Stuck With The Four Hotties

It might not be my job, but I want to help Zack. I want to help all of these boys. And maybe that’s a problem. Reforming a bad boy, changing a bully, those are pretty lofty ideals. In the real world, it doesn’t often go right. But these guys are my friends now, they’re … I’ve forgiven them. I really have.

It’s freeing in a way, that forgiveness. And it’s cathartic somehow, to find out that they really are human on the inside. They have wants and needs,

pleasures and pains, faults and heroisms. Basically … they’re just people.

Zayd sets me down on my own cushion and takes up the one on my right.

I’m waxing poetic yet again. Must be all the hormones.

Yep. That’s it.

The fucking hormones.

“We thought you might like a game of truth or dare,” Zack says, turning to look at me, scanning me with that soulful umber gaze of his, taking me in. “Like an Infinity Club party, but without all the bullshit.”

“Rules still apply though,” Zayd says with a grin, gesturing at Tristan with an inked hand that’s covered in rings, and a wrist full of rubber bracelets from past concerts. “No chickening out. No fucking way. Now pass me the rum.”Belongs © to NôvelDrama.Org.

Tristan pours a generous helping of alcohol into a red plastic cup (it wouldn’t be a party without them!) and then passes it around the circle until it makes its way to Zayd. Everyone else gets their drink of choice: vodka for Creed, a beer for Zack, gin for Windsor, and cognac for Tristan. Seems appropriate. That’s how I think of his voice, nice and smooth and velvety. I’ve never had it, but I’ve heard Dad go off on tangents before.

The boys have brought me a bunch of cold drinks, all non-alcoholic, and I smile. They never forget, and I appreciate that.

“Once you empty that beer, Zack,” Zayd says, his husky rockstar voice echoing around the quiet library. “We can play spin the bottle. But only if Marnye is the one who’s spinning it. I’m not kissing any of you assholes.”

“You will if we play a round of truth or dare,” I say with a smile. Zayd glances over at me and raises his pierced brow, grinning all the while.

“Word on the street is you like gay romance novels,” he says with a chuckle, and I flush.

“I read the occasional boys’ love manga, but that’s about it.”

“Don’t let her fool you: those things are practically porn,” Creed drawls, still lying on his side, his elbow propping his head up. “Anal sex, blow jobs, plenty of cum. Buckets of it, really.”

“You’re as crass as your sister,” I choke out, unscrewing the top on a bottle of tropical juice. Pineapple, I think it is. Nice and tangy.

“So you like to read your porn instead of watch it?” Zack asks with a deep chuckle, the sound reverberating through me. “Makes things easier on campus, that’s for sure. Fuck the no phone rule.”

“I’ve been working on cracking that shit since day one. I mean, I’ve figured out how to sneak a phone in, but I swear there’s literally no service out here, and the Wi-fi is locked down hard. They’re freaking Nazis about that shit.” Zayd lies down on his stomach, his cup already emptied, and pillows his head on his hands.

“I’ve got a satellite phone,” Windsor says, unbuttoning the top two buttons on his stupid penguin pajamas. His stupid penguin pajamas that I actually really like. “It doesn’t exactly run apps, but I can make calls. That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”

“It’s because of my mother,” Creed says, still lounging, draped over his cushion like a languid doll. “She helped Principal Collins set up the closed network. Unless you’re a tech genius like her, you’re not getting in. Say goodbye to weekday Facebook posts while you’re at Burberry.”

“Good thing Marnye’s got her porn in print then,” Tristan adds, smirking at me. I throw the cap to my juice across the circle, but he just catches it in his palm like it’s nothing. “I prefer … to actually fuck, instead of watching porn. Although I’ll be the first to admit: I’ve had a bit of a dry spell lately.”

“There’s also Kleenex and Jergens,” Zack says mildly, and I flush, thinking about that trash can full of tissues at the B&B. Ugh, how embarrassing. At least I know I wasn’t the only person who touched myself that night.

“Oh, trust me, I’ve got toys in my rooms. Better than tissues and lotion.

But they don’t help, not when Marnye’s around.”

“Tristan, shut up,” I blurt, but he just keeps smiling at me in that not-quite- so-nice way of his.

“Let’s start a game,” he murmurs, his voice a seductive song. “Let’s play truth or dare. I’ll go first. Marnye.” Hah. Of Fourse Tristan wants to go first, and of course he’s looking right at me. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” I whisper, because I’m afraid to see what sort of dare he’ll level my way. Frankly, I should probably be afraid of what he’s going to ask me for truth, too, but I figure it’s the lesser of two evils. Tristan chuckles and shakes his head, raven-black hair falling across his forehead in shimmering strands.

