I felt my neck get tight and my shoulders straighten as I asked quietly, “Are you joking?”
“Do I look like I’m jokin’?”
No, he absolutely did not.
“Why would he do that?” I asked.
“Don’t know. Maybe because he’s a dick. Or maybe because he nailed you,” Creed answered.
At that, my neck got so tight, I felt the muscles would snap at the same time I felt my stomach tie itself in a knot.
“Now, please, tell me you’re joking,” I whispered my plea.
He didn’t answer my plea. He asked crudely, “He do you, Sylvie?”
I shook my head and was still whispering when I replied, “I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that.”
“Don’t, beautiful, not until you answer me.”
I kept shaking my head, the hurt beginning to dig deep. “Don’t call me that when you’re angry.”
“Don’t avoid the question and fuckin’ answer me,” he retorted.
I stared at Creed and he stared right back.
When I felt the tears prick my eyes, I turned to go back to his room to get my coat and purse and I did this muttering, “I’m leaving.”
I didn’t make it. In the hall, Creed caught my arm and pulled me around to face him.
“Why are you avoiding the question, Sylvie?” he asked low, his voice angry.
I tried to twist my arm away but his fingers tightened so I stopped trying, leaned in and asked back, “Why are you asking the question, Creed?”
“You dated him,” he reminded me.
“Yeah,” I leaned in further, “once.”
“You sure it was only once?” he pressed.
I twisted and yanked my arm from his hold but stayed leaned into him. “Uh... yeah, Creed. It was only a year ago. I think I remember a year ago.”
“He’s into you, still. Everyone knows it mostly because the dickhead won’t shut up about it.”
“Okay but I’m not into him,” I returned then threw my hands out to indicate the hall and us in it, making my point even as I said it out loud. “I’m into you.”
Creed ignored this and asked, “That night you came home late, that one date you said you had, was it then? Did he do you then?”
I shook my head again, my heart pumping, the tears still stinging my eyes and it was taking everything to keep them from falling. “He didn’t do me at all and, by the way, it doesn’t feel really good that you keep asking when I already answered this question, Creed.”
“Dixon gets what he wants.”
Why were we still talking about this? Why didn’t he believe me? He always believed me. I’d never lied to him and he knew it. Why this? Why now?
“Well, he didn’t get me!” I snapped.
“How do I know that?” he pushed. My heart started pumping even harder, I felt the wet hit my eyes but now it was taking everything to stop from screaming. Creed didn’t notice, he kept going, “You told me that night you’d stop seein’ him. How do I know you did? How do I know even if you did, you didn’t give him somethin’ that night that should be all for me?”
“Maybe because I’m Sylvia Bissenette and not Winona Creed?” I asked sarcastically.
It came right out of my mouth before I could stop it. I knew it was mean, a cheap shot and I was so angry, so hurt, I didn’t care.
Except that night, my first and only date with Jason, when I came home to Creed in my bedroom, I’d never seen anything like this come from Creed. Even back then, he’d been nicer to me. Angry at me being late, frustrated that I was too young and he had to wait for me, I knew this now because he’d told me but he wasn’t mean.
I saw his head jerk slightly to the side at my nasty words but I was done with this conversation, so done, and I was leaving.
Therefore, I whirled and dashed to his room but by the time I grabbed my coat and purse, he was standing in the doorway.
I stomped right to within two feet of him and stopped.
“Out of my way, Creed,” I demanded. “I’m going home.”
“He suits you, not me.”
I went still and stared at his face, feeling his quiet, strangely husky words burn all over my skin like acid.
Then I lifted a hand, planted it in his chest and shoved him before I got close, tipping my head way back and glaring up at him, hissing, “Tucker Creed, for a smart guy you are so… very… stupid.”
His hand came up, fingers curling around my wrist, holding it to his chest and he whispered back, “You know it. I know it. Everyone in the county knows it.”
“I know no such thing,” I bit out.
“Bissenettes and Dixons, you two get together, it’d be the wedding of the century.”
Was he crazy?
I ripped my hand from his, stepped back, twisted my torso and threw my coat and purse on his bed before twisting back and semi-shouting, “You’ve gone totally insane!”
“Winona Creed’s son with anyone, not the wedding of fuckin’ anything.”
He had. He’d gone totally insane.
“You’re crazy,” I snapped.
“Am I wrong?” he asked.