Stuck With The Four Hotties

So … it’s just me and the guys.

We’re off to the town of Lujo again to collect parts for our Halloween costumes, have some lunch, and maybe visit the bookstore there. It’s one of the oldest in California, and Zack teased me by telling me about the building

it’s housed in: I guess it’s both an architect’s dream and a history buff’s greatest fantasy.

“Are we driving?” I ask, feeling this little hiccup of excitement and nervousness. Students aren’t technically allowed to keep or use personal cars without special permission, but we all do it anyway. Doesn’t mean we can blatantly speed off down the road. We actually applied for off-campus permits for today, so we could spend the night at the little bed and breakfast in town.

I had no idea I was going with just the guys.

My heart thunders, and I clutch my tiny rolling suitcase that Andrew bought me.

“I ordered a car,” Tristan says, fixing the cuffs on his rolled-up shirt. “Parking in Lujo’s a nightmare, and the hotel doesn’t have its own lot.”

“It’s a bed and breakfast,” I remind him with a smile. “Big difference.” He gives me a look, but we’re interrupted by a huge white limousine pulling up curbside. The driver gets out and opens the door, and the boys let me get in first.

I end up sitting on the far side, next to a bucket with ice and some chilling champagne.

“That’s for us,” Tristan says with a shrug, and even though I’ve seen them drink plenty, it’s always surprising to me how casual they are about it. Most teenagers are content with a six pack of beer, but not the Burberry Prep brats. No, they’re only content with hard liquor, champagne, and good wine. Beer is a last resort. “That is, for those of us who drink. There are sodas, juice, and iced teas in the fridge.”

“Thank you,” I quip as Zayd grabs the champagne and pops the cork, making us all jump. I get a glass bottle of unsweetened iced tea, and screw the top off, wondering how Tristan’s managed to get us this limo and all this stuff when there’s no doubt in my mind that his dad is angry with him.

Creed asks the question before I can.

“How did you get your dad to send a car when he so very clearly wants to murder you?”

“I told him I was taking Harper on a makeup date, and he immediately agreed,” Tristan says, checking his red and black Rolex, the one I retrieved from the trash. He hasn’t taken it off since we started school, and I suspect that has something to do with his father. “She should be showing up to the courtyard right about …”

Tristan pushes the button for the sun roof, and it opens, spilling golden light into the back of the limo. He glances over at me and holds out a hand.

“Help me with this.” I take his palm, and feel a little jolt of electricity ping through me as Tristan and I both stand up on the seat, looking out the roof as the limo rolls around the circular drive.

Harper is standing on the steps, all dressed up in a tight black dress and heels, gaping at us. As she watches, Tristan spins me toward him, cups the side of my face, and kisses the hell out of me.

For a heartbeat there, I forget where I am or what we’re doing or why we’re doing it. All I can think about is the hot taste of his mouth, the way his tongue expertly takes over the moment. He’s an incredible kisser, and it’s obvious he’s had plenty of practice. There’s something sexy about that in its own way, like I enjoy the fact that Tristan knows exactly how to take care of me.

Zack makes a frustrated sound, and I pull back, panting. But the job’s been done: Harper is furious.

She’s come down the steps, and is screaming something at us that I can’t quite hear. The grin on Tristan’s face is truly malicious, but now that I’m not on the receiving end of it, I’m enthralled.

He’s got a dark delicacy to him, a sensual cruelness, that draws me in like a moth to flame. I know I’ll be burned, and I don’t care. My wings will spark with embers, and shrivel up, and I’ll fall, but that warm, dry palm will be there to catch me.

Shit.

I’m doing it again.

The waxing poetic thing.Text © by N0ve/lDrama.Org.

I duck back into the limo and find my seat again. Zayd leaves me alone for about two seconds before he pulls me in his lap, and I like the feel of him against me so much that I just … relax.

“That was a nice bit of revenge,” I say with a smile. Normally, I’d never do something like that. But Harper, she’s crossed so many lines. She tried to drown me in a swimming pool. Having her feelings momentarily stung is nothing in comparison.

“I’m assuming Mr. Vanderbilt won’t be pleased when he finds out this was a ruse?” Windsor guesses, holding a glass of champagne in one hand and watching Tristan with those bright hazel eyes of his.

“Harper won’t say a word. She’ll be too ashamed.” Tristan accepts a glass from Creed and sips it, closing his charcoal gray eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he stares at me sitting in Zayd’s lap and his fingers tighten on the glass’ stem.

“What if you’re wrong about that?” I ask, and Tristan’s face tightens slightly.

“Then I’ll pay dearly,” he says with a sigh. “But that’ll come later. Right now, I just want to enjoy my weekend.”

“Are you going to be wearing a snack costume, too?” I ask, because Miranda, Andrew, Zack, Windsor, and I already decided on a Halloween theme: food. Popcorn, hotdogs, French fries, etc. Anything snack-y and fun. Lizzie’s in, too. So is Zayd, and Miranda promised Creed would do it if she told him to.

Tristan is the only one I’m not sure about, and the only one I’m really struggling to imagine in a goofy costume.

“A snack costume?” he repeats, and Windsor laughs.

“It was Marnye’s idea,” the prince says, grinning. “I’m going to purposely leak a photo of myself, so it goes viral. My mother will be pulling her hair out. She hates scandals, you know.”

“So you go out of your way to perpetuate them?” I ask, and Windsor grins.

That’s a definite yes.

“Snacks,” Tristan repeats, and I nod.

“You know, like you can go as a bowl of fruit, or a bag of mixed nuts-” “Tristan loves nuts, that should suit h

im,” Zayd interjects, and I ignore

him.