“We're not going to the Hamptons this year,” Zayd says, moving over to the fridge and opening it to reveal about a hundred different bottled drinks. I can see from all the way over here that there's an entire shelf of iced teas and sodas for me; it's not all alcohol which I appreciate. Zayd snags a beer for himself, tosses one to Tristan, and then turns to look at me with his pierced brow raised. “What can I get you, babe?”
“Iced tea, thank you.” Zayd hands one to me, and I take a seat on the edge of the bench that surrounds the small table. “What do you mean you're not going to the Hamptons?”
“He means we're staying here. With you.” Tristan uses a bottle opener that's screwed to the wall and pops the top on his drink, putting the long neck of the bottle to his lush mouth and taking a sip.
“Why?” I ask, feeling this surge of tender appreciation bubble up in me. I want to jump up and down with excitement, but I'm also mildly suspicious. “I mean, I'm grateful and honestly pretty excited to hang out, but I'm also curious.”
“We want to chill with you,” Zayd says, picking at the label on his beer with black fingernails. I get the idea that they're both hiding something from me, but then, I've been getting that vibe since I first saw them this morning. He glances up at me. “And we know you want to be close to your dad.”
“That's it?” I ask, and Zayd shrugs. “I feel like you're all hiding something.”
“It's just more Infinity Club bullshit,” Tristan says, his voice as smooth as cognac, settling over me in a cool wave. “It doesn't matter. I'll sleep at the homeless shelter if I have to.”
You wouldn't survive a single night, I think as I narrow my eyes and unscrew the cap on my drink.
“There's no reason for that. You can stay with me for the rest of the summer.”
“Wait, what?” Zayd asks as I stand up. I give him a frosty look.
“Well, he has to stay somewhere, doesn't he? I guess he'll be just steps away from my bedroom door for the next few months.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Zayd inserts, holding up his hands and backpedaling a little. “Of course he can stay with me. We're almost sorta, kinda friends.”
“I wouldn't go that far,” Tristan says, narrowing his eyes and sighing. He looks almost as tired as Windsor. I swallow hard and lick my lips, drawing his attention up to me. There's this strange, silent communication that passes between us. Breakfast when he pushed me over the table, that game of Twister, Lizzie's confession. “But I accept the offer.”
“Good on you,” Zayd murmurs with a roll of his eyes, pausing as the driver of the bus pops his head in and asks to speak with him for a moment. “Be right back. Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone.” He hops down the bus steps, and the door swooshes shut softly behind him, sealing Tristan and me into the air conditioned space together.
“Can I ask you a question?” I start, trying to fill the awkward silence. Tristan moves over to the table and sits across from me, his silver eyes cutting across the surface and digging straight into my soul. He moves one foot forward and ends up brushing it against mine.
“You can ask it. Maybe I'll answer it, maybe not.” I narrow my eyes and take a sip of my tea.
“What colleges did you apply to?”
Tristan goes very still, like that's not a question he'd even remotely considered me asking. He reaches up and runs his fingers through his silky, raven-dark hair, looking out the window toward the street instead of at my face.
“That's your question? You don't want to ask about my father, or about Lizzie, or even why I tried so hard to beat you during third year?”
“You always try hard to beat me. What's new? Tell me where you applied.”
Tristan pauses, leaning back in his seat as he studies me carefully.
“Harvard.” Of course. “Stanford.” Expected. “Brown.” Interesting choice. “Oxford.” That's too freaking far away. Tristan takes another drink of his beer, watching my face like he's expecting a certain type of reaction from me. “Bornstead.”
My heart leaps out of my chest, and I stand up.
“I've already decided against that one though,” he adds before I can get too excited.
“Why?” I snap, setting my iced tea down and crossing my arms over my chest. “I feel like you're doing this to me on purpose.”
“I already told you, Marnye, you're better off without me.” Tristan stands up, like this conversation is over. But I haven't even gotten started. I step in front of him when he goes to leave, and he narrows his gray eyes on me. “What are you doing?”
“Stopping you from running away,” I say, holding my arms wide. Might be a tad dramatic, but that's okay. I don't care. Tristan Vanderbilt is a man used to getting whatever he wants. Well, what he wants right now is to take the easy road and run from me. I'm not having it. He'll have to get used to compromise. “You think you're such a bad man, but you're not. Are you a spoiled brat? Sure. Do you have a lick of cruelty in your blood? Yes. But … I like you anyway.”
