“So …” Zayd starts, drawing my attention over to him again. His hair is still that beautiful sea green color from when we first met. I love it. He could dye it that way the rest of his life, and I'd be happy. Assuming we know each other that long … My heart starts to pound again, and I push the feelings back. I have all year to enjoy what I've got going with these boys. A whole year before I freak out. And it'll be at least December before I hear back from Bornstead.
There's time.
“So, what?” I ask as Tristan leans against the wall near the kitchen entrance, and Creed and Miranda get in some small stupid argument in whispered breaths.
Zayd twirls one of his black lip rings around in a circle with his tongue as he glances down at me with those beautiful emerald eyes of his. His grin morphs slowly into this cocksure little smile as he leans down close.
“You inspired me to get out there and just play some shit, like I used to before we got signed. The boys and I are holding an impromptu concert this weekend.” He pauses and pushes off the door, heeling it shut behind him and crossing his inked arms over his chest. I'm briefly reminded of our first meeting, when he told me I was 'fuckable'. How far we've come since then. “I thought you might like to come along.”
“A concert?” I ask, getting this fluttery sensation inside my chest. “I'd love that. Where at?”
Zayd smirks and puts the sole of his boot up against the door, watching me with half-lidded eyes. He seems to be in a good enough mood, but all I have to do is look at Windsor and Tristan to know that things with the Infinity Club aren't exactly rosy and covered in glitter.
Harper still hates me. My little sister wants nothing to do with me. Dad is sick. Fourth year at Burberry Prep is going to be insane.
“It's a secret. Only people who follow me closely on social media will know where it is.” Zayd winks at me again, and then chews on his lip ring. “Out of the kindness of my heart, I've even graciously invited your other boyfriends. What do you think, Charity? Doesn't that generosity deserve another kiss?”
“Don't be a lewd asshole,” Zack growls, giving Zayd a particularly unfriendly sort of look. He's got his letterman jacket on, and I have to wonder if he knows how much of a trigger that is for me.
“If I were being a lewd asshole …” Zayd starts, pushing off the door and stepping close, so he can sweep some of my rose-gold hair from my forehead. My pulse picks up, and I decide that I really, really need to get the hell out of these jammies ASAP. “I'd ask for something a little stronger than a kiss.”
“Oookay,” I start, backing up and putting myself against the shared wall between my living room and bedroom. “Are you guys really not going to tell me what went on at that meeting?”
“It's not important,” Windsor says, almost too quickly. He stands up and flashes me a cheeky grin. “We handled it, love. All taken care of. Now, are you going to lunch in those adorable duck pajamas, or would you like to change? Either way, I'm taking you out.”
“Lizzie and I can stay here, so you guys can make a date out of it,” Miranda says cheerfully, standing up from the couch with the most genuine sort of smile on her face. “We can even clean for you while you're gone, as a favor.”
“You don't have to—” I start, but Miranda's already linking her arm through Lizzie's and grinning, almost maniacally now.
“Don't be silly. We'd be happy to. Right, Lizzie?” Miranda glances her way, but she's pretty much cornered Lizzie into accepting at this point. It'd be hard to refuse without looking like, well, sort of an asshole. “Marnye deserves some private time with her guys, especially after a week spent apart.”
“I …” Lizzie starts, glancing over at Tristan. He's about as expressive as a grapefruit right now. He gives nothing away. “Yeah, that's understandable …”
“Let's kidnap her in those pajamas,” Creed drawls, yawning and stretching his arms above his white-blond head. “Quite frankly, they turn me on like nothing else.”
“Shush up, barely-ex-virgin,” Miranda grumbles, letting go of Lizzie and taking my hand. “I will dress the love of your lives up, no worries. Give us twenty minutes.” Miranda drags me from the living room, into my bedroom, and then closes and locks the door behind her.
“That was a dirty trick,” I whisper, but she just keeps right on grinning and ignores me, moving over to the closet for another dress.
“I know. But what's done is done. Lizzie can either back off, or I can make her back off. Now, try this dress on and let's see if we can get five guys to get boners all at once.”
