“You want to be a cowboy, baby?” he drawls, laughing and tugging at his lip ring for a moment.
“I want to fuck a cowgirl, that’s what,” Creed amends, as I look between the two of them with scrunched brows.
“It’s a deal, but if I win, you lay off Becky Platter for the rest of the year. She’s mine.” Creed shrugs, and then holds out a hand. Both boys shake, and then I hear Zayd mumble idiot under his breath.
“Could someone please tell me what’s going on?” I ask as Zayd throws an arm over my shoulder and turns me around to head inside. Even though I’m not particularly thrilled about him touching me, he seems to do it to everyone, so I let it go. “Are we even allowed in here?”
“Allowed, that’s an interesting word.” Zayd pulls me into the cool darkness of the lodge, and I can see that someone’s already started a fire. To be fair, it’s pretty chilly out here, and it’ll take the heater a while to get to all the rooms. This place is massive. “I wouldn’t worry so much about that, Charity.”
“My name is fucking Marnye,” I grind out, but I know it’s useless. Doesn’t mean I have to accept them calling me that, though it’s preferable to Working Girl. “Who are all these people?”
“Friends.” Zayd winks at a dark-haired girl who’s glaring at me from the direction of the sliding doors. Her eyes track our movements as Zayd leads me into the kitchen, and finally drops his arm, unpacking a couple bottles of alcohol from one of the paper bags on the counter. “From other schools.” He unscrews the top on a bottle of rum, tips it to his lips, and then offers it over to me. I raise an eyebrow and politely decline. “Suit yourself,” he grumbles, shrugging his shoulders and then grinning as a pair of guys in letterman jackets appear and start handing out high fives and some of those awkward man hugs where they slap each other in the back.
“Marnye.” It’s Zack again. I don’t even have to turn around to know who’s talking to me. His voice is far too distinct, cutting through the murmur of the other students. When I spin to look at him, he’s shed his jacket, showing off the thick, hard muscles in his arms, the wide breadth of his shoulders. Those brown eyes of his snag mine, and my heart shudders in my chest. “Are you staying the night?”
“We’re not sleeping here,” Tristan scoffs, coming out of the back hallway, his silver eyes focused on Zack’s face. He’s rolled his sleeves to the elbow, and as I watch, he untucks his shirt, flashing a bit of the skin above his waistband. I catch the briefest glimpse of a tattoo there, but then he covers it up and I’m left wondering if I imagined it. “We’ll go back to the main campus.” The smile he gives Zack reminds me of a black widow spider, calculating and self-serving. There’s no room for emotion in that expression. “Why? Were you hoping to get Charity to stay in your room?”
Zack doesn’t say anything, but his eyes move from Tristan to me, like he thinks there’s something going on between us. Nothing could be further from the truth. Honestly, just the idea makes my stomach hurt. Tristan is, well, for lack of a better word, he’s mean.
“I’m confused,” I start as Tristan looks me over and smirks. “What festivities? Isn’t this just a party?”
“You brought her here, and she doesn’t even know what’s going on?” Zack snaps, his voice angry and thick with emotion. “What the hell, Vanderbilt?”
“We were getting to that, Brooks,” Tristan snaps back, his voice like whiplash, striking through the room like lightning. He could probably command armies, this guy. Considering his penchant for cruelty, that scares me. I rub my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans. There’s clearly a lot going on here that I’m not understanding, and I get the feeling I won’t understand it until one of these cryptic assholes sits down and explains it to me.
That’s not likely to happen either, I gather.
“Bet she hates you by the end of the week,” Tristan purrs, smiling like the cat who’s licked—and maybe also fucked—the cream. “Once she finds out what you did, that girl you killed …”
“Jesus Christ, man,” Zack snarls, and I raise my eyebrows. Even in the years he picked on me, he was never angry, just cold and matter-of-fact. Seeing him get angry is pretty terrifying. And … wait, what did Tristan just say?
“You killed somebody?” I choke, and Zack shakes his head, running his fingers through his chocolate hair. He looks like he’s about to kill Tristan, that’s for sure.
“It’s not like that,” Zack continues as Tristan makes himself a rum and coke, and then heads outside, leaving more questions than answers in his wake. I stare at Zack for a moment, waiting for him to explain further, but instead, he just turns and walks away, slamming the door to one of the bedrooms.
