The Envy of Idols

by Stunich, C. M.

  My hands clench in my robe, and I make my way into the room to sit beside him. He looks up briefly, and then reaches over and pulls me into his lap.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he tries to feed me a piece of bacon, which I, of course, accept. His fingers end up brushing my lips, and I shiver as I swallow.

  “Fine,” he says, but he sounds anything but.

  We sit there for a while in silence, and I just enjoy the feel of him behind me. When I wiggle on his lap a bit, he goes completely still, one arm banding around my waist.

  “Don’t test me, Charity,” he whispers against my ear. “I’m not a very nice man.”

  “Maybe I’d like to personally test you and see if that’s true?” I whisper back, shifting again. Tristan stands up suddenly, sending the chair scraping back, and then shoves his plate onto the floor. I’m pushed over the table with his hips aligned behind me, his hardness teasing my core.

  “Like this?” he asks, and I feel this ache inside of me that says yes, exactly like that. But then Tristan’s pulling away with a growl and raking his fingers through his dark hair. “You’re too good for me, Charity. You should run while you still can.”

  “Stop that,” I murmur, pushing up into a standing position and turning to face him. “You’ve come a long way in the past year.”

  “I’m a poison, Marnye. I kill everything I touch.” He lifts his fingers and stares at his hand for a moment before glancing over at me. “Pick someone else, anyone else. They’re all better choices than I am.”

  “I don’t know that that’s true,” I say, panting, feeling this desperate need to take Tristan into my arms and comfort him. When the hell did that happen?! He was always the worst bully of them all, the most closed-off, and now … I love this vulnerability. I’m craving it.

  “It’s true. Stay the fuck away from me, and save yourself the heartache.”

  Tristan storms off, and the house is so big and convoluted that even with the map, I don’t find him the rest of the day.

  Four days into my stay—and one night visit from Zack—I find an old game room with boardgames like Connect-Four, Scrabble, Monopoly, Clue, and so on. There must be hundreds of them. I select Twister from the shelves and head upstairs to see if I can find Tristan. He’s been elusive and weird, and I’ve caught him three times hanging out with just Lizzie.

  This time, when I step into his room, he’s alone.

  He looks up at me, and his face is twisted into an expression of sheer frustration.

  “There’s an Infinity Club meeting being held here,” he says, and I pause, setting the game of Twister on a side table. “In three days.”

  I move over and sit on the bed next to Tristan, our legs so close that I can feel his body heat through the black fabric of his pajama pants. They’re all that he’s wearing. Otherwise, he’s shirtless and beautiful, a modern day Adonis begging for my touch.

  Ahh, Marnye, stop! But I can’t help it. I want to put my hands on, so … I do. Pulling up every ounce of courage I have inside of me, I stand up, face Tristan, and then straddle him so that my knees are on the bed on either side of his body.

  “What does that mean, exactly?” I ask as I take his face in my hands and he closes his beautiful gray eyes.

  “It means you and Miranda have to leave. It means my father’s coming home. It means …” He stops talking and just rests his forehead against mine. After a moment, he lifts his thumb to my lips, and I take it into my mouth, sucking lightly.

  Tristan’s breath hitches, and he drops his hand, curling his arms around my waist instead and rolling us over so that he’s on top. We start to kiss, and I find that he’s every bit as calculating and cruel in his ministrations as he is in his day to day to life.

  We’ve kissed many times before, but not like this, alone in a quiet bedroom in a house with no academy faculty, no parents. It’s uninhibited, and deliciously wrong.

  Tristan pins my arms above my head and kisses his way down my face toward my breasts, putting the hot heat of his mouth above the thin, silken fabric of my shirt. He licks the fabric, slow and languorous, like he has all the time in the world, and then, when I’m about to buck him off and beg him to stop teasing, he takes my left nipple into his mouth and sucks on it.

  It’s like there’s a string connected from my nipple to my core, pulling and tugging, begging for more.

  Tristan ends up with his mouth crashing into mine, hands frenzied as he tears at my clothes, ripping my shirt in his haste to feel a bare breast cupped in his palm. I’m groaning and thrashing beneath him, my arms still pinned, want still coursing through me.

