Stuck With The Four Hotties

“Once you make a bet,” Zack supplies, slipping out his jacket and glancing over at me, “you’re bound to it. Whatever you promise, you’re mandated to deliver. Otherwise, you lose your place in the club, and you’re subject to mob justice.”

“Like Derrick?” I ask, and Creed stiffens while Tristan shrugs.

“Who?” he asks, and when he looks up at me with that cold face of his, I actually wonder if he’s already forgotten. “Just don’t bet what you can’t deliver, Charity.” I frown as he leans back and nods his chin at the group. “If she wins, she wants immunity for a whole month. No shit talk, no pranks, no haircuts.” Tristan’s mouth curves in a lordly little smile. “Isn’t that right, Charity?”

“And if you win?” I ask, staring into his eyes and finding it suddenly hard to breathe. He shouldn’t be so pretty, so carved and sculpted, so full of himself. It’s impossible to look away. “What do you want?”

“If I win this round, I want a personal favor from each and every one of you.”

“That’s … really vague,” I hedge, feeling my heart thunder in my chest. “Nothing damning or life-altering. Something simple you’d do for a

friend.” The way Tristan says that last word, I’m not exactly sure he knows what a friend is.

“Like … pick up their clothes from the dry cleaner?” I ask, and I’m pretty sure every guy at that table looks at me like I’m stupid.

“Like, tell Creed to fuck all the way off of Harper. The flirting is starting to get annoying.” Tristan looks pointedly at Creed, but he waves him off.

This is the second time I’ve heard these guys laying claim to girls, like they actually have a right to do that. It’s disturbing.

“Fine. But if you win and you fuck us with these favors, I’ll destroy you.” Creed glances over at Andrew, and a visible line of tension forms between him and Tristan. “And you?”Content protected by Nôv/el(D)rama.Org.

“I’ll play for Marnye’s immunity, too,” he says, and I turn to look at him in surprise. He smiles and shrugs his shoulders like it’s no big deal. “It’s doubtful I’ll win, but I’m at least here to support you.”

“What a crock of shit,” Tristan murmurs, shoving raven-dark hair away from his face and running his tongue ever so slowly along his lower lip. His gray eyes find Zack. “How about you? You playing for Marnye, too?”

Zack stares back at him, and then crosses his bulky arms over his chest. Tristan scowls, and turns to Zayd.

“I want the keys to your dad’s Spider for the rest of the week, no questions asked.” Zayd’s face takes on a suggestive leer. “I have plans.”

“Fine. Creed?” Tristan turns to his friend, and I watch as those blue eyes slide over to me.

“I want to know who my sister’s fucking.”

“What?” I ask, the word just falling out of my mouth unbidden. My cheeks redden because even if I did have that information, I wouldn’t give it to him. “What makes you think she’s sleeping with someone?”

“Well, the naked pictures that Derrick had for starters,” Creed drawls, waving his hand at me. “You’re her only friend. Surely she’s told you something.” He stares me down, like if he looks hard enough, maybe I’ll spill the truth onto the poker table. I just look back at him.

“I won’t make that deal. Miranda trusts me.” Creed clenches his jaw, the hardness in his face such a stark contrast against his usual lackadaisical nature. “I’m not playing if that’s all you want.”

“She cried herself to sleep the other night,” he counters, blue eyes narrowing on me. “And she won’t tell me what’s wrong.” My heart stutters over a beat, and I find myself sucking on my lower lip. I’m aware he’s playing with me, but I’m also pretty damn sure he’s telling the truth, too. The only thing Creed seems to actually care about is his twin. “She doesn’t have to know the information’s coming from you.”

“Fine,” I choke out, but I’ve already decided that as soon as we’re done here, I’m going to text Miranda and tell her about this. Creed asked for information; he never said I couldn’t tell Miranda he was gunning for it.

Besides, secrets breed distrust. Without them, there aren’t any skeletons to be pulled out of the proverbial closet. “It’s a deal-if you win.”

“Are we done with the chitchat?” Tristan asks as a small sea of people forms around us, curious to see what the Idols are up to. The girls all left on various family getaways, but I can’t help but wondering if they’re a part of the Infinity Club, too. Maybe all the Bluebloods are? Anyway, I’m still not entirely sure what the club is, but it doesn’t matter. I’m here for one reason, and one reason only: to win that month of freedom. And maybe a little respect, too? “Because if you assholes want to gossip, you can do it somewhere else. I have an appointment with Ebony Peterson tonight.”

“Isn’t she dating Jalen?” Creed asks, an insouciant smirk on his face. “So?” is Tristan’s reply. My cheeks flush red as he deals out a fresh hand,

and gestures for the game to start. We still use chips for betting, but it’s all just a show. There’s no money at stake, just personal gains to be had.

It goes much the same as before, with Zayd folding quickly, Andrew following suit, and Zack, Tristan, and Creed watching my every move. Eventually, they all fold, and I’m the last one left standing.

