Stuck With The Four Hotties

“Not his mistress,” I choke out as Creed takes a seat and then pulls me onto his lap, just like he did in the car that day. My whole body goes white- hot and then dulls to an agonizing simmer. I do my very best not to shift around on top of him. If I feel him harden up beneath me right now, I might die. “For his wife. He had the boat designed just so he could take her to dinner on the top deck. She’d always wanted to go to New Orleans and do a

steamboat cruise on the Mississippi, but she got sick and couldn’t travel.” My heart clenches, and I know my inner history buff is showing, but I can’t help myself.

“That’s so romantic,” Miranda says, squeezing Andrew’s arm. He gives her a look, and the two of them pause to stare at each other before scooting apart. Creed is watching, and his eyes narrow.

“Are they fucking?” he whispers, and his breath tickles my ear, making me squirm. He grunts, and then we end up staring at each other. Too late. I can feel his body responding to me, his arms curling tighter around my waist. My heart is beating so loud right now that it’s giving me a headache.

“I don’t … I don’t know …” I whisper back as he leans in further, hand traveling up my side.

Another person slides into the limo, and we all turn to see Harper, followed by Becky, Abigail, and Valentina. Fantastic. Their dates come next, and I recognize the scowling face of Gregory followed by John. The last Idol, Gena Whitley, is nowhere to be seen. I’ve noticed she has her own circle of friends she gravitates to sometimes.

“What are you doing in here, Harper?” Tristan snaps, and he sounds like he wants to kick her butt right out onto the pavement. The door closes, someone taps the roof, and off we go. Harper is smiling, but the expression reminds me of a shark.

“I’m your date to the dance, what else, silly?” she says, her pink dress riding up her thighs as she scoots to Tristan and latches onto his arm. He shakes her off with a dark scowl, but it doesn’t seem to faze her. She’s made of strong stuff, that one. His expression would scare the shit out of me. He looks like a man who’s just run into an obstacle that’s blocking something he really, really wants.

“You asked me, and I told you no,” Tristan says as my eyes flick between the two of them. Whoa. During our game at the casino, he inferred he was going to use his favor with Creed to keep him away from Harper. And nowContent is property of NôvelDrama.Org.

…

“Tristan,” Harper snaps back, sitting up straight. Her eyes cut right through him, and I see then that all the lip biting and hair flipping and giggling is an act. There’s a rod of steel making up her backbone. “Don’t you think your future is more-”

He turns and puts a finger against her lips, leaning in with a growl.

“If you keep talking, I’ll toss you right out of this limo, and we’ll find out if the Plebs enjoy their queen better … or their king. Don’t test me, Harper.” She rears back like he’s slapped her, eyes flashing with hurt.

“You always get like this when Lizzie-”

The look on Tristan’s face right then is venomous.

“Don’t you dare mention her name.” His words are an order, snapped off a whip-like tongue. “Mention Lizzie again, I swear, and Harper du Pont you’ll be sorry.”

The limo rolls to a stop, and Harper practically throws herself out, tears brimming in her eyes. Becky follows, Abigail, Valentina, and the boys behind her.

Zayd whistles.

“That was mad harsh,” Zayd breathes, but then he’s grinning like it’s all fun and games. Torturing people doesn’t bother the Idol boys. “She’s in love with you, you know.”

“She’s in love with my last name, and the Vanderbilt reputation.” Tristan steps out of the limo and takes off down the dock. Zayd helps me off of Creed’s lap, and onto the pavement outside. It’s actually somewhat painful for me to wear these shoes outside. They cost two thousand dollars. For one pair of shoes. It’s just … I can hardly even imagine spending that kind of money on footwear.

“I’ve got an awful boner,” Creed drawls, and Miranda wrinkles her nose up.

“You’re gross. Nobody wants to know that,” she says, steering clear of her twin and guiding Andrew up the gangplank and onto the ship. Zayd grins and turns around, walking backwards as Creed takes my arm again.

“Sorry?” I start, and then I can’t help but laugh. Creed narrows his eyes, but the slightest hint of a smile rests on his lips. He doesn’t give two craps that everyone can see the proof of his arousal in his slacks. In fact, he seems to enjoy the attention.

The tension that brewed between us in the limo is still there, dampened only slightly by the drama between Harper and Tristan. When Creed guides me inside and over to our assigned table at the rear of the ship, he puts his hand on the small of my back, and my bones turn to jelly. He pulls my chair out for me, pushes me in, and then lays his hands on my shoulders, leaning down to put his mouth to my ear.

“I’ll be right back.” He presses a kiss to the side of my jaw, and my eyes go wide.

“So … are you really into him then?” Miranda asks, staring at me from across the table like she’s never seen me before. “He … read your essay aloud.” My cheeks flush. I hadn’t forgotten that, but I also can’t deny that when he’s not being a total and complete prick, I enjoy Creed Cabot’s company. Like I said, it’s easier for me to trust than to believe deceit. And I want to believe I can be friends with these guys.

“I don’t know,” I whisper, putting my napkin on my lap as Zayd, and then Tristan, joins our table. The table next to us has the Idol girls, including Gena and her date, as well as Ebony Peterson and Jalen Donner. The rest of the Bluebloods are split between the two tables at the base of the dais on which we’re sitting. I think the design was meant to house a wedding party or something. The stage is positioned diagonally across from us, dimly lit and waiting for the band.