“Oh, well, that's romantic,” I mutter, but now I'm smiling, too.
Lunch with the guys sounds exactly like what I need right now.
On the inside, the bus is more like a mini-mansion on wheels. I'm basically gagging as Zayd gives me the full tour. We've just gotten back from lunch, and I have to say, it felt good to be with the boys again. I missed them so much it hurt. At the same time, there's a lot of tension, all these tangled threads that need to be unwoven.
I just keep telling myself to deal with one thing at a time.
“These are the bunks,” Zayd says, showcasing the beds on either side of the narrow hall. The dark look he gives me says he's thinking of doing more than just sleeping in them. “Plenty of room for one guy and a very special guest.”
“And how many very special guests have you entertained on this bus?” I ask, but he just laughs, that howling, all-consuming sound that makes me smile.
“Oh, Charity.” Zayd pats me on the head and then kicks open the bathroom door behind him. “There's even a tub in here. Again, plenty of room for one guy and a very special guest …”
“I'm leaving now,” I say, turning and making my way back down the hall. Zayd catches me from behind, his arms sliding around my waist, his chin coming to rest on my shoulder. My entire body flushes warm, and my eyes close of their own accord. Speaking of tension … There's a definite thread between me and Zayd, one that's been there from the first second I laid eyes on him.
“Don't go, Charity, I was just playing,” he murmurs, nuzzling against my neck. For the moment, we're the only two people on this bus. An impossible heat rushes to my core as I lay my hands over Zayd's. “There's only one special guest I want on my bus from now on.”
“Is that so?” I ask, as he squeezes me even tighter, my back to his front.
“Definitely so. What say you we kick all the rest of these bastards to the curb for the night, and have a little sleepover in here? I'll give the driver the night off …”
“My dad might not like that very much,” I murmur, but I know I'm getting close to turning eighteen. He won't have much of a say over what I can and can't do. The thing is, I love him and respect him, and I wouldn't want to cause him unnecessary stress either.
“What Dad doesn't know won't hurt him,” Zayd whispers, running his tongue up the curve of my ear.
“Maybe it won't bother her dad, but it certainly bothers me,” Tristan says, appearing at the top of the steps. I shudder in Zayd's arms, and my mind goes to the naughtiest places. I wonder what it'd be like with Zayd on one side and Tristan on the other?
Oh dear. I might've spent too much time reading that book, Groupie, that Miranda gave me a few days ago. It's a reverse harem story where the main character gets all five boys to herself. Like … what I have. But, it ends that way, too. She doesn't have to choose.
Lucky bitch.
Zayd releases me with a sigh, propping his elbow on the edge of one of the top bunks.
“What do you want, Vanderbilt? Some cash to get a hotel room for the night? Because in this case, I'm willing to offer up a little charity to get some alone time with, well, Charity, if you catch my drift.”
“Doesn't your family have a place on the beach?” I ask Tristan, but his face just darkens up and he says nothing. Oh. This whole disowning thing is for real, isn't it? “You know, I'd have to ask my dad, but I'm sure you could stay here for a few nights.”
“He doesn't ne
ed a place to stay for a few nights, chickadee,” Zayd says, sounding almost like he's taking pleasure in Tristan's downfall. Hell, knowing him, he probably is. “He needs a place to stay for the entire summer.”
“I'm a homeless vagrant now,” Tristan drawls, leaning his shoulder against the kitchen cabinets and watching us with sharp, silver eyes. “Does that make you happy, Zayd? Do you lather up your dick with lotion and dream about it?”
“No, I lather my dick up and dream about Marnye,” Zayd retorts with a smirk, grabbing me again. I wiggle out of his arms and cast a look over my shoulder.
“You shithead,” I grumble, but I'm not entirely displeased at his statement. I move over to the much wider kitchen area and try not to think about the fact that this bus is like a more luxurious version of the Train Car. Like, Dad and I lived in that our whole lives, and Zayd just owns one for the hell of it. Wealth disparity sure is an interesting topic. “Well, I don't see why one of the boys can't put you up somewhere,” I tell him, looking between Tristan and Zayd. “Don't you all usually go to the Hamptons for the summer anyway? There was plenty of house up there to go around.”
