Stuck With The Four Hotties

Tristan opens the bathroom door and steps out, letting it close behind him while he scouts around to make sure the coast is clear. Of course, it isn’t even remotely clear.Content (C) Nôv/elDra/ma.Org.

Lizzie Walton is waiting.

As soon as I hear her voice, I pause, leaning my ear against the door. “You’ve been in there for quite a while, Tristan,” she says, her voice thick

with hurt and frustration.

“So what? Do you monitor how long I go to the bathroom for? Is there a time limit on the act?”

“Don’t do that. Don’t get angry with me because you don’t know how else to act. We know each other too well to play those sorts of games.” Lizzie pauses. “Marnye, you can come out now.”

Crap. Crap, crap, crap.

I’m sweaty, and shaky, and honestly I’m ready to go back to my room and scream into a pillow. There are so many emotions running through me; I need time to process them all.

The last thing I want to do is face Lizzie Walton.

But she knows I’m here, so I step out into the quiet hush of the library, the soft murmur of voices, and the scratch of old pages being turned.

Lizzie is looking right at me with her amber eyes, her mouth in a flat line, her expression unreadable.

I don’t know what to say to her. Is there anything I can say really?

Anything that’ll make it better that is?

“You two …” Lizzie starts, but Tristan steps partially in front of me and cuts her off.

“What we were doing in there is none of your business, Lizzie,” he says, and the way he looks at her, I can tell he’s sorry, too. He cares about her, but in the same way he cares about Creed. As a friend. That’s it. When he looks back at me, there’s a brightness in his eyes that makes me catch my breath.

He turns back to Lizzie again, and I remember his words from before. “I was waiting for you to fight for me.”

I step forward and curl my arm around Tristan’s.

“I’m sorry, Lizzie,” I tell her, feeling one of the tight knots in my stomach come undone … and another one reform. “I wanted Tristan to choose between us so badly that I didn’t think about asserting myself as much as I should have. I-”

“I love him,” she says, her eyes filling with fat tears that roll down her cheeks and land on the black chest of her uniform. “I love him enough to choose him and only him. So what about you, Marnye? Is Tristan your choice then?”

A flare of fear shoots through me, lighting me up on the inside. Do I choose Tristan? Have I chosen him? But … I can’t choose. Not yet. Just the idea of it makes me sick. It’s only January; I still have months left to make that decision.

“Don’t pressure her,” Creed drawls, appearing from the sea of books with my bag and Tristan’s both thrown over his shoulder. He saunters out and pauses beside us. If I didn’t know him as well as I do, I might not notice the way his fist clenches around the strap of the bag, or how his ice-blue eyes are dark with jealousy. “She doesn’t have to make that decision now.”

“Seriously?” Lizzie asks, looking between Creed and Tristan. “It doesn’t bother you that she refuses to pick a guy? Not at all? Because that’s all I ever wanted: for Tristan to pick me.” Tristan reaches into his pocket and pulls out his handkerchief, but Lizzie doesn’t accept it. Instead, she backs up even further.

“Different things make different people happy,” Creed says, coming to stand beside Tristan. “I’ve gotten everything I’ve ever wanted, my entire life, just as I’ve wanted it. For once, there’s a what-if. That’s enough for me.”

“This is bullshit,” Lizzie murmurs, running her fingers through her hair. “This is … I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Don’t do this,” Tristan tells her, but when he moves forward, she moves back again.

“I came to Burberry Prep for you, left all my friends behind. I …” she starts, and then stops, turning on her heel and taking off through the library. One of the librarians yells at her to stop running, but Lizzie ignores her, disappearing from view.

Crap.

I squeeze Tristan’s arm hard, and he glances down at me.

“I don’t regret my choice,” he says, exhaling and glancing over at Creed with a brief scowl. “Take your time; I don’t want you to regret yours.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Creed drawls, but Tristan ignores him, tugging me along by the hand. Creed sighs, but lets us go.

Surprisingly, Tristan takes me back to his dorm, sets me up with fluffy towels, and a shower, and by the time I get out, he’s brought some pajamas and clothes up from my room.

“You better not have planted a camera in my dorm,” I whisper as I towel-

dry my hair, a black robe wrapped around me. Pretty sure it’s Tristan’s. Just wearing it gives me a little thrill.

