Stuck With The Four Hotties

Going back to Burberry Prep isn’t easy.

I almost stay home.

But Dad refuses to let me, helping me pack my suitcase and giving my wrist a squeeze as he looks me in the face with those stubborn brown eyes of his.

“I will be there for graduation, Marnye. That’s a promise.”

“I feel so guilty though,” I tell Creed as we sit in The Mess, and I stab a bit of egg, yellow goo flooding my plate. I can’t even eat it, though, not right now. Instead, I push the plate aside and give Isabella a small wave when she walks in. She doesn’t return it, but at least I get a small half-smile.

We have a long way to go, but we’ll get there.

After all, here I am sitting across from the pissed-off narcoleptic aristocrat, and he’s looking at me with a bit of something in his gaze that wasn’t there before. He says it’s love, and how can I deny that it could be? Four years we’ve struggled together, through all sorts of bullshit.

And in June, it’ll all come to an end.

Graduation, my having to choose between the boys, the revenge on the old Bluebloods, my reign as queen of the school … hopefully not my life.Material © NôvelDrama.Org.

We just have to make it a few more weeks, I promise my tired body, and then I shake out my hands.

“You can’t feel guilty about living your life, Marnye.” He studies me from under half-lidded eyes, his gaze that droopy bedroom look that I’ve always loved. Watching him as he leans forward and puts his chair legs flat on the floor, dropping his boots to the wood of the dais, I know that I couldn’t lose him. I couldn’t let him go.

I’m starting to get that realization with all the guys.

I’m starting to realize that my choice … is more complicated than I ever imagined it would be. I’m going to have to trust myself, and let the dice fall where they may.

“I know that, but I can’t stop wondering if my time would be better spent at home.”

“After everything you’ve worked for, you can’t give it up. Isn’t that why your dad worked his ass off all his life, to get you here?” He’s right of course, but being reprimanded by a lazy sloth makes me feel salty, so I poke him in the arm with a fork. Creed smiles, this devil-may-care sort of expression that makes him look impossibly unattainable.

Only … I obtained him, didn’t I?

“You’re right. I know he wants to see me graduate more than anything else. It might be his …” I can’t make myself say it. His dying wish. On the inside, I know it’s true. But my lips just refuse to form the word.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Creed says, and then he stands up and takes my hand. We stroll around the campus for a bit, and then hit up my room. Now that Harper’s been cut off from the blood supply of her favorite minions, she storms around campus with this look of determination in her eyes that I feel reflected back in mine.

One of us is going down before the end of the year, and it’s not going to be me.

“I’ve been reading all your manga, you know,” Creed says, trailing his lazy fingers down the row of spines on my bookshelf. “And I swear, your favorite character archetypes show a strong resemblance to me and Tristan.”

“Did you think I was joking when I said I wanted to see you get topped by him?” I ask, and Creed scowls at me.

“Never. If anything, it’d be me fucking him.”

I lean back on the bedspread, and Creed comes over to lay beside me, an angel with white-blond hair and the palest eyes.

“I’d be okay with that, too. Only, I want to watch. Does that make me a perv?”

“Only in certain circles,” Creed drawls, turning onto his back and looking up at the ceiling. “I hate Tristan, but I have wondered how he got so many girls to sleep with him. Are his kisses like magic or something?”

There’s a knock at the door, and we both pause as I get off the bed to check the peephole, and then open it carefully. Tristan is waiting there, leaning against the wall next to the door and then swinging in like he owns the place. He studies Creed, all lounged out on the bed.

“What are you two up to in here?” he asks, voice smooth and dark.

“Just discussing what a little male-male action might look like on you two.”

Tristan pauses for a moment, and then he walks over to the bed, crawls up between Creed’s legs and touches the side of his face.

“The fuck are you doing?!” Creed manages to get out before Tristan leans down and captures his lips. It’s a long kiss, too, much longer than you’d expect from two assholes who hate each other. Creed puts his boot between them and pushes Tristan off with a shove. “What the hell …” He slides his arm across his lips as Tristan smirks and stands back up, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Does that suffice?” he asks, and Creed flips him the finger.

“You only wish it would go further than that,” he snaps, and Tristan shrugs, like he’s not entirely opposed to it. I try not to hold out too much hope.

“Did you come over here for a reason?” I ask, and Tristan glances my way with a small tilt of his head, raven-dark hair sliding across his forehead.

“Do you still have that recording you made of William?” he asks, and I nod. I managed to get a recording of Mr. Vanderbilt treating his son like trash, calling him a bastard, threatening him. Although there’s no video, the sound of him slapping his kid is pretty damning. “Why?”

“I don’t want him to show up at graduation and make a thing out of it. He tried to come here and convinc

e me to go with him for fall break.