With a grin, I flip my cards over and drop them on the table. It’s all bullshit.

“You have quite the poker face,” Andrew says with a smile, putting a hand on my knee. My grin turns into a moue of surprise, and his cheeks flame. He pulls his hand back like he didn’t quite realize what he was doing. Our eyes meet, and he gives me that winning grin I saw on my first day here. Andrew Payson was the first person to be nice to me, and he hasn’t stopped. “Could I give you a ride back to the academy? There’s a twenty-four diner on the way.”

“Seriously, Payson?” Zayd spits, leaning in and putting his forearms on the table. He didn’t seem to care about folding, but he looks pissed now. “I brought her here tonight. She’s mine. You know the rules.”

“I’m what?” I ask, and Zack stiffens up beside me. “You don’t even like

me.”

“When an Idol brings a date to a party, they’re off-limits. Everyone knows that, even the fucking Plebs. Do you like being in the Circle, Andrew? Or do you want to join the working class?” Zayd flicks one of his lip rings with his tongue, his inked fingers tightening on the edge of the table.

“I’m sorry, man, Jesus.” Andrew runs his hand over his shiny chestnut hair, and shoots me an apologetic look. “Sorry, Marnye.”

“Let’s go another round,” Tristan says, looking directly at me. When I lift my eyes and find his silver gaze on me, I feel weighted down, like I couldn’t stand if I tried. My kneels feel weak, and I’m glad I’m sitting down already.

“What about Ebony?” Zayd asks, switching from angry to excited in a split-second. He’s got a huge grin on his face. “If you cancel with her, kiss that ass goodbye. She’ll never leave Jalen.”

“Her fucking loss.” Tristan keeps his attention on me. “You win again, and I’ll offer this: the rest of the year, no shit from the Bluebloods.” My eyes widen.

“That’s a pretty big boon,” Creed drawls, leaning forward and putting his elbow on the edge of the table. He puts his chin in his hand, eyes half-lidded and devoid of any interest whatsoever. It must be tough to feign disinterest all the time. I imagine all my emotions clogging up and getting stuck inside with not outlet, and almost feel momentarily sorry for Creed. “Are you sure you want to offer that up? Where would you get your kicks for the rest of the year?”

“The Bluebloods are gonna be mad enough about the freebie month. Harper will lose her shit over this.” Zayd sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “Becky, too. They won’t like it.”

“Assuming her winning streak holds,” Tristan continues, still staring at me.

“You should cut and run while you have the chance,” Zack tells me, standing up from the table. His dark gaze captures my attention, and his fingers hover over my shoulder for a moment before he pulls them away. “I’m not a part of the Burberry Bluebloods, so I don’t give a shit about their rules. Let me take you home.”

“If you stay and play, I’ll add another five grand into that account of yours.” Tristan sets the stack of cards down, and pulls out his phone. He shoots off a text and then sets it screen side down on the table. “What do you say? Five grand for nothing. I bet that sounds like a lot to someone like you.”

“It is a lot,” I correct, feeling anger overtake me again. When I got bullied in junior high, it made me sad. All I did was cry. These guys just piss me off. “But if you want to pay me five-k to get your ass kicked again then fine.”

“This is a terrible fucking idea,” Zack growls. “They might be smiling now, but these guys are monsters.” He tosses a hand out to indicate the three Idol boys on the far side of the table.

“We’re the monsters? Didn’t you get some girl killed last year as part of a bet?” Tristan looks up at Zack and smiles. “You lost a race against me in your grandpa’s fancy dragster, and-”

“Shut your mouth, Vanderbilt, or I’ll shut it for you.” Zack takes a step forward, and Tristan rises to his feet. The two of them look like they’re about to fall to blows when I stand up, too. Fortunately-or maybe unfortunately considering the circumstances-they’re interrupted by a large group emerging from the crowd.

Abigail Fanning and Valentina Pitt are at the front of the posse, but I can see Ebony red-faced and flushed behind them, Jalen Donner clinging to her hand. He doesn’t seem to realize that his date was all set up to sleep with Tristan tonight.

“We didn’t say anything last night,” Abigail starts, her green eyes sliding over to me, “but now I feel like we need to. Why is she here, Tristan?”

“She’s here because I asked her to be,” he says, voice smooth and dark. He turns away from Zack to look at the small cluster of Bluebloods behind him. I’ve never seen such a large grouping of the Inner Circle in one place before. It’s intimidating, to say the least.

“Well, Harper didn’t know about it, and she’s pissed.” Abigail pops a hip out, puts her fist on it, and then swings a mane of aubrn hair over her shoulder. She’s a really good hair-tosser. My stomach knots up, and I feel a bead of sweat work its way down my spine. Zack might back me up if a confrontation were to ensue. Andrew … I have no idea. But I’m suddenly nervous, like a sheep who’s just realized she’s playing poker in a den of wolves. “She doesn’t want her here.”

“I don’t answer to Harper,” Tristan says, narrowing his eyes.