Stuck With The Four Hotties

There’s a stage set up about a half mile from the house, and despite the heat, people start lining up before the party even really ends. There are students draped over couches and lying in piles on the floor, most of them hungover or still a little bit stoned. But if they want a good spot in the crowd, they better get up now because the entry line stretches as far as the eye can see.

“You really are famous, huh?” I ask Zayd, glancing over my shoulder as he slips into a white tank with his band logo on the front. It says Afterglow in scrawling cursive with a half-moon, half-sun behind it, gleaming around the edges with, well, a glow.

He flashes me that cocky smile of his.

“Yeah, well, maybe just a little.” He moves over to stand beside me, and I feel myself blushing when I remember my tongue meeting up with his, uh, well … if I’m not mature enough to say it, then I’m not mature enough to do it: his dick. I almost gave my first blow job last night. “I’m heading over with the band soon to greet some of the headliners, but there’ll be golf carts and some backstage passes waiting for you.” Zayd stands up and splays a palm out on his chest, his sea green hair gleaming in the early morning sunshine. The wicked heat of the day hasn’t quite crept in yet, so it’s still cool enough to be pleasant. “And I’m such a nice guy, I even included extras for your other boyfriends.”

“Nice guys don’t say that they’re nice guys,” I tell him, and he smiles, leaning in to pen me against the door with an arm on either side, the cluster of guitar pic necklaces he’s slipped around his neck swinging forward in the space between us.

“Nah, you’re right: I’m a total asshole. Here’s the thing though …” Zayd pauses and presses a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “I like you enough to try. So,” he stands back up and folds his muscular arms over his chest. “Here’s me, trying. Probably failing, but at least the effort’s there.”

“You’re doing great,” I tell him, feeling my cheeks flush. “I mean, as long as you’re being yourself. If you’re an asshole, you’re an asshole. Just don’t be a bully.”

“If I were doing great,” Zayd says, pausing as he notices Creed working his way over to us in low-slung sweats, a towel flung over his wet blond hair. “Your tongue wouldn’t have even touched the tip.”

“Touched the tip of what?” Creed snaps, but then Zayd is just laughing and climbing over the edge of the balcony railing before I can stop him. He quite literally dives into the pool and gives me a heart attack as I race over and curl my fingers around the banister, holding my breath until he pops up and swims over to the edge.

Zayd hauls himself up and then rises to his feet before he shoves another dude in the water and then turns around to wave at me.

“Still an asshole! Just not to you.” He presses kisses to his palms and then flings them my direction, green hair dripping into his face as he makes his way across the courtyard and out a side gate.

“Tip of what?” Creed repeats as I glance over at him, tall and imposing with eyes like chips of ice.Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

My face heats, and I look up at the blue, blue California sky. “Erm, would you believe me if I said … lollipop?”

“No.” Creed narrows his eyes and huffs. “Unless by lollipop, you mean Zayd’s dick. Surely you noticed the stupid piercing? He’s such a showboating cocksucker.” Creed pauses, like maybe he’s reconsidering the use of that last term. He glances down at me. “Did you-”

“No!” I choke out, flushing. “We were both high. He stopped me.”

“He stopped you?” Creed asks, and then shakes his head, toweling his gorgeous hair before he tosses it aside, probably for some underpaid maid to

clean up. It bothers me, so I pick the towel up and bundle it into a basket that’s already got some dirty clothes in it. “Interesting.”

“How is that interesting?” I ask, and Creed shrugs lazily, slouching his way over to the bed to lie facedown on it. He doesn’t even seem to care that we’re in Zayd’s room. Or that he came in his pants lying right next to me last night. Apparently the pot doesn’t erase memories the way I’ve heard alcohol does.

“Just … I mean, Zayd turning down girls is a new phenomenon.”

“You mean like you being a virgin?” I ask, sitting down next to him. He cracks one heavy-lidded eye and looks up at me.

“I’m not a virgin anymore,” he says, and this cavalier little smile takes over his mouth. “And neither are you. No matter what happens, you’ll probably remember me the rest of your life. I like that.”

“You’re a cocky, arrogant, lazy dickhead,” I say, but Creed just shrugs again.

“No arguing that. Should we take a nap before the concert? I don’t even know why we’re up at the butt crack of dawn anyhow. It’s not our show tonight.”

“We could take a nap …” I start, and there must be something in my voice because Creed suddenly doesn’t look so sleepy anymore. His cavalier smile turns into a satisfied male smirk as he pushes up and crawls over to me.

We just barely finish in time to get dressed for the start of the show.

“Gross, gross, gross,” Miranda murmurs as I flush, sitting in the back of the golf cart with her and Lizzie while Zack drives. “I can’t believe I walked in and saw that gross, wrinkly butt.”

“My butt is not wrinkly,” Creed growls, turning around to give her a look. Zack is so big and muscular that only he and Creed fit in the front seat, while the three of us girls fit easily in the back.

“Looked that way, pum

ping up and down like that …”