That was scary as hell. I almost died. Never did I believe the girls would actually push me that hard.
It turns out that Windsor York is the one who saved me.
Zack looks sick with guilt, and stays by my side the entire day until the nurse discharges me. Miranda, Jessie, and Andrew also come to visit, but it isn’t until I get back to my dorm that I find Windsor waiting for me. Zack stiffens up slightly, but the two men are at least polite to each other as we approach and Windsor pushes up from the wall.
“Ah, milady,” he says, taking my hand and putting my knuckles to his lips. “She lives.”
“Thanks to you,” I say, feeling this cold, scared sickness roll over me. Revenge was sweet … until it wasn’t. Now I’m terrified. I had no idea this was turning into a life or death situation. Creed’s words echo in my head: “The girls want to kill you. Watch out for them.”
“Mm.” Windsor drops my hand and studies me with a very serious expression. Behind me, my friends fan out like a cadre of bodyguards. I wonder if maybe I should call Kathleen Cabot and ask for that Kyle guy back? I haven’t seen him around campus in weeks, so I’m guessing he’s left. I know she wouldn’t hesitate to send him or someone else to watch over me though. “To be quite honest with you, I was only heading out to the pool to perv on you in your swimsuit. My actions were not entirely honorable.” He steps back from me and sighs, and if he were anyone but a brand-new transfer to the school, I’d think he was in on it, like he’d set the drowning up just to save me.
“Well, thank you anyway,” I say, and we stand there staring at each other for several moments more until Zack clears his throat. All I can think as I fumble my key out of the pocket of my robe is that Windsor’s mouth was on mine, and I was too out of it to remember. Somehow, focusing on the not-quite-a-kiss thing keeps me from realizing how deep this shit goes.
The Infinity Club is out for my blood.
Literally.
I head inside … and everyone follows.
Instead of fighting it, I embrace the fact that I’m not alone, letting Zack tuck me into bed before Miranda crawls up on top of the covers and cuddles me. Jessie glares which is hilarious because, unfortunately, I’m as straight as an arrow. If sexuality were a choice, I would one hundred percent choose to be a lesbian. Not only would life be easier, but I’m pretty damn sure Miranda is much safer dating choice than anybody else at Burberry Prep.
Windsor leaves to grab his—get ready for this—personal tea pot, cups, saucers, and a random assortment of his prized loose leaf teas, so he can make us a proper afternoon tea, complete with finger sandwiches he swiped from the kitchen.
The guy’s been at Burberry for all of two weeks, and he’s managed to charm his way into the librarians’ hearts, the kitchen staff, and the campus maintenance shed. Just yesterday, I walked outside and saw him leading a girl into the building where they keep all the lawn mowers and things.
Perv is right.
After we eat, Miranda puts on Not Another Teen Movie which makes everyone in the room groan.
“This is my mom’s favorite movie,” Zack says, but we all end up relaxing and watching it anyway. It’s still funny, even if it’s old.
“Next year, I’m going as Janey Briggs for Halloween,” Miranda declares, sweeping her blonde hair up into a ponytail to imitate the main character’s infamous ‘glasses, ponytail, and paint-covered overalls’ look. I give her a look because we all know she absolutely will not go like that. She won’t wear anything on Halloween that isn’t cute and at least a tad revealing. She says she doesn’t subscribe to the short and slutty rule, but she does, and she likes. Nothing wrong with that though.
“You Americans and your Halloween,” Windsor drawls, sitting in the chair in the corner. He’s the only person not on the bed which is fine by me. I’m having enough trouble remembering how to breathe with Zack sitting so close to me, his huge body practically engulfing mine.
“Do you realize that even as little as I’m around you, you start off at least half your sentences with ‘you Americans’,” I quip, making small quotes with my fingers. I drop my hands back into my lap before I realize that they’re still shaking. Pretty sure I’m exhausted, but I’m also scared to go to sleep. Once I do, I’ll have to remember that blackness closing in on me, the water choking me, the burning pain in my lungs …
“You’re just so adorably fun to make fun of,” he says, shrugging his shoulders as he slips back into his jacket. I’m guessing he got special permission to add those damn epaulettes. They look freaking ridiculous, but I suppose if a rockstar can get special permission to have tattoos and piercings, a prince could get permission to get gold eighties-esque shoulder pad things.
