“Didn't you say you were going to fight Spencer over Charlotte? Now's the time, bro.” Micah dances out of his brother's way when Tobias whips a green glare his direction.
“Oh, really?” Spencer asks, leaning back against the wall in that cocky way of his, quirking one dark brow up and ruffling his silver hair. “You want to fight me, Tobias?”
“Not really,” Tobias replies, crossing his own arms over his chest. “I mean, shouldn't whatever happens be Charlotte's decision anyway? Are you guys really dating? Seems like it’s just a sex thing.”
“Oh my god,” I groan, putting my hands over my face.
“It isn't just sex, you condom-faced ass pig,” Spencer growls, cocking a small smirk at the end to show he's only half serious. “We have a thing.”
“I'd argue,” Tobias continues, tucking his hands into his pockets and giving Spencer a long, studying look. “That we had a thing, too. You know, I let her stay in Amber's room.”
Spencer's eyes go wide and he glances from me to Tobias, and then over to Micah.
“And what about you?” he challenges as I try to figure out how to dig a hole and crawl into it. “You want to fight me, too?”
Micah just throws this cocksure little smile out, and Ranger grumbles low under his breath, clearly just done with the whole situation.
“You know Tobias and I share everything,” he says, swinging a dark gaze my direction. The way he drinks me in, from heels to hair, I can feel it, a certain tension in the air between us that was there that night on the hood of his car, this burning need that makes me squirm.
“Since Amber, you mean,” Spencer corrects, and both twins give him withering looks that he meets dead-on.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Ranger snarls, stepping between the three of them. “We've got murderers, sacrificial animals, and a cross-country move to deal with, and you guys are fighting over Charlotte like bucks in heat? Jesus Christ, grow up.”
“You know,” I say, coming down the rest of the stairs and pausing in front of them. “This is exactly why I didn't want to be the only girl at an all-boys school.”
“If you think we like you because you're the only girl,” the twins start, pulling off a fairly long and complicated sentence with surprising precision, “then you're sorely mistaken.”
“I liked you when I thought you were a boy,” Spencer asserts, his smirk fading slightly.
“And I would like to get out of here before the headmaster shows up and finds out what we're up to,” Church insists, and then we all pause at the sound of footsteps.
“Fuck.”
I scramble around the corner and head to the back door, letting myself out and closing it softly behind me. I can hear the murmur of voices from inside as I sneak around to the front and wait for the guys to come out.
“What'd you say to him?” I whisper as we meet up just outside the pool of yellow cast by the porch light.
“That we were taking you to the releasing of the paper lanterns.” Church tucks his hands into the pockets of his navy blue slacks and smiles brightly. “He didn't seem to find it hard to believe that you were so angry at him you bailed out the back door.”
“I am angry with him,” I say, glancing over the dark patch of the woods to where dozens of paper lanterns are floating into the night sky. Damn. A lot of people really did care about Eugene Mathers, huh? I feel like a total asshole. “Is it wrong for us to go to a party when everyone else is, you know, in mourning …”
“We spent a whole week in mourning. I've spent most of my life in mourning. Let's go.” Ranger leads us down the road to where a car's waiting at the edge of academy property.
It's another limo, and my brows go up, but I don't argue.
When the guys told me we were going to 'the city' for a college party, I sort of assumed like Bridgeport or something (it's the only city in Connecticut that I'm even aware of). But instead, the limo takes us an hour and a half away, right into the heart of New York City.
“Holy shit,” I blurt when our ride stops at the curb in front of a massive skyscraper. Right away, I can tell it's a fancy ass sort of place, with a doorman and a lobby with marble floors and velvet chaise lounges. Yep, Toto, we're definitely not in Nutmeg anymore.
“Mr. Montague,” the doorman greets as he lets us in, and my brows go up.
“You come here often?” I ask, and Church loosely shrugs a single shoulder, still dressed in his Adamson uniform. None of the guys seemed to care if they changed or not. Hell, maybe it's a status symbol sort of thing? They all have little black rose enamel pins on their breast pockets, right next to the Adamson crest. Maybe they're wearing their uniforms out of respect for the deceased?
