Stuck With The Four Hotties

“If you have any sense at all, you’ll steer clear of Zack Brooks,” Creed drawls, his words effortlessly flowing past those perfect lips of his. He opens the fridge and bends low, his long form folding in half, muscles in his upper back and shoulders tensing as he rummages around for something to drink. “He’s no good.”

“Like you are?” I snap, feeling a hot warmth rush through me. It’s an unfamiliar burn, one that makes me shift in discomfort.

Creed stands back up, pushing white-blonde hair from his forehead, eyes heavy and half-lidded. He has a can of soda in one hand, a blank, bored look on his face.

“Did I ever say I was? Make no mistake, Charity: I don’t like you. I’ve been pretty clear about my feelings, and my agenda. So take what I’m saying into consideration: Zack Brooks is bad news.” He moves into the middle of the room, and cracks the top on the can, looking at me over the rim as he takes a drink.

“Fuck off, Creed,” Miranda snaps, but he ignores her, standing there and staring at me. Things have felt different since the Halloween party; I can feel it now as he looks at me, and sweat begins to bead on the back of my neck. When she gets no response from her brother, Miranda sighs and pushes a few strands of hair off her forehead. “Is Tristan staying for the week?”

“Yeah, why?” Creed asks, and I realize with a start that I actually like the sound of his voice. You know, when he’s not reading my most private thoughts aloud to the world. “You two have something you want to talk to me about?” The way his voice cools as he speaks is impressive, conveying about a million different emotions that are invisible in that bored princely face of his. The only noticeable change in his expression is the narrowing of his eyes.

“Just … when you and Zayd and Tristan are left alone together, bad things happen.” The way Creed smiles at his sister’s words makes that statement so much more terrifying. All three of the guys are going to be here this week? Fantastic.

“Mm.” Creed looks to me again, and I try not to notice that his nipples are slightly hard beneath his white wifebeater. I can see the shadow of them beneath the thin fabric, too. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I force my attention back to his face. “Zack might be around, you know, whether you ghost him or not.” He takes another sip of his soda, staring at me from those ice-blue eyes of his.

“What would Zack be doing here?” I ask, and Creed scoffs, shaking his head at me.

“Tell him to go to hell, transfer out of this school, and I’ll make sure you get into Grenadine Heights High. What do you think about that?” My mouth pops open, but he holds up a hand before I can respond. I’m shaking, and there’s this weird twisty feeling in my stomach again, but I don’t have time to analyze it. “I’m not doing any of this for you. This is for Miranda.”

“Sending my one and only girlfriend away because you don’t like her net worth is somehow a boon to me?” Miranda snaps, but Creed’s already turning away, pausing in his doorway with those long, elegant fingers of his resting against the doorjamb. The way he’s staring at me makes me want to fidget, but I force myself to sit still and stare back.

“This offer lasts until Monday. You have two days to figure out what you’re going to do.” Creed smiles at me, a slow curving twist of lips that makes my stomach burst into butterflies. I know he’s cruel, and I’m no masochist, but I can’t help the strange flutters of excitement I get when he looks at me. “This is my final offer.”

“Or what?” I ask, lifting my chin in defiance. Creed ignores me, slipping into his room like a shadow and slamming the door. After a few moments, we both hear the slow, sensual sounds of a man pleasuring himself.

“Oh gross!” Miranda yells, slamming her palms over her ears. “We might be twins, but that’s serious TMI, you asshole!” She stands up, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me into the hall.Content bel0ngs to Nôvel(D)r/a/ma.Org.

But I can’t deny that those sounds are going to stick with me for a long, long time.

Damn. Maybe I really am a masochist?

On Monday, I finally get up the courage to text Zack. The very fact that Creed’s trying to put me off of him makes me want to keep going. Stupid, I know, but anything that pisses the Idols off makes me happy.

I don’t have any plans on Thanksgiving, I type out, considering my words for a moment. I wouldn’t mind having someone around to eat turkey and

pumpkin pie with. Shooting the text off before I can question myself, I fall back on my bed with a sigh. Miranda’s gone, but Andrew’s here … somewhere. I consider going to find him and decide that I may as well hit The Mess for lunch.

As far as I can tell, there are maybe a dozen students on campus, possibly less. There’s a skeleton staff of cooks, cleaners, and teachers. Ms. Felton and Mr. Carter are on duty, and I figure it couldn’t hurt to get in some extra harp practice over the week. I mean, what else am I going to do? Sit on my phone and scroll Instagram all day?

Slipping into a pair of holey jeans, a pink tank, and a leather jacket, I head out into the hall and make my way around the corner, past the chapel entrance, and down towards The Mess. I don’t see Andrew, but I do shoot him a quick text to see if he wants to eat with me.

Just before I head into the restaurant, I catch the faintest blur of green, and do a double take. Zayd is making his way down the hallway like he’s on a mission. Even though I know I’m being stupid, I decide to peek around the corner and see what he’s up to. I mean, without girls to hit on, me to bully, or schoolwork to focus on, wha

t do these guys even do?