Stuck With The Four Hotties

“We’ll start with a warm-up round,” Tristan begins, and I have to hold back a smile. They think they’re going to smoke me here. I’m happy to prove them wrong. Zayd lights up a cigarette and Creed wrinkles his nose, but I’m used to it. Everyone in the Cruz Bay Mobile Home Village smokes, including my own dad. “Buy in is ten grand; I’ll cover for the charity case. You shouldn’t have any problem with that, right, Working Girl, taking other peoples’ money?” He stares at me with zero emotion in his eyes, and I shrug. “I can’t afford a ten thousand dollar buy in, so if you want me to play with you, then yeah, I accept.” I stare him down, but he just smirks at me. He probably thinks he’ll win it all back anyway. On the inside, my heart is pounding and I’m having trouble not thinking about how much ten thousand dollars could help my dad. He could fix the moldy walls in our bathroom, buy a truck that actually starts up on a reliable basis, maybe even take a

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“Figures.” Tristan leans back in his chair and looks between the three of us. “You ready?”

“I was born ready,” Zayd says, flashing a bright grin, and then the round starts. I’m sitting on Creed’s left, so I start with a small blind, trying to see the chips as just chips and not actual dollars. If I do, I’ll get distracted.

Everyone knows what they’re doing so the rounds move quickly. Zayd is so outgoing and expressive that I pick up his tells within minutes. If he’s confident in his cards, he reaches up to play with his hair. If he’s not, he scratches at his tattooed chest with inked fingers. He’s the first to fold.

“Man, fuck this game,” he groans, putting his hands over his face as I smile. Creed is as unreadable as ever, but he’s cautious, and eventually, he folds too.

Tristan is the one to beat. He bets high every time, and when it comes time to show our cards, I’ve got a royal flush, and he has a straight.

He scowls at me as I collect the pile of chips, and find it impossible to hold back the smirk on my face.

“Did we just get wiped by the Working Girl?” Zayd asks, blinking wide, green eyes in my direction. “Holy shit.”

“Where the fuck did you learn to play?” Tristan snaps, as Creed studies me with his bored, too-rich-to-care look.

“I grew up in the Lower Banks neighborhood,” I explain, my hands shaking as I stack the chips. Did I just win forty-grand? Impossible. Literally impossible. I fully don’t expect the guys to actually pay up. Why should they? What could I possibly do, complain to the staff that we used the student lodge during break to play illegal rounds of poker, and I didn’t get my payout? “You think you’re good at poker? I know kids who could wipe the floor with all of us.”

Tristan’s mouth tightens, but it doesn’t stop him from passing me the dealer button and demanding we start a new round.

“Text us your account information, and we’ll wire the money,” he says, the anger fading from his face and voice. Back to being stone-cold again.

“I don’t have a bank account,” I say, and all three boys turn to look at me.

Zayd cocks a disbelieving brow, and Tristan sighs.

“Of Fourse you don’t,” he says, as I stare skeptically back at him. No way are they really going to wire me any money. No freaking way. “I’ll have my dad’s assistant set one up for you.”

“You don’t have to pretend,” I tell him as I shuffle the cards. “I don’t expect you guys to actually pay me.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” Creed drawls, putting his curled fingers up against the side of his cheek. “Those are the rules of the Infinity Club: you make a bet, you pay out.”

“You’re going to give me forty thousand dollars?” I choke out with a scoff. Well, technically half of my winnings belong to Tristan for loaning me the buy-in, but that’s a moot point if money never exchanges hands.

“No, you won forty thousand dollars, fair and square,” Creed says, dropping his hand into his lap. His blue eyes are so intense, I want to look away, but I feel like I’m losing something if I do. We end up just staring at each other. “Besides, my mother wipes her ass with that amount of money. It’s not exactly going to break our banks.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket and frowns at a text message.

I’m too caught up on the idea of having that much money to even notice. My dad could use the money to put down on a house. Or, selfishly, I think about keeping it for college. How amazing would that be? I’d always assumed scholarships and loans would be there to help me make ends meet, but this money could really be life-changing.

“Excuse me,” Creed says, standing up and giving Zayd a look.

Tristan watches with narrowed eyes as Zayd follows after, heading down the stairs. A few seconds later, and there’s the sound of a car coming up the driveway.

“Guess we’re taking a break?” I start, but Tristan isn’t looking at me, or even listening. Instead, he’s staring out the window like he’s seen a ghost, his face going white, hands curling into fists. He shoves up from his chair, nearly knocking it over in the process, and makes his way downstairs.

“What’s going on?” I ask as Zack moves over to look out the window.

Whatever he sees there makes his face tighten up. “Zack?”

“Tristan’s ex is here.” He glances back at me, his mouth turned down in a sharp frown. “Lizzie Walton.”

“You know her?” I ask, and Zack shrugs his massive shoulders.

“We’re going to Coventry Prep together.” My brows go up. I’d just sort of assumed Zack would be moving onto LBH.

“You got into Coventry?” I ask, and he shrugs again, moving away from the window and heading downstairs. Since I don’t know anybody else here, I end up tagging along yet again. What I come down to is a tense, uncomfortable scene. Nothing’s being said, but there’s a palpable tension in the air.

Tristan is staring at Lizzie, eyes narrowed, while she stands next to some tall guy with light brown hair and eyes to match. He’s got a cocky swagger that immediately puts me on edge. Unsurprising since every other cocky guy here is a nightmare to deal with.

“Lizzie,” Tristan says, and she smiles. She’s got a soft, sweet smile, too. For some reason, I get this jittery feeling in my stomach, and clamp a hand over my belly. Zack notices and raises his brows, but I’m not really sure what’s bothering me, so I drop my hand to my side.

“Tristan,” Lizzie replies, her amber eyes crinkling. She separates from the tall guy with the brown hair, and I notice his eyes following her across the room. To my chagrin, she makes her way right to me. “You’re not a member of the Infinity Club, are you?” she asks, but not like it’s a bad thing, more like she’s hopeful. Infinity Club. What the hell is it anyway?