Stuck With The Four Hotties

I can’t fucking lose my dad or else this shiny newness I feel when I’m around the boys, it’ll just fade away into dull background noise. My whole world will fall apart.

“Only if you’re okay with it,” he says, and I hear the sound of a mattress creaking as he adjusts himself. “I was going to tell you that despite Club

rules, I don’t trust Harper and her family. I moved your dad to an even better medical facility that a friend of my mother’s owns.”

“You moved my dad’s treatment center without telling me?” I ask, and there’s a long, long pause. I’m not mad, exactly, but this is a perfect example of why, although I trust Wind, I just … don’t know how to feel about him. On the one hand, I’m elated, but on the other, I just wish he’d consulted me.

“It was a last minute thing,” he says, sounding suddenly tired. And that’s weird. Because Windsor York, he’s never tired. “I didn’t mean to undermine your decision making with your father, I’m just … overwhelmed and trying to get things done without hitches in the programming, if you know what I mean.”

“You?” I choke out. “You’re overwhelmed?”

“It happens, once in a blue moon,” he says, gathering some of his usual royal confidence back in his voice. “A lot of bullshit happens behind the scenes of the Infinity Club, you know. When you finally say yes to marrying me, and join up, you’ll find out for yourself.”

“I’d rather die than join that Club,” I say cheerfully, and Windsor laughs. “I figured as much, love. That’s why I joined for you.”

There’s a long pause as I slide down the wall in relief and lean my head back against it. Dad’s still being taken care of. Okay. That’s good. He doesn’t look great, but he swears this new pot tincture that Mrs. Fleming keeps bringing over is doing wonders for him. He seems happy, at the very least.

“You can come over and have dinner with us on Friday,” I tell Wind, already sort of wishing it was Friday, so that I could see him. He makes me happy when he’s around. Even if he’s weird, and does questionable things, he’s got a charisma that’s like a drug. I just want more of it. “Bring some of that sparkling non-alcoholic cider for my dad-he likes the bubbles.”

“And you? Another pair of panties?”

“If you bring them, I won’t wear them,” I quip, and then when he’s silent, I realize how that sounded.

“Good. I’ll bring several pairs, and maybe you can go knicker-free for days.” Windsor hangs up before I get a chance to retaliate with some (probably not so) witty banter of my own.

Windsor York shows up with a giant wooden box full of fancy non-alcoholic ciders from all over California that my dad practically drools over.

“He’s my favorite friend of yours,” he whispers as he opens in the kitchen and runs his fingers over the labels on the bottles. I stand there for a moment, looking at Charlie’s back, and then-because Windsor has that magical honesty-gathering quality-I just blurt it out.

“I’m dating him.”

Dad pauses and then glances over his shoulder, blinking away his surprise before he turns around to face me.

“You are?” he asks, and I nod. Dad reaches up to adjust his hat and whistles. “Okay, wow. I mean, I wasn’t expecting that, but he seems polite and well-groomed, and at least he’s not a bully.” Oh, Dad, if you only knew: Windsor York is a bully of bullies. He enjoys hurting people who enjoy hurting people. I mean, it’s not as bad as what the Harpies do, but still …

“You’re not … mad?” I ask, and Dad gives me this soft, sweet sort of smile that scares me. I don’t want to see smiles like that, smiles that say one day I won’t be here, so you need to learn from me while you Fan. I hate it.© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

“Marnye-bear, you’ll be eighteen in less than half a year. You’ve got excellent grades, ambition a guy like your old man could only dream of, and a bright future. If you like this boy, I trust your judgment. Besides, you’re far past the point in your life where I can micromanage every little thing you do.”

I smile at him, and he smiles back. When we hug, I almost blurt the rest of it out, about the other four boys. But then the bathroom door opens and Windsor’s footsteps pause in the entryway to the kitchen.

“Is there anything I can do to help with dinner?” he asks, rolling up the sleeves of his white and blue pinstripe shirt. His red hair is a little longer on top now, and he’s got it all tousled and sexy looking. “Perhaps I could pour you a glass of cider, and you could sit outside and relax?” Windsor raises his red brows, and my dad gives him an I’m impressed, son sort of a look.

“That’d be … amazing actually,” Charlie says, chuckling gruffly at gesturing at all the food laid out on the counter. We went shopping for our favorite vegetable stew stuff today, and there’s a lot of chopping that needs to be done. “I had a long day at work, and I’d love to kick up my feet.”

“Consider your meal cooked,” Windsor says, and Dad gives me a little wink as he moves over to the sliding glass door, opens it, and steps out into the warm spring sunshine.

“Do you know how to make vegetable stew?” I ask, and Windsor turns his hazel eyes on me, moving over to stand in front of me as I lean back against the counter. He puts his hands on either side of me and grabs the loose ties of my apron, turning them into a pretty little bow before a cavalier little smi

le lights up his face and he puts his lips against my cheek.