalous gossip, I do occasionally hear tidbits, and that is one story I’ve never come across.
Ever.
“Watch out for him,” Crew says, his tone ominous. “I’ve warned you.”
Skov comes into class, just before the bell rings, launching straight into taking attendance. I sit there lost in thought, hating how Crew ruined my upcoming Saturday night dinner with a few choice words.
He has a way of doing that. Ruining my life.
Dramatic but true.
When Skov releases us to continue working on our project with our partners, I watch as Crew scoots his desk and chair closer to mine, which surprises me. Why is he coming closer?
I don’t want him to. I’d rather he keeps his distance. Having him so close makes me uncomfortable—and not in a bad way. Which isn’t good.
Not at all.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” I start.
“And?”
“I don’t believe it.”
An exasperated sigh leaves him. “Why am I not surprised.”
“He doesn’t seem like that kind of guy.”
“Isn’t that how it always starts? ‘Oh, he was the nicest guy. I can’t believe he’s a serial killer.’” The look Crew sends me almost makes me laugh. “Get real, Birdy.”
“I just think I would’ve heard about this from other girls. Ones who’ve been—recorded by him, you know?” I make a disgusted face at the thought of it happening—and what I would do if it actually happened to me.
Talk about humiliating. I’d never recover from it.
“You really think any of them actually talk about it? They’d rather forget the moment ever existed. And if they were to say something to you, you’d probably give them a nice little speech about their bad choices,” Crew says.
My heart aches, only because what he says is, unfortunately, true.
I’ve given plenty of lectures in my time to girls who’ve made bad decisions. No wonder people think I’m judgmental.
“I probably should stop doing that,” I admit, my voice soft.
Crew leans in closer, his shoulder brushing mine, making me tingle. “Stop doing what?”
“Being so judgmental all the time.” I lift my gaze to his. “You were right. So was everyone else who told me that.”
“Aw, little birdy is learning something from the project.” He reaches out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m proud of you.”
My skin warms from his touch and I try to push past the foreign feeling. He shouldn’t say words like that either.
I might end up liking them too much.
“Have you learned anything about yourself yet?” I ask hopefully, trying to ignore the swarm of butterflies taking flight in my stomach from him touching me.
“I learned that you think I’m an asshole.”
I frown. “I never said that.”
“You don’t have to. I can just tell.”
I’ve been told I wear all of my emotions plainly on my face…
“You also think I act like I own the school.”
“Um, you literally do.”
“My family does,” he corrects.
I roll my eyes. “Whatever.”
“You’re sassy today, Bird.”
“When you push yourself into my personal business, it makes me sassy.” I tap my pencil against my notebook. “Are we going to actually work on this project today?”
“Yeah. Let’s do it.” He leans back in his chair, his gaze still on me. “I want to interview you.”
Unease sweeps over me, setting me immediately on edge. “How about I interview you instead?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I came up with a few questions last night. Things I’d love to know about you.”
Why do his words sound more like a threat? “Trust me. I’m not going to reveal everything about myself to you.”
“I thought that was the point of this project.”
“You’re supposed to be analyzing me. Trying to figure me out versus me just giving you all the information you want,” I remind him.
“You always have a way of making everything extra difficult, don’t you.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question.
His words sting and I hate that. “Fine. Ask your questions.”
Crew grabs his phone and opens it to the notes section, scanning whatever he wrote there, his brows drawn together. I take the opportunity to stare at him, taking in his chiseled features. The sharp jawline and soft lips. The strong nose and angled cheekbones. The thick brows and icy blue eyes. His face is like a work of art, something you’d find in a painting from hundreds of years ago. A callous aristocrat, clad in tights that showed off his muscular legs, a heavy velvet coat to show off his opulent wealth.
He would’ve fit in then as he fits in now. What’s that like, knowing your place? Being so confident in it?
I thought I knew, but ever since this project started, I’ve been thrown off. Feeling out of sorts.
“Okay.” Crew’s deep voice pulls me from my thoughts and I refocus on him. “Do you have any hobbies?”
“Such a general question.” Wait, am I teasing him?
“It’s a solid way to find out what you like.”
He’s got a point.
“I like to travel.”
“Where have you been?”
“Lots of places. All over Europe. Japan. I went to Russia a few years ago.”
“And how was that?” I notice he’s not taking notes.
Hmm.
“I went with my parents for an art exhibition there.”
“Right. They’re massive collectors.”
“Yes. My mother has become an expert in the art world. She’ll travel anywhere just to get a piece she’s had her eye on. We went to Russia in February a couple of years ago. It was freezing. We got stuck there for days because they kept canceling the flights due to weather,” I explain.
“Did you like Russia?”
