“Why don’t you let me worry about my dad?” Tristan says, his voice like dark poison. It makes my skin tingle, and my brain goes to places I’d really rather it didn’t. Tristan’s hands wrapped around that Kiara girl’s hips, his cock thrusting between her legs. Shaking my head, I throw the image off, putting my palm flat against the stone wall in the alcove. “You have more important things to think about: like how I’m going to win Harper for sophomore year. After all, she’s practically begged an engagement ring off of me.”
“Well, I guess your family needs the money, huh?” Creed replies, his blond hair fluttering in the wind. His smile is wicked. “We’ll see how the week goes though, won’t we? Don’t count your bitches before they hatch.”
“Clever,” Zayd whistles, and then he throws his head back with laughter.
The door to the amphitheater opens behind me, and one of the janitors—I think his name is Mark—steps out with a push broom. All three guys swing their gazes his way, locking onto me.
Shit.
Well, now that I’ve been spotted, I can’t just stand here, and turning around to go back inside feels like running, so … I make myself start off down the path, veering off at the last second to stand between Tristan and Zayd.
They just stare at me while Zayd smokes, Creed lounges, and Tristan’s eyes narrow.
“Nice car,” I say, exhaling sharply and tucking my hands into my pockets. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why I walked over here. I must be crazy. It’s like there’s this string inside of me, tugging me toward these crazy assholes.
“Why don’t you climb in?” Tristan asks, managing to keep his usual hatred and disdain from his voice. He towers over me, wearing a black wool coat, black button-up, and slacks. He looks thirty, not fifteen. But in a good way, mature, mysterious. His raven-dark hair swirls in the wind, and he brushes it back. “It’s the nicest car you’ll ever sit in. May as well take advantage.”
“You’re a jerk,” I spit out, feeling that hot anger surge up in me. “What on earth makes you think I’d ever get into your car?”
“Because you’re curious about what we’re doing,” Zayd says, his voice husky, his green eyes shimmering with mischief. He’s wearing a leather jacket, but it’s much edgier than mine, with a dozen random zippers, patches, and pins. He finishes his cigarette, tosses it aside, and crushes it with his boot before climbing onto the trunk and putting his boots in between the two front seats. “It’s why you followed me, right?”
“I …”
“You can sit on my lap,” Creed says, completely deadpan. He stares at me, searching my expression as I look between the three of them and weigh my choices. I can turn around and go back inside which is probably the smart decision. Or I can risk going with three guys that hate me just to satisfy my curiosity. My tongue runs over my lower lip in thought.
“Get in,” Tristan repeats, stepping close to me. He smells like cinnamon and peppermint, and I feel those little butterflies in my stomach take flight. They’re idiots, those insects of emotions, reacting to the beauty in Tristan’s face instead of the anger in his soul.
After a moment, I give in and head over to the passenger side door, opening it and looking at Creed’s lap with a wary eye. This is weird, Marnye, I think, but I shove the feeling aside and take a seat before I can think too hard about it.
Creed’s arm curls around my waist, and that familiar knot in my chest tightens up. My heart is pounding, pulse racing, as he closes the door, and I sit perched on his lap, facing toward Tristan as he climbs into the driver’s seat. When I shift slightly on his lap, Creed’s fingers dig into my side.
“Don’t wiggle like that; you’ll give me a hard-on,” he drawls, like his words are no big deal. Me, I gape and I wonder if I’ve just lived a sheltered life, or if these guys are just hedonistic as fuck.
“Seriously? I thought I was just a useless charity case?” Creed shrugs and leans in close, putting his lips near that sensitive spot between my neck and shoulder. His breath is warm, but I shiver when it feathers across my skin.
“Even whores have their purpose.” I raise my hand to slap him, but he grabs my wrist, squeezing just hard enough to make me cry out. As soon as he releases me, I finish what I started and crack my palm against his cheek. Tristan laughs, this low, cruel sound, as he starts up the sweet purr of the engine and takes off at such a rapid speed I’m worried Zayd’s going to tumble off the back into the gravel.
He just hollers in excitement and lifts his arms in the air like he’s on a rollercoaster.
Tristan does a few wild donuts on the gravel, making my stomach lurch and causing Creed’s arm to tighten even further around me as we’re thrown around inside the little sports car.
