Stuck With The Four Hotties

“You see, v is the frequency being observed and-”

“I know v is the frequency,” Tristan throws back at me, his fingers clenched so tightly around the pencil that they’re shaking. “And I know it’s to the third power. This is a typo.”

“How is it a typo when you’re writing with pencil?” I ask, and he seriously looks at me like he wants to kill me.

“I have literally no idea what you guys are talking about,” Lizzie adds with another giggle, reaching over to run her fingers down Tristan’s bare forearm. He’s taken his blazer off, and in a rare move, he’s unbuttoned his shirt until about halfway down. He’s even rolled up his sleeves a bit.

He glances over at her, but he doesn’t tell her to stop, turning back to look at me in stark defiance.

“You little smart-ass. You think you’re so knowledgeable with your public school education.”

“Clearly, I am,” I retort, lifting my own chin in defiant response. “Because I can see the frantically scrawled page of notes beneath your report. You’ve been messing the formula up this entire time. How do you expect to beat me out for valedictorian when you can’t even get the equation for the brightness temperature of the sun-”

Tristan sweeps his arm across his papers and knocks them all to the floor, panting furiously, teeth gritted at me in a snarl.

“Tristan, don’t, she’s just trying to be helpful,” Lizzie says, attempting to step between us. The look he gives her is cold hell.

“Get out,” he says, and she gapes at him. She glances back at me once, sympathetically, before scurrying out and closing the door behind her. I turn back to look at Tristan, but I’m not afraid of him, not anymore. He’s just a damaged boy with a cruel streak. I … shouldn’t want to hold him close and banish his darkness, but I do.

Fuck me, but I do.

I’ve fallen for the good girl fixes the bad boy stereotype.

I need to take more women’s studies classes at Bornstead. Because I will get in. I will. I absolutely will.

“Who the hell do you think you are,” Tristan whispers, his voice like freezing fog off the bay. His eyes are the same color, like a stormy sky above

the ocean. He moves toward me, putting us so close that the toes of our shoes touch. “Coming in here like that, and getting all mouthy with me.”

“Whoever heard of the king of the school being a brainiac, hmm? Your stereotypes are all messed up. Then again, you got the equation wrong, so

-”

Tristan grabs me around the waist and pushes me against the counter so fast that my head spins, positioning himself behind me so he can press his hardness against the curve of my ass. Considering I’m wearing the shortest skirt known to man, all I can do is moan as he reaches around and cups my left breast. With the other hand, he slides the pencil horizontally between my lips, so that I’m biting down on it.

“To stifle your screams,” he whispers, and then his right hand dives down and under my skirt, teasing me and making me moan. The pencil really does help when I clench my teeth around it. “You’re too smart for your own good. It drives me nuts.”

I spit the pencil out, and it bounces across the soapstone counters, bumping up against a silver propane faucet.

“Clearly, it does more than just that,” I manage to whisper as Tristan

exhales against my ear, rubbing against me. He’s so close to breaking, so damn close. I want him inside of me so badly. I hate that he’s been with other girls and not me. I hate that he’s been with Lizzie. The thought makes me sick. “You like it when I’m a smart-ass.”

“You’re so infuriating,” he whispers, nuzzling against me. “I don’t understand you and your mentality at all. You don’t like money, and you don’t care about status. You memorize ridiculous formulas, and you defend monsters like Harper du Pont. Who are you, and where did you come from?” “Marnye Elizabeth Reed, from the wrong side of the tracks,” I say, and Tristan yanks me even harder against him. He’s going to be difficult to handle, I imagine. He might be dark in the bedroom. I don’t care. I seriously

don’t care. “At your service.”

“Huh, right,” Tristan scoffs, pushing away from me just before the door opens and one of the chemistry teachers walks in-I can’t remember her name, but she waves and smiles at me anyway. Clearly, she can’t see how worked-up I am right now, how hard my nipples are under my black button- up, how wet my panties are. Thank God that lady boners are invisible, right?

“At my service. You only heel to one leash, Marnye, and that’s your own. Get the fuck out of here, and let me finish my work.”

Tristan reaches around me to snatch the pencil, spins it around and carefully erases the erroneous four on his paper. I smirk as I straighten my skirt out, turning around and walking backwards for a moment, like a total badass.

“Have fun writing up that physics report with a massive boner,” I say, and then I slam right into the chemistry teacher-that’s right, her name is Miss Terrenova-making her grunt.

“Massive boner?” she asks, and my face flames with heat. “Miss Reed, is that really appropriate conversation to be having in a place of learning?”

“Actually Miss Terrenova, I feel uncomfortable with her in here, like she’s trying to fuck me with her eyes.”

“Mr. Vanderbilt,” Miss Terrenova scolds, but she shoos me out the door anyway, my face flaming. Lizzie’s still there, waiting to escort me back to my room, but she looks confused, like she expected one thing to happen between me and Tristan … and got another.

“Let’s go,” I choke out, before I embarrass myself any further.

I can only take so much humiliation for one day.

Somehow, I figured when I turned eighteen, I’d magically become an adult and seem cool somehow.

Far from it: I feel more awkward than I ever have in my life, like a queen with a plastic crown.All content is © N0velDrama.Org.

Now, if someone would

just reach out and help me fix it …