“It was beautiful, but so terribly cold. The sky was this steely gray and it never changed. Maybe during a different season, I would appreciate it more.”
He actually types something in his notes and I wish I knew what he wrote. “What else do you like to do?”
“I like to read.”
His gaze flickers to mine. “Boring.”
“You can’t have the kind of grade point average we have without doing a lot of reading too,” I point out.
“True. I don’t read much for pleasure though.”
It’s how he uses the word ‘pleasure,’ and the way he says it, that makes me think of…
Things.
Wicked things.
What does he do for pleasure?
“What else, Birdy?” he asks, his voice quiet. Probing.
“I like art,” I admit.
“What kind?”
“All kinds. When you’re dragged to various art galleries your entire life, you start to appreciate what you see. Pieces eventually start speaking to you. Suddenly you have a growing list of artists you admire.” A sigh leaves me. “I resisted at first. I never wanted to go to museums or art galleries. I thought they were boring.”
“When you’re little, that’s what they are. Extremely boring,” he says.
“Exactly. I started appreciating it more when I was thirteen. There are pieces I fell in love with.” A smile teases the corner of my lips. “There’s one in particular I discovered a couple of years ago that’s my absolute favorite.”
His eyes light with curiosity. “What is it?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.” I should’ve never admitted that. He wouldn’t care. Not really. “Just a piece I found myself drawn to.”
“Tell me about it,” he urges, and I hurriedly shake my head.
“It’s boring.”
“Come on, Wren.”
Even though he sounds completely exasperated with me, it’s his use of my actual name that prompts me to keep talking. “It’s a piece that was created in 2007 by an artist who explores a lot of mediums and uses a variety of materials. When he created my favorite piece, I read that he was still a drug addict.”
“A drug addict? That sounds against your moral code, Birdy.”
“He’s clean now. People misstep sometimes. None of us are perfect,” I say with a shrug.
“Except for you.” He smirks at me. “You’re the most perfect girl on this campus.”
“Please. I’m definitely not perfect,” I stress, hating that he would think I am. It’s hard living up to everyone’s standards. My parents. My teachers. The girls at school who look up at me. Even the people who think I’m ridiculous.
He completely ignores what I said. “What does this piece look like?”
I sit up straighter, excited to explain it. “It’s a giant canvas covered in kisses.”
“Kisses?”
“Yes. He had the same woman kiss the canvas in varying shades of Chanel lipstick.” I smile when Crew frowns. “She’d kiss the canvas in a different way every single time. Harder. Softer. Her lips open wider, or pursed close together.”
“Okay.”
“It’s originally untitled, but it’s known in the art world as ‘A Million Kisses in Your Lifetime.’ My father tried to buy it for me as a surprise for my birthday last year, but whoever owns it now won’t part with it. And there’s another piece that’s similar, but you can’t find that one either.”
“How much is the one you want worth?”
“A lot.”
“Define a lot. That could mean a variety of amounts.”
“When it went to auction, it sold to a private collector for over five hundred thousand dollars.”
He makes a scoffing noise. “Easily bought.”
“Not when the owner won’t sell. To them, it’s priceless.” I grab my phone. “Do you want to see it?”
“Sure.”
I open Google, and in less than a minute, I have the piece brought up on my screen. Just seeing it makes my heart ache in a good way. In that visceral sense, where something calls to you, touching a part of you buried deep.
I’ve never been kissed, but I can only imagine what it would be like, to kiss a man and leave your lipstick on his mouth when you’re done. That seems so…
Romantic.
“Here it is.” I hold my phone out to Crew and he takes it, studying the piece for long, quiet seconds. “What do you think? Can you see how it almost undulates? The artist had the woman press her lips to the canvas in precise spots to create the illusion.”
“I see it,” he says as he squints at my phone screen.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” My voice is wistful, as it tends to get when I talk about my favorite piece of art. It’s still such a disappointment that the work isn’t mine. My father tried so hard to make it the starter piece for my own collection.
When he couldn’t get that one, he purchased another piece by the same artist. It’s lovely, but not the one I wanted the most.
“I think you could recreate that on your own, no problem.” He hands my phone back to me.
“But I don’t want to recreate it.” I stare at my screen, at the lipstick-covered canvas that I adore. “I want this one.”
“How many Chanel lipsticks do you own?”
“None. I don’t really wear lipstick much.” Just lip balm and mascara. That’s about as far as my cosmetics regimen goes.
“With a mouth like that, you should invest in some lipstick,” Crew says.
An unfamiliar sensation trickles through my blood, making me aware of how he’s currently studying my lips. “What do you mean?”
“No one’s ever told you?”
“Told me what?”
He reaches out, his thumb pressing at the corner of my lips, lingering. A barely-there touch that has me tingling all over. “You have a sexy mouth.”