“I’m not a whore,” I grind out finally, when we stop spinning and take off down one of the dirt roads that lead deeper into the campus. Most of the third and fourth year classes are held in outbuildings spread throughout the vast acreage of Burberry Prep, but as a first year, there’s hardly any reason to come back here, so it’s all new to me.
“That’s right: you’re a virgin,” Creed amends, but he doesn’t sound any less disdainful. “My mistake.”
“How …” I start, and then realize I should’ve denied the accusation. My mouth flattens into a tight line as Tristan smirks from the driver’s seat.
“How fucking cliché. You really are pathetic, aren’t you.”
“Pathetic? Because I don’t screw everything that walks? If you ask me, you’re the one who’s pathetic. Have you ever cared about a single girl you’ve slept with?” Tristan’s hands tighten on the wheel, but he doesn’t respond, acting like I’m invisible again. I can’t decide what’s worse, being mocked or being ignored.
“Some guys have a thing for popping cherries,” Zayd remarks absently, like we’re discussing the weather. “Never been my thing. Sorry, but it’s so not attractive. I like a girl who knows what she’s doing.”
“Guess I’m not your type then,” I snap back, and he howls with laugher. Pig. Turning away, I try to focus on the changing leaves of the trees, the gorgeous yellow, orange, and red that dots the landscape, broken up by green lawns, and small brick buildings with gold-letter signage.
“Guess not,” Zayd murmurs, leaning forward and putting his elbows on his knees.
We rumble down the road, past the classrooms, taking a sharp left just before we hit the athletic fields, courts, and stadiums. There’s one for every sport: baseball, lacrosse, golf, track and field, tennis, football, soccer, cross country, hockey, basketball, squash, wrestling, swimming, and riflery. It’d be impressive, if I cared at all about sports.
After a while, Tristan turns on the stereo in the car, and a semi-familiar voice purrs out.
It’s Zayd’s band.
“Turn that shit off,” Creed snaps, and Zayd scowls from behind him.
“Really? Screw you, dude.”
“It’s better than your dad’s crappy music, but it still sucks,” Tristan adds, and Zayd’s face darkens several shades. He runs a tattooed hand over his face as Tristan changes over to a different song, some hip hop track that I don’t recognize.
We end up pulling into a small parking lot behind the main lodge at Lucas Lake, and my brows crinkle as Tristan parks next to the rear entrance.
“Why did we drive the back way if we were just coming up here?” I ask, and I get looked at like I’m an idiot.
“Because we’re doing horrible, horrible things to you here, and we don’t want anyone to know where we’re at.” Tristan looks at me with those dark eyes, his full lips in a flat line, and even though my heart leaps in my chest, and a rush of discomfort comes over me, I get the idea that maybe this is his idea of a joke. As a young woman, I don’t really find it all that funny.
“Don’t joke like that,” I snap, my skin breaking out in goose bumps as I start to wonder whether this was a good idea or not. Zayd laughs at me again, hopping out of the car and then reaching in to pull me from Creed’s arms. He tosses me over his shoulder and smacks me in the ass.
“Chill out, Working Girl. We’re just here to party and gamble, that’s it.” He carries me over to the steps and sets me down while I debate punching him in the face.
“Did you seriously just touch my ass?” My face is flaming, and I don’t know whether to hit him or verbally ream him or what. Before I get a chance to do either, the sound of cars coming from the academy’s south entrance cracks the still air, and I raise my eyebrows as a good two dozen cars rumble into the parking lot, filling up every available space and then some. It’s like Tetris, but with million dollar cars. The cheapest thing here is a Cadillac Escalade with the sports package.
The door to an orange McLaren opens, and out steps Zack.
My mouth drops open at the sight of him, his dark eyes sweeping me and narrowing. He flicks his gaze from Zayd to Creed to Tristan, and then back to me again. He doesn’t look very happy to see me here, or with them.
“Marnye,” he says, his voice like cool shadows as he steps closer, his huge frame blocking out the rest of the crowd. I’m relieved to see other girls, and I realize how freaking lucky I am that these guys aren’t rapists. After my time living in Lower Banks, I should know better than to take chances like this. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I start, looking him up and down in his letterman jacket, jeans, and black t-shirt. The cotton fabric stretches across his broad chest, emphasizing how toned he got over the summer. The boy I’m looking at now is more like a man than the kid I last saw at LBMS. “I texted you back to confirm Thanksgiving plans.” He tucks his hands in his pockets, and I meet his gaze again, realizing absently that Tristan, Creed, and Zayd are all staring at me.