Stuck With The Four Hotties

“I can’t believe you beat me,” I groan, sitting in the driver’s seat of my rose- gold Maserati with Windsor in the passenger seat, Creed behind me, and an empty spot where Miranda would be if she weren’t making out with Jessie Maker in the back of Brianna Chow’s yellow Mustang.

Tristan leans on the driver’s side door of the car with the most self- satisfied smirk I’ve ever seen. Just looking at it makes me want to either punch him … or grab his face and kiss him until we both can’t breathe.Belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

“You’re second in the class, still a major accomplishment,” he drawls, standing up straight and stretching his arms above his head. “For a Working Girl, I mean.”

“Haha, very funny,” I say as I turn the key in the ignition and start up the engine. As third-years, it’s our right to use the beach house at the Royal Pointe Lakeside Lodge. We’re going to make an appearance, and then get the hell out of there. Tristan’s family’s main house-the Vanderbilt Manor- isn’t too far from there, and his dad’s overseas on business.

He’s invited us all to hang out there for a few days instead.

Considering I almost died at Royal Pointe last year, I’m okay with skipping out after a few hours.

Charlie’s already okayed the trip, so I don’t worry about that. What I do worry about is the fact that Lizzie’s going to be there, too. As the last few weeks of the year rolled around, she started hanging out with him more and more, to the point that I struggled to find a moment of alone time.

He leans in and brushes a smoldering kiss to my lips.

“Oh bloody hell, can we go already?” Windsor asks as Tristan steps back. Zayd’s waiting next to his own car which is parked beside Zack’s, waving at us as I grin and pull out of the parking spot, trying my best to avoid getting killed by the dozens of other students eager for their summer break. “Finally. Thought you two might get hitched right on the spot.”

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes, push my sunglasses down, and head for the winding road that I remember from last year. The Maserati hugs the curves just as well as Andrew’s Lambo, and in just a few hours, we’re pulling into the same parking lot where I was assaulted by the Company/Harpies. In my head, I’ve started calling the boys the Company, and the girls the Harpies. Is that sexist? It’s not meant to be.

Trust me: I hate them all equally.

We put the top up on the car, leave our luggage, and take the funicular- that weird ass elevator thing I was so disturbed by last year-down to the beach.

The ‘guest house’ is no less impressive than the lodge, just slightly smaller. It has soaring ceilings, walls of windows, and several balconies with roaring firepits.

We take up the topmost balcony, roasting smores, and drinking (alcohol only for those who aren’t driving) and gather our new team of Bluebloods around us. It’s hard to miss the Harpies watching us from the corner, the few Company boys they have left surrounding them.

Tristan has done a damn good job of setting us up for next year.

Hopefully, I won’t have to focus on bets, revenge, or forgiveness during fourth year. Frankly, I just want to spend my time in the arms of the elite, the five beautiful boys who have so completely and utterly turned my world around that just the thought of choosing between them makes me sick.

But, eventually, I’ll have to.

Because nobody in the real world has five boyfriends, particularly not when all five of them have familiar obligations or careers they have to uphold. Even if they didn’t, no man wants to share a girl forever.

I just try to enjoy whatever time I have left.

“Dance with me?” Zayd asks after he’s down at least three smores. I take his hand and let him pull me into the house and the throbbing bass beat. People clear out of our way, and I can feel the envy in their gazes as I switch between Zayd and Creed, Zack and Windsor.

Tristan stands aside and apart, sipping from a glass of what I hope is water and not vodka, his steely gaze focused on me. He seems almost … sad? But that can’t be right. He just beat me for the first in three years. I tell myself it’s because I took on too much with cheerleading and orchestra and tutoring, but … really, it’s because Tristan’s a worthy opponent.

I take a break from dancing to stand beside him, hooking my arm around his the way I did in Paris, closing my eyes as I breathe in his peppermint and cinnamon scent. Clean and spicy at the same time.

“I wish I could bottle your smell,” I tell him, and that, at least, gets the tiniest quirk of lips.

“Mm. What would call it? Eau de Asshole?”

“I was thinking Silken PriFk FaFe. And the whole commercial would be about this naked guy wrapped in sulk, running through waves on a moonlit eve, while some weird voiceover whispers Silken PriFk over and over again.” This time, I get a full laugh out of Tristan, and I think it startles us both just a bit.

We’re quiet for a while, watching the crowd thin out as people-mostly couples-start disappearing up to their rooms, or down to the beach for the bonfire or the boats.

“Why did you sabotage my test?” I ask, because that question’s been bugging me since last year. “I know now that you were trying to get me to drop out of Burberry, but … that’s not like you. Even when you hated me, you knew I was a qualified opponent.”

Tristan is silent for a while before he sighs and looks down at me. “Sometimes we do things that we think are best, even if we know they’re

wrong. Harper had even worse things planned for your grades. All I did was redirect her. And then I told Zayd. Marnye, I’ve never wanted to beat anyone at anything so badly as I wanted to win against you in grades.” I raise my eyebrows, but he’s not done, setting his waiter glass on a side table, and turning to look at me. “There have only ever been two settings in my life: completely hopeless failure under my father’s expectations, and ridiculous ease with the rest of the world. You challenge me, Marnye. You make me want to be better.”

My eyes widen, but we’re interrupted by Lizzie, pulling us both onto the dance floor for one last song before we hit the road again, off to Vanderbilt Manor, and a peek into Tristan’s private life that I ne

ver thought I’d live to see.