Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(88)

I glance back at Creed as he comes to stand beside me, his eyes taking in the crowded room and the eagerly glinting eyes of the Bluebloods and Plebs alike.

“Marnye?” he drawls, his devil-may-care voice sending chills down my spine.

Harper decides to take over, coming to stand so close to me that the fabric of our dresses mingles together.

“So, Marnye, which one of these men is your date for tonight?” I glance between the three guys, and then I look her dead in the eye.

“All three of them,” I say, as Tristan turns to look at us, narrowing his eyes before he glances at Creed, and then Zayd. That’s when I notice Zayd’s bag sitting near the door … and the stupid trophy from last year resting against it. Moving over to pick it up, I turn to face a suddenly silent room.

“Well?” Harper asks, looking at Tristan quite pointedly. She reaches up with her engagement ring and wiggles her hand around for everyone to see. “Tristan? Is that true? Are you this girl’s date? I mean, she bet you would be. All three of you. She bet she could make you fall in love with her. So tell me: did she succeed?”

Clutching the trophy, I feel my heart race as the Idol boys exchange looks. There are no fancy videos or cans of paint or panties to throw, but at least I got them here. At least I did it. That is, if they choose to tell the truth. One lie from one boy could sink me right now.

“It’s true,” Zayd says, nostrils flaring. He stands up from his spot on the chair and addresses the room. “I’m here as her date.”

“So am I,” Creed drawls, watching me clutch that trophy with a certain sort of acceptance in his blue eyes. Miranda makes a squeaking sound, drawing her brother’s attention. They share one of those silent twin looks, and I exhale sharply.

I figured … the Idols would be pissed off.

Zayd and Creed, at least, don’t seem to be at all.

“I’m done hurting her,” Zayd says, his voice so loud it echoes through the cavernous room. Becky is gaping at him, but he doesn’t seem to give a shit. “Sorry, but I quit the game. I won’t do it anymore. Let Marnye have the trophy and leave her the fuck alone.”

Harper’s jaw clenches as she turns to Tristan.

“I’m your fiancée,” she says carefully, stepping close to him and taking hold of the lapels of his wool coat. “And I’ve got William on speed dial. So tell me, Tristan, are you here with me tonight … or with her?” The leader of the Bluebloods looks from Harper to me, his gray eyes burning.

“You know I’ve never been a faithful boyfriend,” Tristan muses absently, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Not to anyone but Lizzie.” He looks past Harper and straight at me. “I’m here with Marnye, too. So whatever stupid shit you bet her, give it up. You’ve lost.”

A slow easy smile works its way across Creed’s face as he steps up beside me and Andrew scrambles desperately to get out of his way. Miranda is still gaping, and Zack is still frowning. Me, I’m just hugging the trophy and trying to figure out if this is a dream. It’s working out well, almost too well. The only thing is … the Idol boys don’t seem to care that I’m trying to exact revenge on them. It’s like it doesn’t even matter to them at all. Or … maybe it does matter, but in a different way than I’d expected?

“You’re joking?” Harper scoffs as she glances back at Becky and Ileana before turning to me. “What the fuck did you do? Do you have a magic freaking vagina or something?” The crowd murmurs, and I frown.

“If I had sex with them or not is irrelevant,” I snap, clinging to the trophy and feeling like I’ve just aged ten years in five minutes. “They’re here, with me, and that’s that. You have to take care of my dad at your family’s medical center. And sorry, I won’t be groveling at your feet, so you can film it and post in on YouTube.” A ripple works its way through the crowd, and I see Creed’s blue eyes widen.

“You … made a bet for your father’s cancer treatments?” he asks mildly, and I nod.

“So, you started treating the man, threatened to stop doing it, and then somehow cornered Marnye into a bet you thought you couldn’t lose?” Zayd clarifies, and he sounds pissed, his rockstar voice rumbling with a slight growl. “Jesus, Harper, you’re even more fucked up than the rest of us.”

“I didn’t corner her: she came to me,” Harper chokes, turning to Tristan. “All I was trying to do was get rid of her. It’s what we’ve been trying to do all along.”

“I think I’ll have a drink,” Tristan says mildly, ignoring his fiancée completely. “Soda for you, Marnye?”

“Please,” I whisper, and the crowd parts as Tristan turns and heads over to the drink table. They leave a clear path for him to walk back and hand the cup with its clinking ice cubes over to me.

“This is …” Harper starts, but the crowd’s already moved on. Infinity Club bets happen all the time. They saw a winner chosen, and now they’re over it. The only person who’s still obsessing is Harper du Pont. “She invited all three of you. She thinks you’re in love with her.”

“Maybe we are? Who the fuck are you to judge?” Zayd snaps, rising to his feet. He towers over Harper, and I get a small surge of pleasure as she backs up. “Marnye won, Infinity Club rules. Now move on and get over it.” He pushes her back with a finger to her shoulder, and she lets out one of her trademark screeches before turning and stomping away.