"Stop that," I choke out, because now I'm certain he's joking again. I push away from him, and he lets me go, watching with glimmering hazel eyes as I press my back to the wall between him and Tristan.
The king of Burberry Prep is not a happy little ruler in that moment.
"You son of a bitch," Tristan snarls, and Windsor grins.
"Son of a princess, actually. Great-grandson to a queen. Let's get that part right at least. You might be ‘American royalty’"—Wind makes derisive little quotes with his fingers—"but I actually am royalty." He smirks. "Tenth in line to the throne, prestigious enough to be important, but not close enough to it that anyone cares what I do. I have my own money, my own life. If I want to date a poor, American girl, I can. What about you? Are you even allowed to like Marnye?"
Tristan steps forward, and then he turns to look at me. To his credit, he controls the angry sneer on his face, and cools his expression, flicking his tongue out to lick the edge of his lip as he looks me over.
His eyes come to rest on my face, and then he's turning to me, grabbing me by the hips and setting me on the edge of the sofa table. He brings both hands up and tangles his fingers in my hair, pulling me in for another kiss.
Seriously, at this point, my mind is gone, spinning away into oblivion. I'm just a ball of emotion with no logicality left.
That harsh yearning inside of me spirals into a crescendo as Tristan sweeps my mouth with his tongue. His kiss is as sharp and cold as he is, but it's threaded through with white-hot molten fire. If I can melt that outer steel of his, and dig down to what lies beneath … he'd be a fucking firestorm. His fingers grip my hips on either side, digging in just enough that it both hurts and feels good at the same time.
I'm reminded of winter formal, and that night on the boat. "Just remember that Creed isn’t the only one that’s interested." The way he kissed me then, and the way he's kissing me now … are the same.
It wasn't all bullshit, was it? The way I felt like I belonged when we all sat together at the table? That was real. It was real. It was fucking real.
Tristan pulls back, and puts his forehead to mine, breathing hard.
And then he jerks away like he's been burned, storming across the seating area toward his room.
He's running away.
"Stop." Just that one word from me. I don't even have to shout it. The meaning is clear enough in that single syllable.
Tristan pauses and glances back at me, pupils dilated, the gray of his eyes burning like barely banked embers.
"What?" He sounds like he's about to snap. He definitely needs time alone to decompress, that's for sure. But not until he answers my question.
"Are you interested? A kiss isn't an answer. I want to hear it in words." I lift my chin and Tristan turns around, nostrils flaring with anger. He closes his eyes and glances away like he's in pain.
"I've already taken on my father's wrath for you, forsaken my family fortune, isn't—"
"Not an answer." My heart is beating so fast, and I can feel the other guys watching me carefully. I stare him down and I wait. Lizzie isn't far from my mind in that moment, but all I can do right now is start here, with a simple answer to my question. If he is interested in Lizzie, that's a choice he'll have to make on his own. If he cares about her then … he has to decide that. I can't force him.
"Yes."
Just that one word.
It feels like a challenge.
"Shame. I was looking forward to a challenge.”
He said that to me, once upon a time, the very first day we met.
Looks like he's going to get what he wanted.
"The five of you …" I start, still sitting on the edge of the sofa table. "You're going to have to fight for me if you want me. But not with fists or bets or bullshit. I mean you're going to have to let down your barriers, and spend time with me."
"Marnye," Zack starts, voice soft, but I hold up my hand. I'm not done. My cheeks are flaming with embarrassment, and my body's on fire in a way it's never been before. If I don't get this out now, I won't be able to.
"For what you've done to me," I give Windsor a semi-apologetic glance. Technically he's done nothing but be a friend to me. The thing is, I know, I know he has ulterior motives. Nothing he does is pure and simple or without calculation, so I'm sorry, but he's going to have to play along, too. "For what you've done to me," I repeat, "you're all going to … have to court me at the same time."
"Court you?" Zayd says with a small, tight grin. "So old-fashioned."
"You're going to have to date me, at the same time, all five of you." I exhale, close my eyes, and lean my head back against the wall. I need … something to decompress from all of these emotions. I lift my head and open my eyes, scanning their faces. Their emotions range from bemused—Windsor—to cold fury—Creed—and everything in between. "No other girls." My voice gets hard on that last bit. "I mean it. If I see you with another girl—”
"I haven't touched another girl since first year," Tristan says, and my eyes go wide. He was a bit of a slut. Do I even believe what he's telling me right now? "So that's fine. I don't care. Anything else?" He's all business right now, but … maybe in a good way? He sounds like he does in class, like he's taking notes and figuring out the best way to get an A, to win.