Tristan stares down at me, breathing heavily, and then tosses his empty beer bottle into the sink. His signature cinnamon-peppermint scent hangs heavy in the air between us, wrapping around me like a spell.
“It'll take more than just a high school crush to turn me around, Marnye.” He tries to move past me, but I grab onto his arm and he stops suddenly, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Those cruel eyes slide over to look at me. “You don't deserve to spend your life trying to reform some asshole. I can't even afford to go to college now.”
“We can get you some scholarships; it's not too late, Tristan. If you want something, there's a way to make it happen. Look at me: I got into Burberry Prep against all odds. I survived Burberry Prep against all odds.” My hand tightens on his arm, and he closes his eyes. “Why are you fighting this so hard?”
“You don't understand how complicated my life is, Marnye. I can't just skip off into the sunset. Not with you or anyone else.” He goes to pull his arm from my grip, but I refuse to let go, and Tristan ends up pushing me against the counter. His hands are on either side of me, our bodies pressed so close together that I can't breathe without my breasts pushing up against his chest. “Why won't you leave me alone? You have four other guys slobbering for your affections. They all have money, and much less complicated families than I do.” He pauses and looks away for a minute. “Although if you were smart, you'd untangle yourself from the Infinity Club, and you'd run as far and fast as—”
I reach up and grab his face between both hands, turning him back to me for a hard, punishing kiss. I try to start it off sweet, but as soon as our mouths touch, Tristan takes over. He makes this sound that belies this falsehood of control. Tristan Vanderbilt is not in control of himself right now. He's not really in control of anything in his life.
He lifts me up and sets me on the edge of the counter. This might be a tour bus, but it's still got the same low counters that the Train Car had, putting me at just the right height to feel the hardness in his slacks pressing against my core.
With a small growl, Tristan turns his head away and buries his face in my hair.
“I want to fuck you so badly,” he murmurs, and I shiver, leaning my head against his. “But I can't.”
“Why not?” I whisper, because he's holding me so tight right now. I can just imagine us taking things a step further than we did in his room that day …
“Because I use sex like a weapon. I won't wield it against you.” He pulls away again, and this time, I let him go. “Trust me: the temptation is there.” Tristan looks back at me before heading for the door. “Looks like your dad is home.”
He hits the stairs as I groan, leaning my head back against the cabinets and cursing under my breath. My whole body's on fire right now, and my nipples are embarrassingly hard beneath the thin pink dress that Miranda dressed me in.
I take a moment to gather myself together, and then hop down, heading out to meet Charlie as he pulls up to the curb in his rusty Ford. I'm sure he'll be excited to see my five boyfriends hanging out at his house.
“Marnye,” he starts, eyeing the giant bus with a raised eyebrow. It's so long it blocks the driveway; Dad had to park on the street in front of the neighbor's house. “What's all this?”
“This is just a, uh, home away from home,” I say, smiling as I hold out a hand to indicate the giant silver and black monstrosity overshadowing our neighborhood. “I hope you don't mind that my friends stopped by for a bit …”
Dad smiles and reaches out to ruffle up my hair.
“I don't mind at all,” he says as I take his hand and squeeze it in mine.
“How was chemo today?” I ask casually, knowing that Charlie's resistant to telling me anything about his treatment. He doesn't want to scare me. What he doesn't realize is that I'm scared enough as it is.
“Just fine,” he replies, his baseball cap covering up his balding head. I hate it. It's not fair. Why does someone like William Vanderbilt get to beat his son and squandor his family fortune, and have his fat pulled from the fire at the last second? And why does someone like Jennifer Carmichael get to cheat on her husband, abandon her child, and then live a life of luxury without any health problems?
The world can be so cruel sometimes.
“Mr. Reed,” Windsor greets, coming out of the house with Zack on his heels. The former has no problem sauntering up to shake hands with my father while the latter … The shame on his face is reflected in Creed's. Zayd just looks nervous while Tristan's completely blank.
“Oh, right. Those friends.” Dad sighs, but we've been through this all before at last year’s birthday party, so it's not as big a deal as it was before. “Well, a friend of mine stopped by the hospital to say hi and brought me this huge grill pack. I suppose I could whip up some steak and chicken, maybe a few burgers …”