Stuck With The Four Hotties

Tristan laughs, this low, cruel sound, as he starts up the sweet purr of the engine and takes off at such a rapid speed I’m worried Zayd’s going to tumble off the back into the gravel.

He just hollers in excitement and lifts his arms in the air like he’s on a rollercoaster.

Tristan does a few wild donuts on the gravel, making my stomach lurch and causing Creed’s arm to tighten even further around me as we’re thrown around inside the little sports car.

“I’m not a whore,” I grind out finally, when we stop spinning and take off down one of the dirt roads that lead deeper into the campus. Most of the third and fourth year classes are held in outbuildings spread throughout the vast acreage of Burberry Prep, but as a first year, there’s hardly any reason to come back here, so it’s all new to me.

“That’s right: you’re a virgin,” Creed amends, but he doesn’t sound any less disdainful. “My mistake.”

“How …” I start, and then realize I should’ve denied the accusation. My mouth flattens into a tight line as Tristan smirks from the driver’s seat.

“How fucking cliche. You really are pathetic, aren’t you.”

“Pathetic? Because I don’t screw everything that walks? If you ask me, you’re the one who’s pathetic. Have you ever cared about a single girl you’ve slept with?” Tristan’s hands tighten on the wheel, but he doesn’t respond, acting like I’m invisible again. I can’t decide what’s worse, being mocked or being ignored.

“Some guys have a thing for popping cherries,” Zayd remarks absently, like we’re discussing the weather. “Never been my thing. Sorry, but it’s so not attractive. I like a girl who knows what she’s doing.”

“Guess I’m not your type then,” I snap back, and he howls with laugher. Pig. Turning away, I try to focus on the changing leaves of the trees, the gorgeous yellow, orange, and red that dots the landscape, broken up by green lawns, and small brick buildings with gold-letter signage.

“Guess not,” Zayd murmurs, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees.

We rumble down the road, past the classrooms, taking a sharp left just before we hit the athletic fields, courts, and stadiums. There’s one for every sport: baseball, lacrosse, golf, track and field, tennis, football, soccer, cross country, hockey, basketball, squash, wrestling, swimming, and riflery. It’d be impressive, if I cared at all about sports.

After a while, Tristan turns on the stereo in the car, and a semi-familiar voice purrs out.

It’s Zayd’s band.

“Turn that shit off,” Creed snaps, and Zayd scowls from behind him. “Really? Screw you, dude.”

“It’s better than your dad’s crappy music, but it still sucks,” Tristan adds, and Zayd’s face darkens several shades. He runs a tattooed hand over his face as Tristan changes over to a different song, some hip hop track that I don’t recognize.

We end up pulling into a small parking lot behind the main lodge at Lucas Lake, and my brows crinkle as Tristan parks next to the rear entrance.

“Why did we drive the back way if we were just coming up here?” I ask, and I get looked at like I’m an idiot.

“Because we’re doing horrible, horrible things to you here, and we don’t want anyone to know where we’re at.” Tristan looks at me with those dark eyes, his full lips in a flat line, and even though my heart leaps in my chest, and a rush of discomfort comes over me, I get the idea that maybe this is his idea of a joke. As a young woman, I don’t really find it all that funny.

“Don’t joke like that,” I snap, my skin breaking out in goose bumps as I start to wonder whether this was a good idea or not. Zayd laughs at me again, hopping out of the car and then reaching in to pull me from Creed’s arms. He tosses me over his shoulder and smacks me in the ass.

“Chill out, Working Girl. We’re just here to party and gamble, that’s it.” He carries me over to the steps and sets me down while I debate punching him in the face.

“Did you seriously just touch my ass?” My face is flaming, and I don’t know whether to hit him or verbally ream him or what. Before I get a chance to do either, the sound of cars coming from the academy’s south entrance cracks the still air, and I raise my eyebrows as a good two dozen cars rumble into the parking lot, filling up every available space and then some. It’s like Tetris, but with million dollar cars. The cheapest thing here is a Cadillac Escalade with the sports package.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

The door to an orange McLaren opens, and out steps Zack.

My mouth drops open at the sight of him, his dark eyes sweeping me and narrowing. He flicks his gaze from Zayd to Creed to Tristan, and then back to me again. He doesn’t look very happy to see me here, or with them.

“Marnye,” he says, his voice like cool shadows as he steps closer, his huge frame blocking out the rest of the crowd. I’m relieved to see other girls, and I realize how freaking lucky I am that these guys aren’t rapists. After my time living in Lower Banks, I should know better than to take chances like this. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I start, looking him up and down in his letterman jacket, jeans, and black t-shirt. The cotton fabric stretches across his broad chest, emphasizing how toned he got over the summer. The boy I’m looking at now is more like a man than the kid I last saw at LBMS. “I texted you back to confirm Thanksgiving plans.” He tucks his hands in his pockets, and I meet his gaze again, realizing absently that Tristan, Creed, and Zayd are all staring at me.

“I haven’t had a chance to look at my phone,” I hedge as Tristan slips out of his jacket and tosses it into the backseat of his car before heading up the steps toward the lodge. He unlocks the doors with a pair of keys from his pocket, and the crowd starts hauling in duffel bags and suitcases.

Um, what?

“Your hair,” he starts, but he doesn’t exactly finish his sentence, and I’m left wondering if he likes it or not. I mean, it doesn’t matter what he thinks, but it’d be kind of nice if he did, right? Zack turns back to his car, yanks out a duffel bag, and carries it toward the steps, pausing briefly next to me. Our eyes meet, and a crackle of electricity snaps in the air between us.

I’m having trouble remembering to breathe.

“Looks nice,” Zack finally adds, and then he’s on his way past me, and I’m left gaping behind him.

“I bet you Lizzie shows up tonight,” Zayd tells Creed as Zack takes his bag up the steps, glancing back at me one last time before disappearing inside.

“Bet me what?” Creed asks, leaning casually against the exterior wall of the lodge with his arms crossed over his chest. “If you say those cowboy boots your dad got you at auction, then you’re on.”

Zayd gapes for a moment, and then snaps his mouth shut, letting the edge of his lips curl up in a small grin.

“You want to be a cowboy, baby?” he drawls, laughing and tugging at his lip ring for a moment.

“I want to fuck a cowgirl, that’s what,” Creed amends, as I look between

the two of them with scrunched brows.