  What are you doing, Marnye? I ask myself, but I don’t really know. I’m not sure.

  Tristan’s hips grind against me, the hard, hot length of him teasing me through my shorts. His breathing picks up pace, and then he’s using his left hand to push his pants down. He shoves my shorts aside, and in an instant, I can feel the tip of him pressing against me.

  He looks down at with a blade gray gaze, his right hand still holding my wrists pinned above my head. My bare breasts rise and fall with each breath, but I don’t say a thing. I can’t. I’m tongue-tied.

  “I want you so bad, Marnye,” he says, and I groan, rubbing against him. He closes his eyes like he’s in pain. One hard thrust of his hips, and we’d be joined together. Instead, he opens his eyes and just looks at me again. “I want to fuck you until you can’t remember you’re dating anyone else, take you so completely that you become mine.”

  “But?” I whisper, and Tristan curses, pulling away from me and yanking his pants into place as I sit up. “Tristan, wait.”

  “I can’t do this. I can’t fucking do this, Marnye.” He heads into the bathroom, slams the door, and then turns on the shower. I only stay so long as it takes me to fix my clothes.

  On the day of the Infinity Club meeting, everyone’s in a nervous titter. I know we all have to leave by two at the latest, but before I go, before I head off into the sunset to spend an entire summer away from Tristan Vanderbilt, I have to see him again.

  He’s in his room yet again, sitting on his bed in a black t-shirt and jeans, staring at his phone. He scowls at me when I walk in.

  “Stop that,” I say, but he turns away, and rakes his fingers through his hair.

  “Believe me: you don’t want to be here when William arrives. He punches his own son. Imagine all the things he might do to a charity case from the wrong side of the tracks.”

  “You can’t push me away,” I tell him, grabbing the game of Twister and moving over to the large empty space of floor on the right side of his bed. “No matter what you do, it won’t work. I’ve seen the real you, and that’s not something that can be undone.”

  “You don’t like me. You can’t possibly,” he scoffs, sounding a lot like Creed did the first night we …

  “Why? Because you’re fiercely loyal, sharp as a tack, and the only person I know who can keep up with me on an academic level? Or maybe it’s because you have hair like a raven’s feathers, eyes the color of the moon on a cold night, or abs so hard they could probably crack nuts?”

  “Crack nuts?” he echoes, and I grin as I lay out the plastic sheet with all the colored circles on it.

  “Yeah, like, stick a walnut between your abs, flex, and voila. Nutcracker abs.” Tristan exhales, like maybe he’s just too stressed to laugh. No problem. I am, too. All I can think about is him on top of me, the tip of him pressed into my core, and the amount of self-control that must have taken him to pull away.

  “What the hell is this you’re putting on my floor,” he asks as I hand him in the spinner and kick off my shoes. I’m wearing a cream-colored satin dress that Miranda insisted I try on, so not ideal for the game, but man, Tristan Vanderbilt needs to loosen up a little.

  “It’s called a game. Ever play one of those before?” I tap my finger on the spinner. “We can even make a bet out of it. If I win, you have to keep dating me until eith
er you or I decide we don’t like each other. If you win, you can decide whether or not to keep dating me, regardless of reason.”

  Tristan narrows his eyes and tosses the spinner on the bed.

  “I don’t have time for this. My dad’s going to be here in less than an hour. You need to go.”

  “I’m not leaving until you play with me. It’s a quick game. Easy, too. Or are you afraid I’m going to kick your ass?” I cross my arms over my chest and stare him down.

  “I can always pick you up, carry you out of my room, and lock the door.”

  “Yeah, but that wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?” I ask, and Tristan scowls.

  “Fine.” He flicks the spinner with his finger and ends up with an arrow pointed towards the red part of the circle, and in the fourth of the board that indicates the foot. “Now what?”

  “Right foot on red,” I tell him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet. I show him what to do, and then grab the spinner. In a normal game, there’d be a referee to spin for us and call out the moves, but I’m always willing to improvise. “Right hand yellow.”

