“Mine. This is Afterglow's tour bus.” Zayd pauses as Lizzie comes up the steps, her dark curls swept back in a ponytail, her smile soft and genuine. A strange feeling bubbles up inside of me, but I clamp down on it. If I don't give others the benefit of the doubt, who will? I have to set a good example.
“Hey,” she says, stepping forward to give me a hug. I return the gesture, despite Miranda's dark glare burning a hole in the side of my head. “Cute pj's.” Lizzie chuckles, and I groan, putting my face in my hand.
“Gift from Dad. I couldn't say no.” I glance up as the bathroom door opens and Tristan comes out, his hair wet and slicked back from his face. I try to look for some sort of connection between him and Lizzie, but he isn't looking at her. He's not looking at anyone.
“So …” Zayd starts, drawing my attention over to him again. His hair is still that beautiful sea green color from when we first met. I love it. He could dye it that way the rest of his life, and I'd be happy. Assuming we know each other that long … My heart starts to pound again, and I push the feelings back. I have all year to enjoy what I've got going with these boys. A whole year before I freak out. And it'll be at least December before I hear back from Bornstead.
There's time.
“So, what?” I ask as Tristan leans against the wall near the kitchen entrance, and Creed and Miranda get in some small stupid argument in whispered breaths.
Zayd twirls one of his black lip rings around in a circle with his tongue as he glances down at me with those beautiful emerald eyes of his. His grin morphs slowly into this cocksure little smile as he leans down close.
“You inspired me to get out there and just play some shit, like I used to before we got signed. The boys and I are holding an impromptu concert this weekend.” He pauses and pushes off the door, heeling it shut behind him and crossing his inked arms over his chest. I'm briefly reminded of our first meeting, when he told me I was 'fuckable'. How far we've come since then. “I thought you might like to come along.”
“A concert?” I ask, getting this fluttery sensation inside my chest. “I'd love that. Where at?”
Zayd smirks and puts the sole of his boot up against the door, watching me with half-lidded eyes. He seems to be in a good enough mood, but all I have to do is look at Windsor and Tristan to know that things with the Infinity Club aren't exactly rosy and covered in glitter.
Harper still hates me. My little sister wants nothing to do with me. Dad is sick. Fourth year at Burberry Prep is going to be insane.
“It's a secret. Only people who follow me closely on social media will know where it is.” Zayd winks at me again, and then chews on his lip ring. “Out of the kindness of my heart, I've even graciously invited your other boyfriends. What do you think, Charity? Doesn't that generosity deserve another kiss?”
“Don't be a lewd asshole,” Zack growls, giving Zayd a particularly unfriendly sort of look. He's got his letterman jacket on, and I have to wonder if he knows how much of a trigger that is for me.
“If I were being a lewd asshole …” Zayd starts, pushing off the door and stepping close, so he can sweep some of my rose-gold hair from my forehead. My pulse picks up, and I decide that I really, really need to get the hell out of these jammies ASAP. “I'd ask for something a little stronger than a kiss.”
“Oookay,” I start, backing up and putting myself against the shared wall between my living room and bedroom. “Are you guys really not going to tell me what went on at that meeting?”
“It's not important,” Windsor says, almost too quickly. He stands up and flashes me a cheeky grin. “We handled it, love. All taken care of. Now, are you going to lunch in those adorable duck pajamas, or would you like to change? Either way, I'm taking you out.”
“Lizzie and I can stay here, so you guys can make a date out of it,” Miranda says cheerfully, standing up from the couch with the most genuine sort of smile on her face. “We can even clean for you while you're gone, as a favor.”
“You don't have to—” I start, but Miranda's already linking her arm through Lizzie's and grinning, almost maniacally now.
“Don't be silly. We'd be happy to. Right, Lizzie?” Miranda glances her way, but she's pretty much cornered Lizzie into accepting at this point. It'd be hard to refuse without looking like, well, sort of an asshole. “Marnye deserves some private time with her guys, especially after a week spent apart.”
“I …” Lizzie starts, glancing over at Tristan. He's about as expressive as a grapefruit right now. He gives nothing away. “Yeah, that's understandable …”
“Let's kidnap her in those pajamas,” Creed drawls, yawning and stretching his arms above his white-blond head. “Quite frankly, they turn me on like nothing else.”
“Shush up, barely-ex-virgin,” Miranda grumbles, letting go of Lizzie and taking my hand. “I will dress the love of your lives up, no worries. Give us twenty minutes.” Miranda drags me from the living room, into my bedroom, and then closes and locks the door behind her.
