“I haven’t had a chance to look at my phone,” I hedge as Tristan slips out of his jacket and tosses it into the backseat of his car before heading up the steps toward the lodge. He unlocks the doors with a pair of keys from his pocket, and the crowd starts hauling in duffel bags and suitcases.
Um, what?
“Your hair,” he starts, but he doesn’t exactly finish his sentence, and I’m left wondering if he likes it or not. I mean, it doesn’t matter what he thinks, but it’d be kind of nice if he did, right? Zack turns back to his car, yanks out a duffel bag, and carries it toward the steps, pausing briefly next to me. Our eyes meet, and a crackle of electricity snaps in the air between us.
I’m having trouble remembering to breathe.
“Looks nice,” Zack finally adds, and then he’s on his way past me, and I’m left gaping behind him.
“I bet you Lizzie shows up tonight,” Zayd tells Creed as Zack takes his bag up the steps, glancing back at me one last time before disappearing inside.
“Bet me what?” Creed asks, leaning casually against the exterior wall of the lodge with his arms crossed over his chest. “If you say those cowboy boots your dad got you at auction, then you’re on.”
Zayd gapes for a moment, and then snaps his mouth shut, letting the edge of his lips curl up in a small grin.
“You want to be a cowboy, baby?” he drawls, laughing and tugging at his lip ring for a moment.
“I want to fuck a cowgirl, that’s what,” Creed amends, as I look between the two of them with scrunched brows.
“It’s a deal, but if I win, you lay off Becky Platter for the rest of the year. She’s mine.” Creed shrugs, and then holds out a hand. Both boys shake, and then I hear Zayd mumble idiot under his breath.
“Could someone please tell me what’s going on?” I ask as Zayd throws an arm over my shoulder and turns me around to head inside. Even though I’m not particularly thrilled about him touching me, he seems to do it to everyone, so I let it go. “Are we even allowed in here?”
“Allowed, that’s an interesting word.” Zayd pulls me into the cool darkness of the lodge, and I can see that someone’s already started a fire. To be fair, it’s pretty chilly out here, and it’ll take the heater a while to get to all the rooms. This place is massive. “I wouldn’t worry so much about that, Charity.”
“My name is fucking Marnye,” I grind out, but I know it’s useless. Doesn’t mean I have to accept them calling me that, though it’s preferable to Working Girl. “Who are all these people?”
“Friends.” Zayd winks at a dark-haired girl who’s glaring at me from the direction of the sliding doors. Her eyes track our movements as Zayd leads me into the kitchen, and finally drops his arm, unpacking a couple bottles of alcohol from one of the paper bags on the counter. “From other schools.” He unscrews the top on a bottle of rum, tips it to his lips, and then offers it over to me. I raise an eyebrow and politely decline. “Suit yourself,” he grumbles, shrugging his shoulders and then grinning as a pair of guys in letterman jackets appear and start handing out high fives and some of those awkward man hugs where they slap each other in the back.
“Marnye.” It’s Zack again. I don’t even have to turn around to know who’s talking to me. His voice is far too distinct, cutting through the murmur of the other students. When I spin to look at him, he’s shed his jacket, showing off the thick, hard muscles in his arms, the wide breadth of his shoulders. Those brown eyes of his snag mine, and my heart shudders in my chest. “Are you staying the night?”
“We’re not sleeping here,” Tristan scoffs, coming out of the back hallway, his silver eyes focused on Zack’s face. He’s rolled his sleeves to the elbow, and as I watch, he untucks his shirt, flashing a bit of the skin above his waistband. I catch the briefest glimpse of a tattoo there, but then he covers it up and I’m left wondering if I imagined it. “We’ll go back to the main campus.” The smile he gives Zack reminds me of a black widow spider, calculating and self-serving. There’s no room for emotion in that expression. “Why? Were you hoping to get Charity to stay in your room?”
Zack doesn’t say anything, but his eyes move from Tristan to me, like he thinks there’s something going on between us. Nothing could be further from the truth. Honestly, just the idea makes my stomach hurt. Tristan is, well, for lack of a better word, he’s mean.
“I’m confused,” I start as Tristan looks me over and smirks. “What festivities? Isn’t this just a party?”
“You brought her here, and she doesn’t even know what’s going on?” Zack snaps, his voice angry and thick with emotion. “What the hell, Vanderbilt?”
