He says something else in French, and Tristan’s eyes flash with triumph, but then Windsor tucks his hands in his pockets and leans down to put his lips near my ear. When he speaks, his mouth brushes my earlobe and I shiver.
“I won’t make you choose, love, not today.” He chuckles and I shiver. “But if you really want your vengeance, slip this in his pocket when you get the chance.” I feel a slight weight in my right jacket pocket, and I blink in surprise as Windsor backs up, nods at Tristan, and winks at me. He turns on his heel and takes off in the direction of the Eiffel Tower.
What … is all this crap about? My right hand surreptitiously dives into my pocket, and I feel a small plastic wrapped item. Glancing down, I see white powder and my face blanches. Is this … what I think it is?! Windsor’s just put cocaine in my pocket.
Oh my god.
Tristan relaxes slightly, and looks askance at me. Whatever he was going to say earlier, it’s gone, wiped clean from his face. He looks as cold and immovable as ever. His hand drops from my wrist and he takes a small step back. We exchange a long look, and my stomach flips over with nervousness.
He made me think I cared about him.
I won’t be lied to again.
But … I need him to go to the graduation gala with me. Since he’s engaged to Harper, he’s a much harder target than Zayd and Creed.
“Where to now?” I ask, and he glances away, toward the park on our left, tucking his hands into the pockets of his slacks. As soon as I’ve got a moment, I dump the baggy into a trash can. Hang them with their own rope. So far as I know, Tristan doesn’t use cocaine. I’m not going to do this to him. I broke my rules once to punch Harper; I won’t do it again.
“Back to the hotel. We have to leave for the airport early in the morning.” He glances briefly in my direction again. “You know, my father owns a vineyard in Reims, and my family makes champagne. One day, I’ll take you there.” And then he turns and walks off, leaving me feeling both confused and elated.
This bet may very well be the death of me.The rest of my spring break is spent decorating my new room, luxuriating in the bath (we never had a bath at the Train Car), and exploring the fancy Grenadine Heights neighborhood that our new rental just barely borders. But, technically, we are in the boundaries of Grenadine Heights; it’s pretty freaking cool.
Dad can only afford this though because he got those welding jobs from Robin’s friends at Christmas. They liked his work so much that their friends have hired him, and their friend’s friends. I just hope the jobs don’t run out one day and we end up back at the Train Car. Technically, we own that free and clear, and rent the plot for some nominal amount. For now, it still belongs to the Reed family.
I’m so irritated with Windsor that I ignore his texts for three days before I respond.
The cocaine thing was over the top, I tell him, and he sends back an emoji shrugging its shoulders. When I don’t find that particularly funny, he writes to me again.
You’re right. This is your game, not mine. I’m not used to that.
He waits a few minutes as I sit naked in the bath and stare at my phone, and then he starts typing again. I’ll probably end up dropping my phone in the water at one point, and then we’ll truly find out if it’s waterproof or not. My skin is all wrinkly, and prune-y but I’m not ready to get out yet.
What I’m trying to say, milady, is that I’m sorry.
I read Wind’s next text with a sigh and then message him back: You’re forgiven. Just don’t do it again.
I’m about to set my phone aside when another text comes in, but this time, it’s not from Windsor. No, this time it’s from Zayd.
Spring break on tour with Dad blows. XXX
Butterflies take over my stomach, and I have to resist the urge to squeal. No way. I’m not actually that excited, it’s just … the bet and everything. Now that the last days of March are wasting away, I’ve realized that I only really have April and May to get the guys to fall in love with me.
Two months is not a lot of time, and June hardly counts since our last day—and the day of the graduation gala—is the fourteenth.
Nothing happening here either. Any cute groupies at the concerts?
I have no idea why I asked that, and I cringe right after hitting send. Zayd starts typing and I get back several laughing emojis that remind me of his howling laughter.
