The truth is that for all my bravado, I’m not sure I want to put myself in a situation where I’m alone with Hamilton in his dorm room. Far riskier situations haven’t stopped us.
But he’s right. It would make the coach happy, and upsetting his father is a really tempting flavor to ice that cake with.
I take a breath and turn to him, holding his slate-gray gaze. “I’m game.”
I stand outside of Cresswell long enough to draw stares. I have a box of art supplies wedged under my arm, and I’m wondering if maybe I’ve finally lost my mind. Agreeing to come here was foolish, like walking into a set trap. When we’re alone, I know Hamilton can be civil. I’ve seen it. But in front of his dormmates? I just can’t see it happening. It’ll probably be just like the other day at detention. For all his talk about putting aside our differences for the sake of leadership, I’ve yet to see proof that Hamilton has it in him.
No. This feels exactly like walking into enemy territory.
What would Skylar think?
I’m overwhelmed by a sudden moment of clarity that I can’t do it. For some reason, going into the Devil’s lair feels even worse than what we’ve already done. The making out, the sex, had all been hormonally instigated impulse. This is something else. This is willing fraternization.
I turn on my heel and crash into someone before I can even take a step.
“Oh, shit, are you—Gwen?” Xavier looks down at me with wide eyes.
“Sorry,” I mumble, taking a wide step back. “I was just—”
Und
erstanding seems to dawn over his face. “You need the code?”
Dammit.
My face twists up into a grimace. If I leave now, he’ll know that I chickened out. “Yeah, I guess so.” He steps past me and punches it in. I exhale, shoulders dropping in defeat. “While you’re at it, can you point me to Bates’ room? We have this swim team thing to do.”
Xavier looks at me over his shoulder and doesn’t seem surprised at all. “Sure, it’s on the fourth floor. Here,” he takes the box from me easily, “you can just follow me.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, every nerve going suddenly on high alert. Why is Xavier being nice to me? Once again, suspicions of a setup tickle my spidey-senses. I have no idea what I’m walking into.
On the second-floor landing, two underclassmen pass us. One gives me a long, curious look, even slowing to watch me. He looks nervous. My fight or flight instincts take over.
There’s no way I can fight off a guy like Xavier.
I stop, voice shaking when I start, “You know what? I think I forgot—”
Xavier turns to me. “Hey, can I ask you something?” He lowers the box so it’s resting against his hip. And the thing is, he doesn’t look angry, or aggressive, or even like he just doesn’t like me. He looks perfectly casual.
“Um...” I glance around nervously. “I guess so?”
“I know we’re not supposed to talk about this.” He takes a furtive glance over his shoulder, but we’re alone now. “But I was wondering how Skylar is doing. Like, for real.”
I stare blankly at him. In the seven months since the party, no one at Preston has mentioned Skylar to me. It’s against the rules, for one, but mostly I’ve just assumed that no one actually cares.
But of all people with the nerve to ask…
Xavier frowns at my silence, at my blank stare, and then nods at the ground. “Yeah, that’s fair. I never should have taken her to the party that night. It was stupid and risky. I knew the guys wouldn’t want her to be there, but I just thought...” He trails off for a moment, eyebrows pushed together. “I guess I just thought if they spent some time with her like I had, they might come around, you know? See that she was cool and nice and smart and... you know, Sky. And then we had that stupid fight.” He shifts closer, his voice dropping into a fervent, shaky whisper. “I had no idea what was going on that night, Gwen. I really didn’t, I’ll swear on my own life. I really did like her. I mean...” he gives me a sad smile, “not that I ever stopped liking her. And it’s just that I never got a chance to say goodbye, or that I was sorry.”
Wow.
He shifts the box to his other hip, sighing. “Just... if you talk to her, could you let her know that?”
I nod silently, at a complete loss for words while I try to reconcile this guy with the one I’ve spent seven months hating. Because there’s no way—there’s no way—that was an act.
Without me needing to tell him, he seems to sense that I’m not going to talk about her. He nods once more, as if accepting that the conversation is over, and continues up the steps. When we reach the top, he says, “Bates’ room is down here. It’s the biggest one, of course.”
He quiets as we pass the lounge, where a few guys glance my way. Whatever moment Xavier and I shared on the stairs has left me unprepared for the discomfort of Ansel and Emory’s lingering gazes. They don’t look hostile, but they don’t look friendly, either. My skin feels prickly and hot and I can’t stop my shoulders from curling protectively inward. As we approach the—as promised—open door, I take a deep breath and give Xavier’s sleeve a small tug.