Stuck With The Four Hotties

He doesn’t answer right away, and I put my phone on the bed. My hands run down the silver sequined front of the dress, but I shake my head. It doesn’t look right with my new, edgy haircut. A pang of agony goes through me when I imagine how nice my brunette waves would’ve looked with this outfit. Miranda could’ve used some of her magic on me, twisting my unruly locks up into a fancy do.All content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“He told me he was thinking of asking you,” she says, sitting up and pushing around the sea of glittering dresses. “You should go with him, even if it’s just as a friend.”

“Why don’t you go with him?” I ask, and there’s a tenseness in her shoulders that’s impossible to miss. Hmm. “Or maybe with Tristan? He seems to like you?” Miranda lifts her eyes up to me, brows raised, and then she laughs.

“Tristan’s a jerk. No way in hell would I go with him. I’ll probably just go with Creed, do the twin thing or whatever.” She pulls out the gold dress with the long sleeves, and the disturbingly low-cut back. It’s super short, hitting me at mid-thigh, but it does look nice with my rose gold hair, and the skirt is flowy, like a fairy princess. The little girl in me is super attracted to it. “I’ll call my mom and ask her to get us an off-campus pass. We can take ask someone for a ride, and shop for new shoes. My treat.”

“I can’t ask you to do that,” I start, but Miranda waves her hand, cutting me off.

“I want to do it. Besides, who doesn’t love shoe shopping? I could use a new pair, too.” She lifts her foot up and wiggles around the shiny silver Cinderella slipper. Pretty sure those are Louboutins. And they look basically unworn. Getting out of Burberry Prep for a while on a girl’s day out sounds pretty awesome though …

“Okay,” I say, lifting up the gold dress for another inspection. “Let’s do it.”

Kathleen gets us an off-campus pass with no trouble, and even arranges for a driver to take us into the city. Unfortunately, Creed also decides to go with us.

He sits on the opposite side of Miranda in the car’s backseat, but his smell tickles my nostrils, like fresh laundry and soap. It’s annoyingly addictive. Miranda fills the silence, but it’s a mostly one-sided conversation, and I’m beyond relieved when we pull up to the shoe boutique. It’s situated in the

small but exclusive little town of Lujo. It literally means luxury in Spanish, and it reminds me a little of the Coachella Valley near LA.

The street we’re on is brick, lined with historical buildings, and designer shops. It’s the first time I’ve been back in town since leaving for Burberry Prep, and I feel a little dizzy with excitement when we climb out.

“Cafe first, then shoes. As important as high heels are, coffee is god.” Miranda hooks her arm through mine and pulls us into a sweet little cafe with high-backed leather chairs, a fireplace, and plush faux fur rugs on the brick floors. We study the chalkboard menu, and I decide on a latte and a cheese danish while Miranda goes for full chocolate overload and grabs a chocolate brownie and a mocha.

Creed pays for us, and then looks me over before turning his attention to his sister.

“Go find a table, and I’ll bring our stuff over.”

“He’s being awfully mild-mannered today,” I say as we head through a small doorway and into a second seating area. It’s much less crowded on this side, and we snag a spot on a small cream-colored sofa with silver-painted wood accents. I’d so take it home with me if I could. I’d take this whole street with me if possible. The inner architecture geek inside of me is squealing.

“Yeah, well, he’s bound to his own rules, you know? He can’t pick on you either.” Miranda leans back in the sofa and looks up at the antique chandelier above us.

“Are you guys … okay now?” I hedge, and she drops her eyes to mine. There’s a pleading there, like she wants to talk to me about something, but there’s no time for it. Creed appears, balancing two coffees and two plates. He deposits them in front of us and disappears again to grab his own foo

d.

“We’re always on shaky ground, Creed and me. I mean, we used to be super close as kids, but not since maybe sixth or seventh grade. He tries too hard to control me, and he never listens to our parents. They’ve sort of given up on him a little. They know he’ll get good grades, graduate, whatever, but he’s done some really messed-up stuff. I think he might be jealous of my relationship with Mom.” Miranda pauses as Creed comes back and drapes himself over the leather chair across from us. He never just sits. No, it’s always a production.

“You’re buying shoes for the formal on Friday?” he asks, this small thread of interest in his normally bored voice.

“Marnye needs shoes,” Miranda starts, and then her eyes narrow like she’s just thought of something. “She also needs a date.”

Creed stares his twin down, and it’s like some secret hidden messages pass between them. Eventually, he licks his lips and then turns his full attention to me.

“Come to the winter formal with me.” Not a question, a statement. I raise an eyebrow.

“Really?” I ask, and I hate the way my voice sounds, a little too eager for my tastes. “Why? You hate

me.”

“I did. Not anymore.” Just that. Wow, the guy sure is loquacious. He puts his elbow on the arm of the chair and rests his chin in his palm. The pale blue of his eyes is picked up by the color of his shirt, the top two buttons undone, his black jeans an edgy contrast against such a proper looking shirt. Creed’s wearing men’s dress shoes with a skull and crossbones on the toe, a little gothic for his tastes. When he sees me looking, his mouth curves up into a sharp smile. “Paxton Blackwell, have you heard of him?”

“Not exactly,” I start, wondering where this is going. I pick up my latte while Miranda inhales her brownie. “Why?

“