Stuck With The Four Hotties

I use the next few days to relax, spending my time reading or studying up on next year’s assignments. Somehow, doing work on the beach makes it feel less like, well, work. The sun feels good, the sea sings a lulling melody, and I have constant company. As if they can sense how tentative this new situation is, the Idols don’t stay long or say too much, not like they did the other day.

I haven’t gotten straight answers out of anyone, but I’m enjoying my time with Lizzie, Miranda, Andrew, Zack, and Windsor too much to press. That is, until my last night at the Hamptons.

“I wish you could stay longer,” Miranda says with a sigh, “it’s going to be downright boring here without you.”

I give her a smile, and accept her outstretched hug, but I want to be home to spend some time with my dad. He might be doing better, but he’s still sick. Cancer is a relentless, awful nightmare. Even when you’ve beat it, it can slither back in the shadows. Spending time with Charlie is my number one priority.

Besides, I think I might have a heart attack if I were to stay here the rest of the summer.

“Hey, I’m not leaving until tomorrow,” I say as Miranda pulls back and sighs, brushing some rose-gold hair from my face. Before third year starts, I’ll get it cut and dyed again. I’m pretty fond of the color and style now. Isn’t that nice, how a nightmare can sometimes turn into a dream?

“Yeah, but still …” She sighs again, and flops down on the edge of my bed, as boneless and lazy as her brother. I smile. “Are you freaking out about Lizzie?” she asks as I fold things and put them back in my duffel bag. I don’t really have a proper suitcase. Too pricey.

I look up and raise an eyebrow.

“Why would I be freaking out about Lizzie?” I ask, setting aside an outfit for tonight. The Cabots are hosting a fancy party for all their rich friends. Unfortunately, that means some of the Bluebloods might be here with their parents. As long as I don’t have to see William … If he hits his son in front of me again, I might just explode.This text is property of Nô/velD/rama.Org.

“Because she’s freaking obsessed with Tristan, that’s what.” Miranda slides off the bed onto the floor, takes the clean cotton panties from my outfit pile, and trades them out for a lacy red pair. My cheeks flush about that same color.

“So?” I choke, because I still haven’t had a moment to sort through my feelings, much less figure out a way to explain them to someone else.

“So … aren’t you crushing on him?” she asks, tilting her head to one side, white-blonde hair sliding over her shoulder. “I mean, you’re crushing on a lot of guys, but I thought Tristan was one of them.”

“I am not crushing!” I blurt, but that’s totally not true. I am. I’m just not sure … exactly how many crushes I have, or if all of them are healthy options. “Lizzie is a friend, not a threat.” Those words ring true, both aloud and in my heart, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Even if I am crushing on Tristan … it doesn’t matter. If he loves Lizzie, he loves Lizzie. That’s it.

A ball of ice forms in my tummy, and I suddenly have a stomachache. “You two should get dressed,” Kathleen says, pushing open the cracked

door with a smile. “Guests are starting to arrive.” I nod, and Miranda groans, but we both get up to change. Miranda heads back to her room, and I change in the bathroom, slipping into a soft, white jersey knit dress and sandals.

When I come out, Zayd is there waiting for me.

“Hey,” I say, pausing shyly in the doorway, my dress fluttering around my ankles. He glances up from his phone, sees me, and smiles.

It’s a nice smile, too, genuine.

Butterflies take over my insides, spreading their wing dust all over my common sense. I’ve been here, done this with Zayd before. And yet …

“Seeing as I won’t be around for your seventeenth birthday,” he starts, sitting up, and pulling something from his pocket, “I wanted to give you

this.”

I put my dirty clothes in my duffel bag, and then head over to the bed, reaching out to take the item in Zayd’s hand. As soon as my fingers brush his palm, he grabs onto me and yanks me forward. Our bodies crash together and we tumble back onto the surface of the bed.

I’m surrounded by that sage and geranium scent of his, teased with the slightest kiss of tobacco and cloves.

“You shouldn’t smoke clove cigarettes,” I blurt, our faces so close together that our mouths brush when I talk. Zayd’s inked arm is around my waist, and I can feel his heart beating against my own chest. “They’ll kill you, you know.”

“Maybe,” he whispers, and then he captures my mouth with his, kissing me with this lightness that I haven’t felt in him before. It takes over me, and before I know it, I’m kissing him, too. Zayd’s hands roam my back, but don’t stray any further, like he knows not to push boundaries.

My mind flickers with memories of a time just like this, during first year, when he had a camera set up to …

I jerk back with a gasp, and sit up on the edge of the bed, clutching the item I stole from Zayd’s hand.

It’s a pair of earrings, made from guitar picks.

“Those are from my first concert,” he whispers as he sits up, too, his mouth smeared with the pale pink of my lipstick. “I opened for some backyard punk band at this little place in downtown Santa Cruz. There were like … maybe ten people in the audience?” Zayd stares at the floor, his eyes distant and far away. When he turns them back up to me, there’s a passion burning there that makes me flush. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never been happie

r than I was in that moment.”