“We were getting to that, Brooks,” Tristan snaps back, his voice like whiplash, striking through the room like lightning. He could probably command armies, this guy. Considering his penchant for cruelty, that scares me. I rub my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans. There’s clearly a lot going on here that I’m not understanding, and I get the feeling I won’t understand it until one of these cryptic assholes sits down and explains it to me.
That’s not likely to happen either, I gather.
“Bet she hates you by the end of the week,” Tristan purrs, smiling like the cat who’s licked—and maybe also fucked—the cream. “Once she finds out what you did, that girl you killed …”
“Jesus Christ, man,” Zack snarls, and I raise my eyebrows. Even in the years he picked on me, he was never angry, just cold and matter-of-fact. Seeing him get angry is pretty terrifying. And … wait, what did Tristan just say?
“You killed somebody?” I choke, and Zack shakes his head, running his fingers through his chocolate hair. He looks like he’s about to kill Tristan, that’s for sure.
“It’s not like that,” Zack continues as Tristan makes himself a rum and coke, and then heads outside, leaving more questions than answers in his wake. I stare at Zack for a moment, waiting for him to explain further, but instead, he just turns and walks away, slamming the door to one of the bedrooms.
Wow.
I’m really out of the loop, aren’t I?
Zayd’s busy setting up kegs in the corner, and Creed is nowhere to be seen. So even though I’m most definitely not friends with any of these guys, I seek Tristan out on the deck, his gray eyes the same color as the sky above the lake.
“I owe you an explanation,” he says, his voice as smooth as silk. Just the sound of it makes me shiver. I try really hard not to notice the swell of muscle in his forearms, just a peek at how much strength must be in that tight body of his. He has a nice ass, too, for a psychopath. I mean, he must be one, right, considering the way he acts?
“You really do,” I start, softening slightly. How stupid am I? I forgive too easily, I know that. Dad once told me that when he was super drunk, that I forgave my mom too easily for leaving us. She found her way to greener pastures, but I always tried to keep it in my mind that she tried to take me with her. Tried. And then … dumped me at a rest stop at age three because her newest boyfriend didn’t like kids. My eyes close against the pain, and when I open them, Tristan is staring down at me with that stony expression of his.
“I said if you lasted the first week, I’d tell you about that girl I fucked.” My mouth drops open, but I’m seriously speechless. Every time I think these guys have hit a new low, they plummet even further down my list of respectability. They’ve been so horrible to me, that even if they started farting rainbows, wearing halos, and gifting me the world, I don’t think we could ever truly be friends.
“Believe it or not, I don’t care what you did with that girl or any other.” I cross my arms over my chest and take a step away from his chilly peppermint scent. The wind teases his hair around his cruel face, but there’s not much left of mine to tease. Sadly, I lift my fingers to the back of my neck. No more tumbling brunette waves.
“You were the one that asked,” Tristan continues, turning to face me, like he’s scented a challenge and now can’t bear to let go. His eyes glimmer like flint, hard but ready to spark and start flames. “I assumed you were curious because you wanted to know what I could do for you.”
“Dude, are you talking about your conquests again?” Zayd asks, dragging a keg out to the deck and standing up to wipe some sweat off of his face with his shirt. After a moment, he just shrugs and takes it off completely, flashing all those colorful tattoos of his. When he turns around, I look again, and I’m sure I see it this time: there’s an infinity tattoo on his right hip.
So … Zayd definitely has one. Pretty sure I saw one on Creed. Tristan, too.
What the hell?
“Why don’t you just tell her about the girls you aren’t banging? It’d be a shorter list.” Tristan smirks, but the way he looks at Zayd isn’t pleasant. There’s some rivalry there for sure. Zayd looks between me and him for a moment, and then shakes his head. “Creed’s up to something, and I have a feeling it’s nothing good.” He pauses as Andrew comes out onto the deck.
Right away, I can feel it, a tension between Andrew and Tristan. The latter man’s fists curl tight, knuckles whitening. With the other hand, he sips his drink.
“Marnye?” Andrew asks, blue eyes wide with surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“We invited her,” Tristan says, stone-cold. He looks down at me, and his expression morphs into something savage, but ardent, too. When he leans close and his lips brush my cheek, warmth blooms in my chest. “Try to survive the party, and we’ll see what you’re really made of.” He stalks off into the house, leaving me alone to the wolves.
I swear, everyone’s staring at me.
“You keep saying you don’t drink, but maybe tonight, you should give it a try.” Zayd holds out a red Solo cup, green eyes focused on me. “You might need it. Don’t worry: Creed never tries the same trick twice. No breathalyzers tonight.”