Stuck With The Four Hotties

“So fucking hot. Except for the name Vanderbilt. Let’s just leave that part out.” He moves to kiss me again when a dramatic throat clearing breaks us up, a sudden foot of space appearing between our bodies as we turn to find Windsor York … lounging on top of a book case?

“How did you get up there?” I choke out, and he shrugs. He’s all stretched out on the wood like it’s a hammock or something. “You’re going to get suspended,” I warn as he looks down at us with his hazel eyes sparkling.

“Don’t stop on my account. Occasionally I get tired of fucking and like to watch.” My nose wrinkles, and Zack scowls, gathering his book from the floor. Windsor doesn’t seem to care, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side. He hops down to the ground next to us. “So.” He props his forearm on the shelf above me and leans in dramatically. “I was thinking: you’ve got a few names on your list that aren’t crossed off. Small fries, though. We should knock those out, and then focus on the girls.”

“I showed you that list, so you could offer suggestions, not take over,” I say with a roll of my eyes. Windsor raises his eyebrows and gives this self- satisfied little smirk that I couldn’t force my mouth to make if I tried. Once, I stood in front of the mirror to see if I could get my expression to look as haughty and arrogant as the Idols, and I failed miserably. “I’m working my way up to the girls. They’re the most difficult.”

“You’ve also gone too soft on the Idol boys, in my not-so-humble opinion,” he continues, and I duck under his arm to head back over to Zack. Heat is still coursing through me, rampant and white-hot, infectious. Now that I’ve had a taste of him, I just want more. So much more. I could easily see dating him one day …

One day.

But the Idols already think I’m dating him, and I need the boys to think I’m accessible enough that they could get me as a date to the graduation getaway. Unfortunately, I might have to put a bit of space between me and Zack for now.

“Windsor, I told you my story, yes, but that doesn’t mean you know everything.” Told you my story, hah, please. BasiFally you sit aFross from me in The Mess everyday and work your prinFely magiF until I spill all my seFrets. “Forget about the guys for now. The girls are trying to kill me, remember? Can we focus?”

He sighs and shrugs, rolling his shoulders as he taps his fingers along the spines of several poetry volumes and then selects one at random. He flips it open, glances at the poems inside and sighs.

“I’ve memorized all of these,” he says as he flicks through the pages. “There’s nothing quite so charming as a man that can recite poetry from the heart. Wouldn’t you say so, mate?” He glances up and smiles at Zack, but Zack is not impressed. The only thing he likes about the prince is that the prince hates the Bluebloods as much as we do. What was it he said? “They’re only playing at being royals.” Pretty sure he finds them as amusing as hamsters on a wheel.

“You know, all I have is at your disposal as well …” Zack begins, running his palm over his chocolate brown hair. It’s grown out quite a bit since he got kicked off the football team, but it’s still short. I resist the urge to touch it, too. “We don’t have to put up with him.” Windsor chuckles and snaps the book closed, shoving it back onto the shelf.

“Your money, Monsieur Brooks, is all tied up in your grandfather’s spindly old hands. Isn’t that why you joined the Infinity Club? To get it back?” Zack’s face pales as I glance over at him. Holy … shit.

“You joined to get your money back?” I ask, and all the pieces start to click together. At least I have a why that explains why Zack made that bet with Lizzie. Does it make things easier? Not exactly. But it’s nice to know. Speaking of Lizzie, I’m starting to look forward to Fridays again, so I can

text her. She knows all about what the Burberry Idol girls did to me, and she is out for blood. Pretty sure I have her help and resources, too.Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

“I’m sorry, Marnye,” Zack whispers, and we end up staring at each other for so long that when I blink and come to, Windsor has disappeared. “I’m so sorry.” There’s nothing for me to say, so I just smile tightly and we drop the subject altogether. Zack gathers up his stuff, and we head toward the exit where Creed and Miranda are, still wrapped up in a very twin-like argument. They look like blonde, blue-eyed clones.

They pause, and in near perfect unison, turn to look at me.

My cheeks flush under their scrutiny, but Creed pretends not to notice, turning and sauntering off toward the hall. Miranda takes up my right side and starts to loudly complain about her brother’s idiocy. On the way out, we pass right by Ileana, Becky, and Harper. Creed’s already paused there, and I can hear him murmuring in low, tight tones.

Miranda does not hesitate to get involved.

“You stay the fuck away from my brother,” she hisses, shoving Ileana in the shoulder. The first year girl stumbles and whirls on her with narrowed eyes. Harper and Becky just stand there, smirking. Seeing them all together like this brings those memories roaring back to the surface, and I feel sick. I think I sway on my feet, but Zack puts a hand on my elbow and steadies me. “He might want a good name to go with our fortune, but you won’t see a damn dime of the Cabot money. You’re not good enough to be his hairdresser let alone his girlfriend or future bride.”

Creed doesn’t argue. Actually, I think I see the corner of his mouth twitch in a barely suppressed smile.

“This conversation doesn’t involve you, dyke,” Ileana snarls, and Creed’s face turns to stone. Ileana whips back around toward him, but it’s too late: whatever they might’ve been talking about is over. Hopefully they weren’t doing much more than breaking up or exchanging quips. I mean, the girl tried to freaking drown me.

I glance over at Creed, but his ice-cold stare is focused on the Idols.

“She said you should be kicked out,” I blurt suddenly, nodding in Harper’s direction with my chin. “Harper did. She thinks Windsor should be an Idol and not you.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I realized he was a Brothel client, too, just like all the rest of them.” Harper grabs Ileana by the arm and pulls her back. “Forget about Cabot. There are other, better guys to choose from.”

“None as rich though,” Creed drawls, tucking his hands into his pockets, and letting this lazy smirk take over his face. “Enjoy your dwindling fortune. Being old money is nice, but only when you actually have money.”

“Screw you, Cabot,” Ileana snaps, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. Maybe eventually, I’ll cut hers off, too. “You’re making a huge mistake here. Fucking huge. You’ll never be respected in the Club. You’ll always be the new guy whose mommy bought his way in.”

“And you’ll always be the girl with the chip on her shoulder because I’d willingly fuck the Working Girl before I’d ever lay hands on you.” Creed turns on his heel and saunters off as my eyes widen, and Ileana’s mouth drops to the floor. The glare she turns on me is pure hate.

“Next time,” she snaps as Harper and Becky flank her, “there isn’t going to be a prince to save you.”