“I …” I start, but my mind is going totally blank. “No, I think that's it. We date, and we do … whatever we'd do if we were just dating each other. That's … that’s all I've got."
I jump down, sprint into my room, and lock the door behind me.
I only stand there long enough to catch my breath before I change into my swimsuit, throw on a robe, and head downstairs to the pool.
It's ice-cold when I jump in, but it clears my head.
That's all I need right now, a clear head.
And the equivalent of a cold shower.
A very cold shower.
Later that night, I'm lying on the giant king bed all by myself, watching some stupid late night TV which is kind of a treat for me considering Burberry's no outside electronics policy. I mean, sometimes on weekends, I watch stuff on my phone, but it's nice to have a big TV for a change.
Just as I'm fumbling around for the remote to turn it off, I hear a creak and a crash, and then Zack cursing furiously.
Pushing up from the bed, I pad over and crack open the door that separates my bedroom from the sitting area.
And then my hand flies up to cover my mouth.
The old metal bar in the couch bed has bent and broken under Zack's muscular body. He's now struggling to get out of the mess of blankets and pillows. Once I get my laughter under control, I rush over to help him. Of course, when I take his hand and pull, it's like yanking on a mountain of muscle. He lets me pretend to help him out, stumbling from the pile in low-slung boxers and nothing else.
My heart gives this big, hard thump that pushes all the blood in my body to my head and … other places.
"Fucking stupid ass bed," he curses, bending down to dig his phone from the blankets.
His boxers slip slightly, and I see some serious ass crack.
But … like good ass crack. Like, he has dimples in his lower back, and muscles that my hands ache to touch. This is not like looking at a plumber's crack. I slap a hand over my mouth to hold back some more nervous laughter.
Zack rises to his feet and glances back at me, raising his dark brows.
"What's so funny?" he asks, his voice a deep baritone.
"Well, your muscles just broke a bed," I reach out and squeeze his bicep. It's like a sun-warmed freaking rock, so smooth and hard and hot. "And you flashed me a lot of butt cheek when you bent over."
"You think my butt's funny?" he asks, a smirk tracing its way across his lips. "I happen to really like yours."
My cheeks flush, and I realize I've been caressing his arm this entire time, just molesting the heck out of him. I jerk my arm back, and put a few feet of space between us.
"I didn't say I didn't like it," I tease, and the way he looks at me, all of that darkness inside of him becomes deep, warm shadows that sweep across me with his gaze. "Do you need help fixing up the bed?" I ask, because in a B&B this small, it's doubtful there's another room to switch him to or even someone at the front desk to talk with.
"Eh," Zack says, pulling the bedding off and tossing it aside. "I think it's a bit beyond fixing." He tries to wrangle the broken bits and turn the bed back into a couch, but it's a no-go. It's beyond saving. "Floor it is," he says after one of the rusted springs literally falls off.
I stand back as Zack makes a sad, pathetic little bed on the ground.
I bite my lower lip and twist my hands in the front of my tank top.
This is like one of those yaoi mangas that Creed bought me where the characters go to a hotel and by accident, they've only reserved one bed instead of two, and end up having to share …
Yep. Yep. This is exactly like an anime or a manga or a romance novel.
My cheeks flush as Zack tosses his pillows into a heap, pausing to glance over at me.
"You can share my bed," I say, and my voice comes out a breathless whisper.
Zack stops and turns to look back at me, standing there in a pale pink tank top and short-shorts made of this thin, flimsy material. It's super soft and comfy, but I'm now suddenly aware of my nipples in a way I've never been before. Probably because I'm not wearing a bra. Or underwear.
If I'm going to share a bed with one of the hottest guys in school, maybe I should consider putting those things on first?
"Are you sure about that?" he asks, blinking those beautiful umber eyes of his at me. They're brown, yes, but there's this honeyed quality to them in the low light from the bedside lamp. Zack must've fallen asleep with it on because it was already lit when I walked in here. "You don't have to do that, you know."