"When we slept with Marnye on the last day of second year," Windsor says, as if that's the most natural thing in the world.
"You mean when you slept next to Marnye," Tristan spits out, his voice like ice. He sounds pissed, and I can't help but glance over at him. "Nobody believes either of you had sex with her, so don't even with the innuendo."
"And if I had, would that infuriate you?" Windsor challenges, tucking his hands into the pockets of his white slacks. He's got a white button-down on with short sleeves and a subtle pinstripe, and those glossy black boots he always wears, like he's about to go riding.
"You haven't," Tristan says, his voice a sharp slash in the suddenly tense air of the sitting room. Creed's blue eyes take it all in with a hint of eagerness, like he'd truly enjoy watching the two of them beat the crap out of each other.
"Who Marnye does or doesn't sleep with isn't any of your business," Zack growls, interrupting the other two boys. "So leave it alone, and screw off." Tristan sneers, and I can just see the evening going straight down the toilet.
I step into the middle of the room.
"That's enough." My voice comes out hard and sharp, and they all turn to look at me. My heart is pounding so fast right now that I'm just praying I don't pass out. "You guys can't keep fighting; it's not fair." I exhale, and run my fingers through my hair. I look around, and for once, they're all quiet. Pretty shocking if you know anything at all about any of these guys. They're basically all alpha males. Tough crowd. "It's confusing to me."
"I'm sorry," Zack says, and if he didn't sound so genuine, I'd just think he was kowtowing to me. "You're right." He sits down on the edge of the couch bed with a small sigh. "You don't deserve to deal with this shit after all the crap we put you through."
"I … know you're interested in dating," I tell him, feeling my cheeks heat. I turn my gaze over to Creed. "And you." Breathe, Marnye, breathe. "But what about you, Zayd?"
He's standing just outside the door to the bedroom, looking at me with bright emerald eyes. His hands are tucked in his pockets, and he closes his eyes on the end of an exhale.
"I fucked up so bad with you Marnye," he whispers, his voice so husky and raw that if he were to stop and record a song right now, the emotion would be so real it'd probably make people cry. "I was interested from day one. I told you that."
"Are you interested now?" I whisper, struggling to make the words come out. There's so much tension, it's making my skin feel achy and tight.
Zayd looks me dead in the eye.
"I'm interested. Seriously fucking interested."
Creed makes a frustrated sound, and Zack scowls.
I turn to Tristan then. He's standing in the doorway next to me. We're so close I can see his pulse thundering. On the outside, he looks calm. But I can tell it's all a facade. He's boiling on the inside.
"What about you?"
"What about me?" Tristan responds, cool as a goddamn cucumber, his blade gray gaze cutting into me.
"Are you interested in me?" It's so freaking hard to get those words out, to ask a question I've honestly been wondering about for almost two years. I want to hear him say it. My mind briefly strays to Lizzie, but … I need to know how Tristan feels, regardless of what happens after.
He puts his hand on the doorjamb above my head and leans in close.
"Haven't I made that obvious?" he asks, a smirk twisting on his full lips. His hair is so goddamn beautiful, blue-black strands that shift gently across his forehead.
"That's not an answer." I stay firm, even as he puts his left hand on my hip, and presses his thumb into my pelvic bone, making me gasp. "Yes or no."
Tristan stares at me for so long that I wonder if he's even going to reply at all. But then I remember that moment in Paris, outside the Eiffel Tower. There was so much tension, and his face was so soft, almost gentle. He was going to say something to me before Windsor interrupted us, I know he was.
I remember their argument in French, and wish I'd picked the language of love instead of Spanish and Japanese. Part of me knows there's something in that conversation that I would've wanted to hear.
"A good follow-up question would be: do you still love Lizzie, and if so, how do your feelings for the Walton girl compare to your ones for Marnye?" Windsor saunters forward, fully aware that he's throwing a wrench in the cogs of this conversation. I could kill him in that moment.