“We're not going to the Hamptons this year,” Zayd says, moving over to the fridge and opening it to reveal about a hundred different bottled drinks. I can see from all the way over here that there's an entire shelf of iced teas and sodas for me; it's not all alcohol which I appreciate. Zayd snags a beer for himself, tosses one to Tristan, and then turns to look at me with his pierced brow raised. “What can I get you, babe?”
“Iced tea, thank you.” Zayd hands one to me, and I take a seat on the edge of the bench that surrounds the small table. “What do you mean you're not going to the Hamptons?”
“He means we're staying here. With you.” Tristan uses a bottle opener that's screwed to the wall and pops the top on his drink, putting the long neck of the bottle to his lush mouth and taking a sip.
“Why?” I ask, feeling this surge of tender appreciation bubble up in me. I want to jump up and down with excitement, but I'm also mildly suspicious. “I mean, I'm grateful and honestly pretty excited to hang out, but I'm also curious.”
“We want to chill with you,” Zayd says, picking at the label on his beer with black fingernails. I get the idea that they're both hiding something from me, but then, I've been getting that vibe since I first saw them this morning. He glances up at me. “And we know you want to be close to your dad.”
“That's it?” I ask, and Zayd shrugs. “I feel like you're all hiding something.”
“It's just more Infinity Club bullshit,” Tristan says, his voice as smooth as cognac, settling over me in a cool wave. “It doesn't matter. I'll sleep at the homeless shelter if I have to.”
You wouldn't survive a single night, I think as I narrow my eyes and unscrew the cap on my drink.
“There's no reason for that. You can stay with me for the rest of the summer.”
“Wait, what?” Zayd asks as I stand up. I give him a frosty look.
“Well, he has to stay somewhere, doesn't he? I guess he'll be just steps away from my bedroom door for the next few months.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Zayd inserts, holding up his hands and backpedaling a little. “Of course he can stay with me. We're almost sorta, kinda friends.”
“I wouldn't go that far,” Tristan says, narrowing his eyes and sighing. He looks almost as tired as Windsor. I swallow hard and lick my lips, drawing his attention up to me. There's this strange, silent communication that passes between us. Breakfast when he pushed me over the table, that game of Twister, Lizzie's confession. “But I accept the offer.”
“Good on you,” Zayd murmurs with a roll of his eyes, pausing as the driver of the bus pops his head in and asks to speak with him for a moment. “Be right back. Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone.” He hops down the bus steps, and the door swooshes shut softly behind him, sealing Tristan and me into the air conditioned space together.
“Can I ask you a question?” I start, trying to fill the awkward silence. Tristan moves over to the table and sits across from me, his silver eyes cutting across the surface and digging straight into my soul. He moves one foot forward and ends up brushing it against mine.
“You can ask it. Maybe I'll answer it, maybe not.” I narrow my eyes and take a sip of my tea.
“What colleges did you apply to?”
Tristan goes very still, like that's not a question he'd even remotely considered me asking. He reaches up and runs his fingers through his silky, raven-dark hair, looking out the window toward the street instead of at my face.
“That's your question? You don't want to ask about my father, or about Lizzie, or even why I tried so hard to beat you during third year?”
“You always try hard to beat me. What's new? Tell me where you applied.”
Tristan pauses, leaning back in his seat as he studies me carefully.
“Harvard.” Of course. “Stanford.” Expected. “Brown.” Interesting choice. “Oxford.” That's too freaking far away. Tristan takes another drink of his beer, watching my face like he's expecting a certain type of reaction from me. “Bornstead.”
My heart leaps out of my chest, and I stand up.
“I've already decided against that one though,” he adds before I can get too excited.
“Why?” I snap, setting my iced tea down and crossing my arms over my chest. “I feel like you're doing this to me on purpose.”
“I already told you, Marnye, you're better off without me.” Tristan stands up, like this conversation is over. But I haven't even gotten started. I step in front of him when he goes to leave, and he narrows his gray eyes on me. “What are you doing?”