He’s sitting on his couch, silhouetted against a long window with a view of nothing but the moon, stars, and the distant rolling hills. He’s got a glass of alcohol in one hand, and he looks so much older than eighteen. But in a good way. Like, I can see the sort of man he’ll turn out to be in a decade or two.

“Not a chance,” he says, sipping his drink as I come over and sit on the opposite end of the couch, perching myself on the arm. “And just so you know: I wasn’t aware we were being filmed in the library. That wasn’t a game; it was a moment of weakness.”

I pause for a moment, putting the towel in my lap.

“I knew that. As soon as I saw your face, I knew.” I look down at the floor, my mind briefly wandering back to that moment, my greatest humiliation. “They could be playing the long game, you know.” Harper’s words poke and prod at the edges of my mind, but I refuse to let them in. I won’t let myself believe that. Doubt is truly a harsh enemy.

Tristan doesn’t say anything, and we sit there in silence for a while. I glance shyly over at him, wet tendrils of hair hanging in my face. We just had sex! a small voice in the back of my mind calls out, and I have to resist the urge to do a girly dance of excitement, maybe squeal a little.

Later.

I’ll do that later.

Right now, there’s this quiet peace between me and Tristan, and I’m loving it too much to disrupt it.

“I didn’t think I’d be here this year,” he continues, tapping his fingers against the edge of his glass. “That’s why I tried so hard last year to get first in our class. I wanted to make sure I could get into a good college when the time came, considering I was destined to spend my year at some military academy, or maybe even a public school.”

“God forbid,” I joke, but I can tell he’s serious about it. He planned for everything, made sure I was set up to be taken care of, and tried to secure his own future at the same time. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

“Windsor must really care about you, to put up with me,” Tristan says, looking over at me, his silver eyes a dark charcoal color in the shadows. The only light on currently is the small one in the kitchen. It’s barely enough to see by.

“He must,” I whisper, curling my hand around the front of the robe. Wind knew that if he didn’t pay Tristan’s tuition, he’d be gone and out of my life, and yet he did it anyway. Why? My heartbeat starts to pick up, and I feel overwhelmed with emotion suddenly. “What would’ve happened if he didn’t pay your Infinity Club dues?” I ask, glancing over at Tristan again.

His face darkens and he takes another sip of his drink.

“Considering the things I know?” he asks, turning to look at me. “They’d probably try to drown me, too.” Tristan stands up and puts his glass on the edge of the kitchen island, turning to face me as he leans up against it. I consider asking him how many girls he’s slept with, the same way I did with Zack. But I have the idea that maybe I don’t want to know. I’m guessing his number isn’t five. “Do you want to sleep here? Or would you rather I walked you back to your room?”

I only have to think on that for a split-second. “I’d like to spend the night, if that’s okay.”

Tristan smiles at me then. A real smile. Not one of his cocksure smirks, or wicked scowls, or anything of the sort. No, this is well and truly genuine.

“If that’s okay … Jesus, Marnye. Far too sweet. You’re gonna give me a fucking cavity.” Tristan moves over to stand beside me, holding out a hand to help me up. He leads me into his room and watches as I crawl into his sumptuous silken sheets. They feel so good on my legs that I end up stretching and rolling around like a total weirdo.

Tristan crawls in beside me and pulls me up close against him, spooning our bodies together. His breathing is soft, and his body loose and relaxed. It’s the most normal I’ve ever seen him.

“How old were you when you lost your virginity?” I whisper into the darkness, feeling that special secret sharing sensation that only seems to happen during sleepovers.

“Thirteen,” he says, and my eyes go wide. Holy crap. And I’d thought Jennifer was young at fourteen. That’s insane. “It wasn’t all that pleasant. Don’t be jealous. I just did it to get back at my dad.”

“Has he always hurt you?” I’m not entirely sure I want to know the answer to that question, but I feel like I should know it.

“Always,” Tristan whispers, pulling me even closer, so close that it’s hard for me to tell where I end and he begins. “I never knew my mother. I still don’t know who she is. All I know is that she sold me to my father for a price, and left. Money is all that I know. Even I have a price, Marnye. The only person I know who doesn’t seem to … is you.”

My eyes close, and I curl my hand over his, pressing into him as hard as I can until I hear his breathing e

ven out. Only then do I allow myself the luxury of sleep.