“Marnye, Marnye, Marnye, that’s the easy way out.” Tristan is sitting nice and straight still, his legs folded underneath him, hands clasped in his lap. I’d love to see him let go for once, get messy. “But okay. Truth: are you really a virgin?”

“Yes.” Just that one word, but saying it in front of these guys makes it so different. I can feel them looking at me. I can imagine the taste of each one of their lips, the feel of their hands, the white-hot flare inside of me when we make eye contact.

Tristan smirks, nods, and then lifts his hand to indicate me. “Fair enough. Now it’s your turn.”

Creed is smirking, too, and the way he’s lying there reminds me of a lazy housecat, all content and full of itself.

“Fine. I choose Creed.” I give him a hard look. “Truth or dare.” “Dare.” His heavy-lidded eyes hold a challenge.

‘”I dare you to kiss Tristan Vanderbilt on the lips.” The smile that lights my face is pure pleasure. Zayd howls with laughter, and Zack grins. Windsor just sits there with that sparkling glint in his eyes.

The elder Cabot twin scowls at me and pushes up to a sitting position, tossing white-blond hair from his face with a flourish.

“You think I won’t do it?” he scoffs, this haughty air of self-confidence clinging to his every move. “You’re about to learn a hard lesson, Miss Reed.” Creed gets up on his knees and crawls toward Tristan. I get this feeling of deja vu, like maybe I’ve read a scene just like this in a manga, or a book, or something. Maybe that AliFe in Wonderland retelling that Miranda made me read? What was it called? Allison’s Adventures in Underland?

Oh well.

I’m still excited.

I bite my lower lip, and then watch as Creed approaches a scowling Tristan, putting his fingers on either side of the other boy’s face.

“Please,” Tristan snorts, pushing his hands away, and then grabbing Creed by the wrists. “We both know you’re a bottom, and I’m a top. We may as well as act the parts.”

“Screw you,” Creed snarls at him, pulling his wrists back. Tristan doesn’t let him go, and the two guys glare at each other. Tristan keeps one hand on Creed’s wrists, and puts the other against the side of his friend’s face. They both look over at me.

“This must be payback for all those times we made bets to get Infinity Club girls to make out with each other,” Tristan murmurs, and then, with his eyes still locked on mine, he leans forward and presses his mouth against Creed’s, parting the other boy’s lips with his tongue.

For five blissful seconds, I get to see a fantasy brought to life, two of the cruelest boys in the academy kissing one another, their legs partially tangled. Tristan’s fingers slide up and into Creed’s hair, and that’s when he puts a stop to it, shoving the Vanderbilt boy back with a scowl.

“If I didn’t know better, I might think you were really into me,” Creed says, shoving his arm across his mouth.

“You’d only be so lucky,” Tristan purrs as Creed washes his mouth out with vodka and swallows a generous amount of alcohol.

He waves his hand in Zack’s direction. “You. Brooks. Truth or dare.”

“Dare,” Zack says, narrowing his eyes to slits and focusing his attention on Creed in challenge. “Give me your worst, Cabot.”

“I dare you to make yourself come. Right now. In front of everyone.” Creed’s face is absolutely wicked as he spits out his directive, and Zack lets out a series of mumbled curses, raking his fingers through his hair. He glances over at me, and my cheeks flush warm.

“You can tell him no, and do a truth instead,” I suggest, but Zack looks determined, and that scares me.

“In our version of the game, you get one chance to swap a truth for a dare, or vice versa. If you fail again, you lose, you’re out.” Zayd sits up, like he’s gearing up for a particularly vicious game. These boys sure do like making bets, whether or not they’re doing it in an official Infinity Club capacity. It’s a symptom of their privilege, their lack of ever wanting for anything. They need challenge; they crave it.

“What does the winner get?” I ask, and Zayd grins, shrugging inked shoulders at me.

“Bragging rights?”

“How about a trophy?” I counter, and he cringes, pretending to brush off a burn.

“Ouch, Charity, ouch.”

“I’ll do it,” Zack says, nostrils flaring as he pulls in a deep inhale, and then

… spits in his palm. Holy Frap. He slides his hand inside his boxers, his eyes focused on mine. I can’t see anything, but I definitely notice the change in his breathing, his dilated pupils, the sweat that beads on his forehead.

“Fuckin’ hardcore, man,” Zayd laughs, chuggi

ng another shot’s worth of rum. “Show us what you’ve got.”