Stuck With The Four Hotties

So even Tristan’s bullying has a legacy. That does not bode well for me.

There are so many people already on the boat and the dock that I wonder if there’s going to be anything more than standing room. My palms are sweaty as I swipe them down the front of my jeans. Wearing a fancy dress to the last party didn’t do me any good, so this time I’m dressed in my own clothes. At least when I’m dressed like this, I know how to act, how to respond.

“This is not a good idea,” I groan as Andrew puts his arm through my left, and Miranda does the same on my right. They drag me through the crowd and onto the boat, locating a couch in the downstairs cabin that we can sit on. Drinks are passed around, but I don’t touch a thing. Not that I’d planned to, but this time, I don’t even pretend.NôvelDrama.Org content.

I was trying to fit in, and all it did was make me stand out. I think I’ll stick to being myself for now.

Miranda’s already on her second glass of champagne, but it looks like Andrew is willing to go total teetotaler with me. He sees me looking his way and smiles; I smile back and take a sip of my cherry Coke.

“So, are Idols supposed to date each other?” I ask as I see Harper du Pont leaning on some guy in a black t-shirt and ripped jeans that I’m damn near positive he bought pre-torn. I could recognize a pair of well-worn denim jeans anywhere, and those starched monstrosities are not it. “Because I sort of see them … all over the place.”

“Everybody knows year one is, like, the time to experiment,” Miranda says, her eyes wandering around the room and lingering on Tristan for a minute. There it is again, her strange obsession with him. They have to be dating, or at least sleeping together. Something. “But everyone also knows that Harper and Tristan will get together at the end of the year.”

“And why’s that?” I ask, as Andrew adjusts himself on the cushions and leans back. He’s still wearing his academy uniform, like several of the other guys. Most every girl in there is wearing a designer dress and heels of some sort. I think I might be the only one in jeans and sneakers.

“His family is old money, good breeding, flawless reputation.” Miranda turns her ice-blue eyes over to me. For a moment there, I’m reminded of Creed, staring at me down the length of the hallway, and I get the chills. “Harper’s grandfather is the one who brought the du Ponts into money, so relatively speaking, they’re new on the scene.” She smiles and answers the question I’m about to ask before I get a chance to voice it. “If we weren’t the richest family in this school, Creed and I would be Plebs for sure.” She

waves her hand around dismissively, sloshing champagne onto her rhinestone studded nude dress. “Harper’s family wants the prestige of the Vanderbilts, and the Vanderbilts want the du Ponts’ money. It’s just simple economics.”

“How … romantic,” I hedge as my eyes wander back to Tristan, standing in the corner with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s listening to some play-by-play from one of his friends, the edge of his lips curving up in a cocksure smile. His gray eyes turn my way, and I meet his gaze. It only lasts a second because a group of drunk girls stumbles between us, but it was enough. He knows I’m here.

“I’m going to get more champagne,” Miranda declares, rising to her feet and stumbling a bit in her heels. I get the feeling she hasn’t worn many pairs in the past. She flicks her blond hair over one shoulder, succeeding only in tangling it around her long nails, and I grin. Like I said, she’s too nice to be able to hair flip properly.

“I’ll grab some more soda, before Greg uses it all for his rum and cokes,” I mumble with a roll of my eyes. “You need anything?” Andrew shows off his nearly full cup, and I take off, weaving through the crowd and heading for the kitchenette in the back half of the room.

Creed is there, unfortunately, and his eyes narrow when he sees me.

“If it isn’t the Working Girl,” he drawls, his fingers curved around the top of his cup. He swishes the alcohol around inside as he watches me. “Come to work the party? There’s a lot of money to be made here for a girl like you.”

“Your sister brought me,” I deadpan, grabbing a handful of ice from the bucket on the counter, and pouring soda over it. “If you have a problem with that, take it up with her.”

“Miranda’s always liked having pets,” Creed says, pushing off the fridge with his shoulder and dislodging the blonde on his arm. She pouts at him and gives me a death glare, but I raise my eyebrows. I assure you, you have nothing to worry about, sweetheart. “She’s too nice, always willing to overlook other people’s flaws.”

“Being poor is a flaw?” I ask, and Creed shrugs his shoulders. He’s wearing his academy uniform, too, and in that same lazy, elegant style I recognized on day one. His entire persona is based around not caring, even though it’s obvious to me that he cares. Oh, he cares a whole hell of a lot.

“I hear Tristan brought a special gift tonight,” he continues, circling me like a predator would. I can feel it, too, the restrained violence in him. Creed

Cabot really and truly hates me. I stay where I am, sipping my soda and watching him. My first instinct is to run, but where would I go? The crowd is thick around us, the heat from so many bodies cloying. He gets close to me, so close that his breath feathers against the back of my neck, and I stiffen up. “A gift, just for you, Working Girl.”

“Are you okay?” Andrew appears on my left, pushing through the well- dressed crowd. Creed looks him up and down, gives an arrogant little s

mirk, and turns away.