  I squat and put my hand on one of the colored dots, and Tristan rolls his eyes.

  “This is a stupid game. How do you even win?”

  “First person to fall over or fail to complete their move is the loser,” I say with a sniff. “When neither of us is able to spin, we’ll take turns calling out a color or a body part for each other’s move.” I hand him the spinner and he gets left hand blue, very purposely leaning over me to place his palm on a spot.

  We keep going until we’re both tangled up, and neither of us can touch the damn spinner.

  “Red,” he says, and I lick my lips, looking around strategically.

  “Right hand,” I add, and Tristan struggles to make it work. We look like we’re doing advanced yoga this point. “Yellow,” I say, choosing my own color.

  “Breast,” he whispers, and I chuckle, almost losing my balance.

  “That is not a body part,” I choke, and I can feel him quivering above me, struggling to hold his post.

  “Damn right it is,” he growls, and I shrug. Because it’s easier to just lean down and touch my boob to the map, I do it. “Dick.”

  “That’s your body part choice?” I ask, and he grunts. “Fine … uh, green.”

  Tristan adjusts himself, putting his crotch on the mat, so that we’re pretty much face to face. He looks at me, and I just start laughing. It’s so bad that I actually fall, and end up in a heap on the floor. Tristan sits down beside me, panting and sweating, and then takes off his shirt, tossing it aside.

  “You lose the bet,” he says, but he doesn’t sound all that happy about winning. “Want to play again? All or nothing?” I nod and push up, finding his gaze on me. He reaches out with his fingers, brushing them along my jaw, and I sigh.

  Tristan pulls back before anything can happen, and we start all over again.

  This time, we just call out body parts and colors from the very beginning.

  Within minutes, we’re face to face, mouth to mouth. And the kiss we share in that moment … is the truest we’ve ever had. We move over to the bed, kissing slowly, hands roaming over one another’s bodies, but it only lasts as long as the alarm on Tristan’s phone.

  When it goes off, he groans and pushes me over to lie next to him.

  “William will be here any minute. You really need to get the hell out of here.”

  His gaze is like ice, but his fingers feel like fire, I think as we look at each other.

  I lift my hands up to hide my face, but Tristan isn’t having any of it. He pulls them down, and he gives me this private, little grin that I can’t help but return. We’re still lying there and smiling at each other like lovestruck idiots when Lizzie opens the door and walks in.

  “Shit, I thought that was locked.” Tristan sits up and slides his fingers through his mussy, raven-dark hair. He looks almost … cute. That is, if Tristan Vanderbilt is even capable of cute. Sure, he’s one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen, but I’m not sure the word cute is the right adjective.

  My mind is wandering, so I put the brakes on and make myself look at Lizzie’s face instead. She’s freaking shattered right now. Guilt surges through me, as uncomfortable as a punch to the gut. This isn’t what I wanted to happen. She probably thinks we were having sex. But no. All we did was play Twister and then make out.

  Although, putting it that way, it sounds almost as bad.

  “The guests are arriving.” Lizzie stares at us, and I can’t help but feel empathy for her. What if I’d walked in on this situation? I would be beyond upset. My empathy flares to life, and my stomach churns. “William is furious; he’s looking for you.”

  “Of course he’s furious.” Tristan scowls, and slides his hand over his sweaty face. “I’m not just a bastard anymore; I’m an embarrassment.”

  Lizzie pulls the door closed and then leans her back against it, locking eyes with Tristan.

  Even though I have four other boyfriends downstairs, even though sometime in the future I’ll have to choose, I don’t want to lose Tristan now.

  “What?” he asks her, his body stuff, muscles taut with stress.

  Lizzie closes her eyes, and then carefully twists off her engagement ring. She opens them again and her irises are painted with the brilliant colors of emotion: love, and want, and desperate need.

  “I don’t know what’ll happen if I tell my parents no,” Lizzie says, staring down at the ring. “I think they love me enough to get over it, but … I can’t do it. I can’t marry Marcel.”