“Stopping you from running away,” I say, holding my arms wide. Might be a tad dramatic, but that's okay. I don't care. Tristan Vanderbilt is a man used to getting whatever he wants. Well, what he wants right now is to take the easy road and run from me. I'm not having it. He'll have to get used to compromise. “You think you're such a bad man, but you're not. Are you a spoiled brat? Sure. Do you have a lick of cruelty in your blood? Yes. But … I like you anyway.”
Tristan stares down at me, breathing heavily, and then tosses his empty beer bottle into the sink. His signature cinnamon-peppermint scent hangs heavy in the air between us, wrapping around me like a spell.
“It'll take more than just a high school crush to turn me around, Marnye.” He tries to move past me, but I grab onto his arm and he stops suddenly, chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Those cruel eyes slide over to look at me. “You don't deserve to spend your life trying to reform some asshole. I can't even afford to go to college now.”
“We can get you some scholarships; it's not too late, Tristan. If you want something, there's a way to make it happen. Look at me: I got into Burberry Prep against all odds. I survived Burberry Prep against all odds.” My hand tightens on his arm, and he closes his eyes. “Why are you fighting this so hard?”
“You don't understand how complicated my life is, Marnye. I can't just skip off into the sunset. Not with you or anyone else.” He goes to pull his arm from my grip, but I refuse to let go, and Tristan ends up pushing me against the counter. His hands are on either side of me, our bodies pressed so close together that I can't breathe without my breasts pushing up against his chest. “Why won't you leave me alone? You have four other guys slobbering for your affections. They all have money, and much less complicated families than I do.” He pauses and looks away for a minute. “Although if you were smart, you'd untangle yourself from the Infinity Club, and you'd run as far and fast as—”
I reach up and grab his face between both hands, turning him back to me for a hard, punishing kiss. I try to start it off sweet, but as soon as our mouths touch, Tristan takes over. He makes this sound that belies this falsehood of control. Tristan Vanderbilt is not in control of himself right now. He's not really in control of anything in his life.
He lifts me up and sets me on the edge of the counter. This m
ight be a tour bus, but it's still got the same low counters that the Train Car had, putting me at just the right height to feel the hardness in his slacks pressing against my core.
With a small growl, Tristan turns his head away and buries his face in my hair.
“I want to fuck you so badly,” he murmurs, and I shiver, leaning my head against his. “But I can't.”
“Why not?” I whisper, because he's holding me so tight right now. I can just imagine us taking things a step further than we did in his room that day …
“Because I use sex like a weapon. I won't wield it against you.” He pulls away again, and this time, I let him go. “Trust me: the temptation is there.” Tristan looks back at me before heading for the door. “Looks like your dad is home.”
He hits the stairs as I groan, leaning my head back against the cabinets and cursing under my breath. My whole body's on fire right now, and my nipples are embarrassingly hard beneath the thin pink dress that Miranda dressed me in.
I take a moment to gather myself together, and then hop down, heading out to meet Charlie as he pulls up to the curb in his rusty Ford. I'm sure he'll be excited to see my five boyfriends hanging out at his house.
“Marnye,” he starts, eyeing the giant bus with a raised eyebrow. It's so long it blocks the driveway; Dad had to park on the street in front of the neighbor's house. “What's all this?”
“This is just a, uh, home away from home,” I say, smiling as I hold out a hand to indicate the giant silver and black monstrosity overshadowing our neighborhood. “I hope you don't mind that my friends stopped by for a bit …”
Dad smiles and reaches out to ruffle up my hair.
“I don't mind at all,” he says as I take his hand and squeeze it in mine.
“How was chemo today?” I ask casually, knowing that Charlie's resistant to telling me anything about his treatment. He doesn't want to scare me. What he doesn't realize is that I'm scared enough as it is.
“Just fine,” he replies, his baseball cap covering up his balding head. I hate it. It's not fair. Why does someone like William Vanderbilt get to beat his son and squandor his family fortune, and have his fat pulled from the fire at the last second? And why does someone like Jennifer Carmichael get to cheat on her husband, abandon her child, and then live a life of luxury without any health problems?
In the Arms of the Elite Page 3