Stuck With The Four Hotties

“Welcome to Chateau Kaiser,” he purrs in that velvety rockstar voice of his, opening the door to a wing. Yeah. Not a room. A wing. My mouth drops open as I start down the hall and Zayd steps in behind me, closing the door softly. “I’ve got a music room, a bedroom, a sitting room, a game room, and a bathroom up here.”

I touch my fingers to one of the frames on the wall. There’s a chubby faced little boy with a woman’s arms around him. They have the same nose and the same full mouth. I glance back and Zayd’s face falls slightly.

“My mom,” he says, padding over to stand beside me. “She was a groupie for Dad’s band.” He taps the glass with a black painted fingernail and his face falls. “He married her, but that lasted for all of a few years because, well, you know, my dad’s a fucking druggie whore.” Zayd scrubs his hand down his face.

“So they got divorced?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder and studying the harsh lines of Zayd’s expression. The emotion is beyond genuine; he misses his mother, wherever she is.

“No, she just left. They never actually got a divorce. She was trying to get custody of me, but then she … you know, she died.” Zayd pushes away from the wall and heads down the hall, opening the last door on the right and leaning against the jamb, his strong, tattooed arms crossed over his chest. “You coming in or what, Charity? I promise I don’t bite-unless asked, of course.”

I smile slightly and let my fingers trail down the side of the picture to hang at my side before joining him. I want to ask more about his mom, but maybe Zayd isn’t ready to share just yet?

“Holy shit,” I murmur, stepping into the room and letting my eyes wander the massive wall of guitars. Like, literally there are probably a hundred hanging there, starting right at floor level and going all the way up to the soaring ceiling. “This is insane,” I whisper as Zayd moves over and grabs an acoustic guitar off the wall, sitting down on the red sofa nearby. He strums his fingers across the strings and hums under his breath, rocking back and forth slightly with the music.

“Marnye, I can’t believe you’re in my room,” he purrs, and I feel my face split into a grin. “I must be the luckiest ass alive.” Zayd drags this last word out in a soft coo that brings chills up all over my skin. “How could you

possibly forgive an idiot like me? And did you ever try the pot chocolates I made?” He pauses and raises both brows.

My cheeks flush, and I bite my bottom lip.

“I gave them to my dad because … I read some stuff about marijuana and cancer, and …” Zayd grins and sets the guitar aside.

“Hey, Charity, you don’t have to explain, okay? I made those chocolates for you. I’m glad you were able to give them to your dad.” Zayd stands up and moves over to this gorgeous dresser that I know must’ve cost a fortune; it’s all shiny and shellacked and modern looking. It doesn’t quite titillate my architectural senses the way old things do, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. “I’ve got some pre-rolls though?” he says, holding up a plastic tube.

He hands it over to me, and I turn it in a circle. Ah. Right. A pre-roll is literally a marijuana joint that’s been rolled by the dispensary, and purchased ready to smoke. Charlie gets these all the time; smoking pot is supposed to help with the tumors in his lungs.

My heart clenches tight, and I feel this sudden rush of guilt for being here when I should be at home with my dad.

“Marnye,” Zayd says, taking the tube gently from my fingers. He tucks itContentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

into his pocket and then puts his hands on my shoulders, gripping them tightly and looking into my eyes. “You can’t feel guilt for living your life and being a teenager. Your dad doesn’t want you to sit at home and pine over him. If he did, he wouldn’t have told you to go. I might not know the guy very well, but the way he told us all off that day in your room … I get the idea that he isn’t a man who lies and bullshits.”

I laugh, but it’s a bit teary.

“No, you’re right. Charlie is a man of few words, but the ones he says, he means.”

“Two nights here, and I’ll take you right back. Then I’m gonna chill at my dad’s place in Cruz Bay until school starts. I’m not leaving your side, okay?” Zayd leans in and kisses me before I can respond, the sensation sweeping down from my lips and all the way to my toes. He pulls back and grins. “Let’s party tonight, rock out tomorrow, and worry about life the next day. What do you say?”

Music throbs from beneath our feet, and I look down before turning my gaze back to Zayd’s.

“Party?” I ask, because I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.

“Of course,” Zayd says, standing back up and gyrating his body in time to the hip-hop music that’s being blasted downstairs. He gets in close and grabs me, encouraging me to move in time with him. He’s a seriously freaking talented dancer. “What would an Afterglow concert be without a proper pre and after-party?”

We dance for a minute, and I let Zayd twirl me in a circle before he pulls me close again. It’s … maybe less like dancing and more like sex there for a minute. Our pelvises gyrate together, and my body begins to throb. Now that I’m not a virgin anymore, it’s like my body’s been awoken to the pleasures of sex and can’t be put back to sleep.

“That’s it. I’m taking you downstairs and showing you off.” Zayd grabs my hand and drags me out of his wing and into a suddenly bustling mansion. He moves up to the edge of the banister and throws his arms up. “Welcome partygoers!” he shouts, and his million dollar voice cuts through the hubbub of the ever-growing crowd; it’s almost wall-to-wall people already and they just keep streaming in the door. “Booze and smokes in the lounge, snacks in the kitchen, and clothes optional in the pool!”

He turns back around as I raise my brows and Miranda comes up the stairs

with her suitcase.

“Did you pack any party dresses?” she asks me, voice barely audible over the noise.

“Um, what do you take me for?” I reply, feeling my heartbeat pick up speed. “I didn’t exactly expect a party tonight, but I knew there’d be one tomorrow. Let’s go.”

“Don’t take too long, babe,” Zayd says, turning and hopping up on the banister in a way that seriously concerns me. But then, I figure this is his house and he’s probably done this before. I refuse to be a wet blanket, no fucking way. If I’m going to be one of the Idols of Burberry Prep, the Bitch of the Bluebloods, I have to act the part. If I’ve got control of the school, I can put a stop to the bullying. “I’m going to crown you Queen of the Elite tonight, my darling. Mark my fucking words!”

“Zayd!” I scream as he lets himself fall back and then lands in the crowd, surfing along raised arms toward the entrance to the living room. My heart is pounding like crazy, and it’s not helped when Lizzie comes up the steps with a dress in a garment bag tucked over her arm.

“Thought we could make an Idol entrance? You can bet that even if the Harpies aren’t here, they’ll see videos and pics; they’ll know all about it. United front?” She puts her hand out, and Miranda grudgingly puts hers over the top. I personally can’t believe my boyfriend just threw himself off a second story balcony, but I grab on and hold tight anyway.

The Idol girls of Burberry Prep, just the way Tristan set us up. Let’s see how well this works.