  Rising to my feet, I slide my palms down the front of my cream-colored dress to get out the wrinkles. No point though. Lizzie isn’t looking at me; the only person in this house that exists for her right now, the only person that matters, is Tristan. Amber eyes bright with determination, Lizzie takes a small step forward.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Tristan asks, standing up and grabbing his shirt. He puts it on and then looks at her with an expression that’s equal parts frustration and confusion. “My dad’s on the warpath. He doesn’t like you, and he doesn’t like Marnye, and he doesn’t want the entire board of directors for the Infinity Club waltzing into our house to pass judgment.”

  “I don’t care about the Infinity Club right now,” Lizzie blurts, and my heart begins to thunder in my chest, echoing the throbbing pulse point I can see beating in her throat. She moves toward Tristan again, but he doesn’t return the favor. “All I care about is you, Tristan. I love you.”

  There’s nothing but pure, unadulterated truth in her words. It’s no surprise to me though: I’ve expected as much since I first laid eyes on her.

  The logical thing to do would be to let Tristan go, push him and Lizzie together, and focus on the four other guys that are waiting downstairs for me. The thing is, the heart doesn’t use logic to make its decision. Even now, I’m dreading that future moment where I’ll have to pick a boy, where I’ll have to choose.

  If Lizzie and Tristan are meant to be together, it’ll happen. I won’t do anything for or against it.

  I bite my lower lip.

  Lizzie’s a good friend, but Tristan … he makes my blood sing.

  “I—” They both look at me as that one, single word escapes my lips. The thing is, once I stop talking, I can’t figure out what I was meant to say in the first place.

  Fortunately, Windsor is there to save my ass yet again. He waltzes in the door, the very picture of nonchalance, all dressed up nice and neat in his third year uniform. It’s obvious he couldn’t care less about the upcoming Infinity Club meeting.

  “William Vanderbilt’s a clever man, isn’t he?” he says, giving me a small, little smile.

  “How so?” Tristan asks, sighing, and ignoring Lizzie’s entire confession. “What has he done now?”

  “He’s found someone to pay his Infinity Club dues.” Windsor watches Tristan’s face as he clenches his jaw. “Not yours though. Just his. He’s
already started the rumor that he’s disowning you.”

  Tristan pretends not to care, but there’s the slightest hint of his eyes widening.

  “I see.” He keeps his voice calm, but there’s obvious pain resting behind his words. All I want to do is comfort him, but Lizzie beats me to it, reaching out for him. Tristan pulls away, and her face flashes with hurt.

  “I’ve paid it for you,” Windsor tells him, and this time, I think we’re all surprised. Tristan stares at the prince with wide, gray eyes, but Wind simply tucks his hands into his pockets and grins. “Whatever my princess wants, she gets. And she doesn’t want you homeless and kicked out of Burberry Prep.” Windsor steps forward and smooths some wrinkles from Tristan’s shirt with his palms. “He pulled your tuition, too. But you already knew that, right?”

  I gape at that news, glancing over at Tristan. He, on the other hand, doesn’t seem surprised by that at all.

  “You knew you weren’t coming back to Burberry next year, didn’t you?” I ask, but Tristan simply stares at Windsor, waiting for more. With the prince, there’s always more.

  “I’ve paid that, too. So … I guess Marnye isn’t the only charity case at the academy, now is she?” Wind grins, and there’s a terrifying edge to it, like he’s enjoying this moment for all the wrong reasons. Still, he did it for me. I won’t forget that. “You can thank me later. For now, we have a Club meeting to attend.”

  Without a word, Tristan turns and leaves the room, slamming the bathroom door behind him.

  “You, milady, will have to go. Miranda’s waiting outside for you. No non-Club members allowed.” Windsor steps forward and brushes some red hair off his forehead. His hazel eyes shimmer with mischief as he reaches up to tangle his fingers in my rose-gold locks.

  “You’ll take care of Zayd, Creed, and Zack for me, right?” I ask, not because I think they really need the help, but because I’m starting to look at Windsor like my righthand man. If some unforeseen circumstances come up, I know he’s good at thinking on his feet. “You’ve already taken care of Tristan.”