Stuck With The Four Hotties

“Why?” It’s the only word I can manage, forcing myself to swallow past the tightness on my throat.

“Because you picked me, and I fucked up. You could’ve been mine, and there’s no chance for me now.” Zayd slides his right hand up to the small of my waist and gives a little squeeze before he steps back with a sigh. I’m

about to say something-really, I’m not even sure what because my mouth moves faster than my brain-when Zayd turns back and grabs me suddenly.

With his left hand, he cups the side of my face, tracing my bottom lip with his thumb. There’s a new tattoo on the side of his neck that says Never Again that looks fresh. I’ve only just noticed because we’re so close.

“I wanted you before they did,” he says suddenly, dead serious. He’s looking right into my eyes with his bright green ones, and there’s so much emotion in that gaze that I can’t bear to unpack it all. “They hated you, and I liked you. From moment one, when you told me to get fucked, I was into you.”

“I did not say get fuFked,” I whisper, “I told you to go to hell.”

Zayd grins, nice and sharp, teasing his lip rings with his tongue for a second.

“You really did, huh? Do you know how often that happens to me?” “Since you’re a bit of an asshole, all too frequently would be my guess?”Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Zayd snorts, and shakes his head, leaning down and putting his forehead up against mine. My eyes close of their own accord, and I sigh. Even after everything he’s done, it feels good to touch him like this. Why? I’m not a masochist or a glutton for punishment. Maybe it’s because I feel like he’s actually learning from his mistakes?

Do not underestimate how sexy that is, a person who can actually admit to their wrongdoings and try to make things right.

“Girls never turn me down,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb across my lip. For some reason, I decide to bite down on it, and his eyes go wide.

“Sometimes they do,” I whisper back, reaching up to take his hand and push it away.

We step apart, but I know I’m not the only one with a throbbing pulse because I can see Zayd’s racing, just underneath that new tattoo of his. He watches me carefully, a slight smile on his lips.

His expression doesn’t turn sour until Wind appears between us, brandishing teacups.

“Sorry to interrupt-that looked awfully sensual-but here.” He gestures with the dishes, and they clink merrily. I take my cup and saucer, watching as Zayd accepts his reluctantly. A minute later, there’s a knock on the door, and Windsor opens it so the others can come in.

Zack notices right away that something’s going on between me and Zayd, and he sighs, making himself comfortable against my headboard. While the

Idols (and Lizzie) look like they’re tiptoeing around and perching on the edges of furniture, the others are perfectly comfortable, reminding me who my friends were last year when I really needed them.

And then … there’s Myron Talbot. He comes in with Tristan and then leans against the wall near the door. I’m not at all sure about him, but then again, I’m not sure about much these days. The one thing I do know is that I’m not going to let this awkwardness between us all continue any further. And I’m definitely not going to keep letting Windsor mete out vigilante justice.

“I’m going to make a pot,” Wind mumbles, making himself busy in the kitchen. I think he has a hard time staying still, to be quite honest.

Miranda’s snuggled up in the corner of my bed, but she’s still being weird as hell. Unconsciously, I raise my fingers to my lips, and she notices, blushing like crazy and looking everywhere but at my face. Creed scowls, and turns away, too, crossing his arms over his chest as he slouches on the end of the bed.

Tristan is standing stiffly on the opposite side of the door from Myron, while Lizzie perches on a stool with Andrew beside her.

“Thanks for coming,” I say, exhaling and trying not to sound too formal. That’s my go-to thing when I get nervous: formality and historical facts. Right now, my instincts insist that I explain to the group why the floors in Tower One are made of chestnut but patched with mahogany (it’s because there was a chestnut blight that began in the early 1900s that effectively wiped the tree out, so it’s hard to come by).

“We need to hit this party hard,” Tristan begins, taking over naturally. He doesn’t even think about it; it’s just what he does. Closing my eyes, I sip the tea that Windsor made for me, and try to ground my emotions. I’ve never been the leader type. Really, if you think about it, I grew up alone and friendless, tortured in middle school, attacked in high school.

But I’m feeling kind of … bossy right now.

“This is about more than just the party,” I say, putting my cup and saucer aside. My back is pressed against Zack’s leg, and I have the strongest urge to lean back and cuddle him like I did that day after I was attacked in the pool. I shudder just thinking about the incident, but the snuggling with Zack after was nice … “We all just sort of jumped into this group out of necessity. Pretty much everyone here has unresolved issues with someone else.”

“Marnye,” Zack starts, but I wave my hand and stop him from talking, reaching into the drawer on my side table and pulling out my real journal- Creed’s facial expression tightens-which has the list inside of it, both the old one and the new one.

To start off, I hand it to Zack.

“First off,” I begin as I let my gaze scan the room. “There’s not going to be anymore awkwardness. There’s nothing wrong with expressing your feelings to someone, so long as you don’t expect or demand anything in return. We’re all still friends here”-there are a few snorts from Zack and Windsor but I ignore them-“and I’m … not going to choose anyone just yet.” I swallow hard and lift my chin, glancing briefly back at Zack, Miranda, and Creed behind me. “So let’s just keep going. Harper and her cronies are bullies, and we need to take the school back from them.”

“They aren’t the only bullies,” Miranda mumbles, but I forge on. Basically everyone in this room has been a bully at some point. Well, it’s not going to happen anymore, not on my watch.

Zack already knows about my revenge plans, and my rules, so he quickly passes the notebook to Miranda who glances briefly at it, and then hands it over to Creed. His lazy gaze sharpens up quickly as he scans the pages.

“What are you proposing?” Tristan asks, brow crinkling slightly as Windsor passes out teacups to Lizzie, Andrew, and then him, using the teapot to fill each one. He then offers up cream and sugar be

fore moving onto Myron and Zack.