Stuck With The Four Hotties

“Why are you always trying to dress me?” I groan as I take the dress from him. As he passes over the hanger, Zayd curls his inked fingers around my wrist and yanks me against him.

“Because you look like a fucking hobo half the time,” he growls, and then he bites my ear, grabs a chocolate, and pops it in his mouth. “Later, ladies. See you in the courtyard.”

Zayd slams the door behind him, and Miranda turns to me like I’ve grown tentacles.

“How are you going to choose?” she whispers, eyes wide, and I gape at her.

“There’s nothing to choose.” I grab the white flats Miranda lent me when we went into town to shop, and stand up, meeting her incredulous look with one of my own. “There’s not. I’ll never forget how shitty these guys treated me.”

“Yeah, but …” she reaches out and taps the necklace with a sort of forlorn expression that I can’t interpret. Once again, I question myself and try to decide if she’s got a thing for Tristan. But no, no, it’s got to be something else, something I’m not getting. “It’s nice to be wanted, right?”

“There’s more to life than boys,” I say, and she lifts her eyes to mine, blue irises sparkling.

“Truer words were never spoken.” Now … what the hell is that about?

Creed is waiting in the courtyard when we come down, dressed in flouncy spring dresses, my necklace sparkling in the afternoon sunshine. He’s leaning against the garden wall, head thrown back, eyes closed. His hands are tucked in his pockets, the top two buttons on his uniform undone, one foot flat against the wall.

He opens his eyes and turns to us with slow precision, yawning and then stretching his arms over his head, completely and utterly unhurried.

“How many roses did you get?” Miranda demands, putting her hands on the hips of her bright orange dress. It’s citrus themed, too, just like mine, but a good three inches shorter, and two sizes smaller. “Because I’m pretty sure Tristan got a hundred.”

Creed’s face tightens up and he flicks his sister in the forehead, tucking his hands back in his pocket and leaning in close to her.

“I got plenty. I didn’t think to count.” He stands back up and his eyes flick over to me. He doesn’t say thank you, but his eyes sparkle in acknowledgement, and I flush.

“Right. Because you know you got less than he did,” she taunts, but Creed’s ignoring her, looking me up and down.

“I hear you got all sorts of gifts today,” he drawls, and I bite my lower lip. “Enough.” I can hear people milling around in the garden, the soft sound of classical music spilling over to us along with the gentle sweetness of

roses.

“Mm.” Creed circles around me and then puts a hand on the wall near my head. “Fucking vultures,” he says, reaching out to play with a loose strand of my hair. “Would it be apropos if I gave you another gift?”

“You better give her a gift,” Miranda mumbles, her eyes scanning the crowd until she spots Andrew. She gives him a little wave, and then glances back at us. “I’ll give you two a little privacy.” She wanders away with her hands in her dress pockets, as I blush and watch Creed reach up to the top of the garden wall, grabbing something in his long fingers.

When he hands it over to me, I see that it’s a copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard.

“It’s not the handwritten version,” he says with a small grimace, glancing away like he’s ashamed of himself. “But it’s signed.”

I take the book in shaking hands, but I can’t stop the tears that try to fall. They prick my eyes as I turn away and try to blink them off. Creed notices and gives a small half-smile, pausing as Becky Platter marches over to us. She’s like a little Harper clone. Whatever her mistress says or does, she just imitates.

“You think because Zayd made some stupid chocolates for you that you’ve won?” she snaps, and I raise my brows. I haven’t even considered ‘winning’ anything, least of all him. This whole day has just been … weird. “He doesn’t give a shit about you. He just wants to fuck you, so he can say he bagged a virgin.”

I frown. Honestly, that sounds like the complete opposite of Zayd. He’s very vocal on his opinions of virgins. But also … now I know the whole school is aware of my sexual status. Great.

“Becky,” Creed says, nice and slow and quiet, but with a dripping menace that makes me shiver. “Go to hell.” She snaps her gaze over to him, but she’s still fuming. “Zayd spent every day after school in the kitchen this week perfecting those chocolates. He ruined over twenty boxes worth. It’s more than just candy, sweetie. Now get.”

“You don’t control me, Creed Cabot,” Becky snaps, tossing her blond hair. “You’re no higher on the totem pole than I am.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” he purrs, pushing off the wall and facing her down.

“And you keep telling yourself that Tristan Vanderbilt isn’t a hundred times better than you, and maybe one day, the world will believe it as much as you do.” Becky spins on her heel and storms off, stilettos clacking against the cobblestones.

When I look back at Creed, his face is tight, and I can see she actually hit a nerve with that one.

“Bitch,” he growls, and then he turns back to me, looking for a split- second like he’s actually confused about my presence there. I blink once, and the expression is gone. Creed holds out his arm, and I slip mine through it. “Don’t worry about her,” he tells me with a caustic laugh. “She won’t last another year as an Idol. She’s too weak.”

“I’m not worried about her,” I whisper, holding the book against my chest. Becky is just another bully, and I’m beyond accustomed to dealing with people like her at this point. I’m just glad I don’t have to deal with Zayd, Tristan, and Creed anymore. Or Zack. Talk about challenging … Becky is nothing compared to them.Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

Creed leads us over to a table where Zayd and Tristan are sitting. Neither of them looks particularly happy about being together. Zayd’s green eyes meet mine, and I smile. Twenty boxes, huh? The fact that he had the discipline to work so hard on those chocolates makes me want to cry. But in a good way. In a really, really good way.

“None of us could agree on who should escort you here tonight, so … we’re basically stuck with each other.” Zayd flicks a glance over at Tristan and scowls. The other boy ignores him, focusing on my necklace before lifting those stormy gray eyes to my face.

“Sit,” he says, and I do. Creed leans against the column behind me as I grab a colorful little tea sandwich and take a bite. Cream cheese and cucumber. Interesting. “Do you like your necklace?” Tristan asks after a minute, sliding his legs underneath the table so that our limbs are tangled together. I look up at him, and my heart stutters in my chest.

“I love it,” I say, and then I glance at Zayd, at Creed. “I love everything.”

InFluding ZaFk’s gift. I’ll have to text him later.

“Good,” Tristan says, leaning back and smirking at me with that cocksure little smile of his. “Because I told you I was interested. And when I’m serious about something, I get what I want.”

“Don’t count on it, bro,” Zayd chokes out with a laugh.

Creed doesn’t say a thing, but the way he smiles and narrows his eyes, I see the challenge in them.

How are you going to Fhoose? Miranda asked me. Good fucking question.