Stuck With The Four Hotties

Sai Patel is doing it with Abigail Fanning, who’s supposed to be dating Gregory Van Horn; I emailed proof to the entire Blueblood court. And because I hate Greg so much, I’ve doubled up and sent Andrew’s bullying video to Creed. I’ve already crossed his and John’s names off because, well, they’re not going to last the night.

They’ve almost made it too easy for me.

“And here I was expecting tonight to be boring,” Windsor declares, his grin so bright that he stands out like a white splotch in the darkness. The bonfire is roaring, and there are people drinking and dancing, but the majority of the attention falls on Greg, Sai, and Abigail. There’s a lot of crying, begging, pleading, and so on and so forth. It’s actually pretty boring, after what happened with Jalen, Ebony, and Tristan. Been there, seen this. Besides, once a cheater, always a cheater. Frankly, I’m shocked that Greg took Abigail back after Tristan outed her for sleeping with him last year.

“What is this?” Creed asks as he moves up beside us, holding out his phone. His half-lidded gaze falls on Windsor as the prince’s grin slides away and something much more predatory takes its place. “Payson?”

“I don’t answer to you anymore,” Andrew says wearily, exhaling heavily. But he knows I sent the video. I made sure to ask because, you know, No Friendly Fire. “But what’s it look like, man?”

“Are they bothering you, too?” Creed asks, turning to his sister. I hate to admit it, but he looks hot as hell in a black button-down and jeans. His outfit’s wrinkled just enough to give off that devil-may-care attitude of his.

Miranda turns up her nose at her brother, hooks her arm with Jessie’s, and drags her through the crowd toward the keg. When Creed turns to me, Zack steps forward and pushes me slightly behind him. The move is protective, and sort of adorable, but also … I can take care of myself. I step up beside him as Windsor whistles under his breath.

“Back off, Brooks,” Creed says, his voice so sharp it gives me whiplash. He is not in the mood to take shit tonight. He looks back at me, his ice-blue eyes catching the orange light from the fire. When he flips some of that white-blonde hair off his forehead, my heart does somersaults and I tell it quite firmly to sit still and forget about Creed Cabot. “Are they picking on my sister?” he demands, but I simply cross my arms over my chest.

“Does it matter? You told them to knock their homophobic bullshit off, and they keep doing it. Doesn’t that undermine your authority as an Idol?” I shrug my shoulders loosely, but then I remind myself: the most important part of your plan starts here. Taking a step forward, I put my hand on Creed’s shoulder and his entire body goes stiff.

Our eyes meet, and I have to swallow three times before I remember how to speak. For a split-second there, I wish I could close my eyes and transport back in time to the winter formal.

“Is that a yes or a no?” he says, his voice this debonair blase that actually makes my heart flutter. Even though his eyes are barely open, and his body looks boneless and exhausted with boredom, he also looks like he’s about to kill someone. It’s there in the way his long fingers tighten around his phone. Since the people he’s about to kill are John and Greg, I’m all for it.

“It’s an I Fan’t betray your sister’s trust ever again, Creed,” I say, but that’s pretty much a copout answer because when Andrew first showed us the video, Miranda’s face got tight and she looked at Jessie like she’d give anything to protect her. It’s not Miranda that’s being picked on: it’s her girlfriend.

He nods his chin briskly, like he respects my answer at least a little bit.

When he turns and heads over to the fight, Sai is bleeding, Abigail has disappeared into the woods with Ebony-guess cheaters of a feather flock together-and I take up position on a fallen log to watch the show.

“This is massively entertaining,” Windsor whispers as he passes by me, his daffodil and polish scent drifting in the air as he pauses next to the drink table and starts mixing cocktails like a damn bartender. When he offers one to me, I refuse.

“My father’s a recovering alcoholic,” I explain, and Windsor shrugs. “Same with mine, only he’s dead now so I guess he can’t be recovering.

Have one drink, it won’t kill you.” Zack growls at him, almost quite literally, and the two men get into an odd little standoff. They’ve only just met, and I don’t like their tension. “Suit yourself then,” Wind replies, tossing one drink back, and then the next.

“He likes you,” Zack says as Windsor moves away to make another drink. I’m desperately trying to watch the situation with Creed, Greg, and John, but the strong thread of jealousy in Zack’s voice draws my attention. I give him a questioning look as he stares back at me with that dark, unreadable expression of his.

“He just met me,” I reply, but Zack’s already shaking his head.

“I’m a guy, Marnye. The way he’s looking at you … he’s interested.” I shrug my shoulders, but there’s a warm little fire in my stomach that I try desperately to put out. I don’t want Windsor to be interested in me. I have enough guy troubles as it is.Original content from NôvelDrama.Org.

“He’s interested in pretty much every girl at the school,” I reply, and that’s the truth. Even if Zack is right, and Windsor is interested, it’s in a shallow, casual way. He’s a player, not partner material. If I wanted a quick, um, shag

then he’d be the guy I’d seek out. If I wanted a boyfriend … my attention slides away from Creed and over to Zack.

“He’ll probably murder them right here,” Zayd says, making me jump as he appears out of the shadows. “You’ve just signed their death warrants.” He’s smoking a clove cigarette that smells too good for words, but that I wish desperately I could tear from his inked fingers. Those things are ten times worse than normal cigarettes. Ugh, come on Zayd Kaiser …

“They deserve it,” I reply, and he howls with laughter, tipping back a red Solo cup filled with beer.

“Yeah, sure, maybe. Still, Creed is gonna fucking kill them.” He sits down on the log beside me as Zack glares, and Windsor flirts with some random chick at the drink table. I ignore it all and turn back to the fight.

“I am fucking done with the two of you,” Creed says as Greg and John exchange looks. They don’t look particularly scared of him. They should be though. They really should be. “I told you to lay off of Andrew and Miranda.”

“We never touched Miranda,” John says, swaggering forward. Uh-oh.

His brown eyes glimmer with defiance as he tucks his fingers in his front pockets and lifts his chin.

“Although maybe if we had, she wouldn’t be a fucking dyke anymore.” There’s this moment where everything is still, save the crackle of the fire and the wind in the trees. When Creed moves, that insouciant imperviousness of his falls away, and he becomes a machine. He nails John in the throat with a punch that sends the other man falling back into his friend’s arms.

That’s when the cracks start to show, and all of my planning comes together in a glorious moment.

“What the fuck, man?” Greg snarls, blood from his fight with Sai flecking his lips. “You think we didn’t all read about that shitty bet you pulled on our own sister in that whore’s journal? You’re a hypocritical asshole. Lay off.”

Creed grabs John by the shirt, yanks him forward, and throws him to the dirt before he goes for Greg. I don’t even have to film it this time because everybody else already is. Besides, I don’t need anymore damning footage of Creed. As it is, this is not on his list of things I want him to pay for. I don’t condone violence, but it’s almost admirable.

“What the hell is going on?” As soon as I hear that pterodactyl screech, I know who it is. Harper du Pont a

ppears out of the trees dressed in