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, what do these guys even do?
Zayd heads straight down the hall and out the back door that leads to the outdoor amphitheater, and the small staff parking lot. Against my better judgement, I head the same way. I figure if he catches me following him, I’ll just say I’m going for a walk to the pond to read. I’ve got my phone, and a Kindle app, so who’s to say I’m not?
The back doors are covered in stained glass, images of weeping angels etched with bright colors and lined with lead. They let light in, but block the view from outside. So I wait a good minute or so to be safe, and then slip out, heading down the graveled path until I’m in sight of the parking lot.
“Well, shit, Vanderbilt, I’m impressed,” Zayd whistles, tucking his inked fingers in the pockets of his skintight black jeans. He circles a black vintage car with his brows raised, sliding a look over to Tristan Vanderbilt as he leans against the hood.
“I suppose you needed a new car after you wrapped the last one around a tree,” Creed drawls, already lounging in the car with his arms spread open across the seatbacks. “How much did this set daddy back?”
“Do you really care?” Tristan asks as Zayd lights up a cigarette, pausing near the front of the sleek little sportscar. “It’s a 1961 Ferrari Spider. Price is irrelevant. Besides, my dad has enough cars. He can spare one for the week.”
“And if he finds out you took it?” Creed asks, but the look Tristan levels on him proves to me without a doubt that the three of them might be passably friendly, but they’re not exactly friends. “I mean, he can’t be thrilled with you, considering your grades.” Creed smiles, but it’s a nasty expression when turned on Tristan. “Second place just means first place loser, right? And to some chick who went to public school? How humiliating.”
“Why don’t you let me worry about my dad?” Tristan says, his voice like dark poison. It makes my skin tingle, and my brain goes to places I’d really rather it didn’t. Tristan’s hands wrapped around that Kiara girl’s hips, his cock thrusting between her legs. Shaking my head, I throw the image off, putting my palm flat against the stone wall in the alcove. “You have more important things to think about: like how I’m going to win Harper for sophomore year. After all, she’s practically begged an engagement ring off of me.”
“Well, I guess your family needs the money, huh?” Creed replies, his blond hair fluttering in the wind. His smile is wicked. “We’ll see how the week goes though, won’t we? Don’t count your bitches before they hatch.”
“Clever,” Zayd whistles, and then he throws his head back with laughter.
The door to the amphitheater opens behind me, and one of the janitors—I think his name is Mark—steps out with a push broom. All three guys swing their gazes his way, locking onto me.
Shit.
Well, now that I’ve been spotted, I can’t just stand here, and turning around to go back inside feels like running, so … I make myself start off down the path, veering off at the last second to stand between Tristan and Zayd.
They just stare at me while Zayd smokes, Creed lounges, and Tristan’s eyes narrow.
“Nice car,” I say, exhaling sharply and tucking my hands into my pockets. For the life of me, I can’t figure out why I walked over here. I must be crazy. It’s like there’s this string inside of me, tugging me toward these crazy assholes.
“Why don’t you climb in?” Tristan asks, managing to keep his usual hatred and disdain from his voice. He towers over me, wearing a black wool coat, black button-up, and slacks. He looks thirty, not fifteen. But in a good way, mature, mysterious. His raven-dark hair swirls in the wind, and he brushes it back. “It’s the nicest car you’ll ever sit in. May as well take advantage.”