“That was a dirty trick,” I whisper, but she just keeps right on grinning and ignores me, moving over to the closet for another dress.
“I know. But what's done is done. Lizzie can either back off, or I can make her back off. Now, try this dress on and let's see if we can get five guys to get boners all at once.”
“Oh, well, that's romantic,” I mutter, but now I'm smiling, too.
Lunch with the guys sounds exactly like what I need right now.
On the inside, the bus is more like a mini-mansion on wheels. I'm basically gagging as Zayd gives me the full tour. We've just gotten back from lunch, and I have to say, it felt good to be with the boys again. I missed them so much it hurt. At the same time, there's a lot of tension, all these tangled threads that need to be unwoven.
I just keep telling myself to deal with one thing at a time.
“These are the bunks,” Zayd says, showcasing the beds on either side of the narrow hall. The dark look he gives me says he's thinking of doing more than just sleeping in them. “Plenty of room for one guy and a very special guest.”
“And how many very special guests have you entertained on this bus?” I ask, but he just laughs, that howling, all-consuming sound that makes me smile.
“Oh, Charity.” Zayd pats me on the head and then kicks open the bathroom door behind him. “There's even a tub in here. Again, plenty of room for one guy and a very special guest …”
“I'm leaving now,” I say, turning and making my way back down the hall. Zayd catches me from behind, his arms sliding around my waist, his chin coming to rest on my shoulder. My entire body flushes warm, and my eyes close of their own accord. Speaking of tension … There's a definite thread between me and Zayd, one that's been there from the first second I laid eyes on him.
“Don't go, Charity, I was just playing,” he murmurs, nuzzling against my neck. For the moment, we're the only two people on this bus. An impossible heat rushes to my core as I lay my hands over Zayd's. “There's only one special guest I want on my bus from now on.”
“Is that so?” I ask, as he squeezes me even tighter, my back to his front.
“Definitely so. What say you we kick all the rest of these bastards to the curb for the night, and have a little sleepover in here? I'll give the driver the night off …”
“My dad might not like that very much,” I murmur, but I know I'm getting close to turning eighteen. He won't have much of a say over what I can and can't do. The thing is, I love him and respect him, and I wouldn't want to cause him unnecessary stress either.
“What Dad doesn't know won't hurt him,” Zayd whispers, running his tongue up the curve of my ear.
“Maybe it won't bother her dad, but it certainly bothers me,” Tristan says, appearing at the top of the steps. I shudder in Zayd's arms, and my mind goes to the naughtiest places. I wonder what it'd be like with Zayd on one side and Tristan on the other?
Oh dear. I might've spent too much time reading that book, Groupie, that Miranda gave me a few days ago. It's a reverse harem story where the main character gets all five boys to herself. Like … what I have. But, it ends that way, too. She doesn't have to choose.
Lucky bitch.
Zayd releases me with a sigh, propping his elbow on the edge of one of the top bunks.
“What do you want, Vanderbilt? Some cash to get a hotel room for the night? Because in this case, I'm willing to offer up a little charity to get some alone time with, well, Charity, if you catch my drift.”
“Doesn't your family have a place on the beach?” I ask Tristan, but his face just darkens up and he says nothing. Oh. This whole disowning thing is for real, isn't it? “You know, I'd have to ask my dad, but I'm sure you could stay here for a few nights.”
“He doesn't need a place to stay for a few nights, chickadee,” Zayd says, sounding almost like he's taking pleasure in Tristan's downfall. Hell, knowing him, he probably is. “He needs a place to stay for the entire summer.”
“I'm a homeless vagrant now,” Tristan drawls, leaning his shoulder against the kitchen cabinets and watching us with sharp, silver eyes. “Does that make you happy, Zayd? Do you lather up your dick with lotion and dream about it?”
“No, I lather my dick up and dream about Marnye,” Zayd retorts with a smirk, grabbing me again. I wiggle out of his arms and cast a look over my shoulder.
“You shithead,” I grumble, but I'm not entirely displeased at his statement. I move over to the much wider kitchen area and try not to think about the fact that this bus is like a more luxurious version of the Train Car. Like, Dad and I lived in that our whole lives, and Zayd just owns one for the hell of it. Wealth disparity sure is an interesting topic. “Well, I don't see why one of the boys can't put you up somewhere,” I tell him, looking between Tristan and Zayd. “Don't you all usually go to the Hamptons for the summer anyway? There was plenty of house up there to go around.”