Harvard Academy Elite Read online

  Sam may consider this whole situation the boys have thrust in my direction is a good thing, but I’m not so sure. Any additional attention pointed toward me, and the girls around here will really despise me. The worst of all with them is that I still have no idea why or what in the hell I did to anyone. I damn sure did not ask for Tristan to put a ginormous ring on my finger. Yet, it happened, and I’ve caught all of the blame for it. The engagement is the only reason I can come up with behind all their maliciousness.

  Sliding into my seat, I make it right in time for the bell to ring. A sigh of relief escapes as I place my belongings on the desk, reassured that I get to zone out for over an hour’s time.

  “Excuse me, everyone.” Mr. Hastings stands in the center of the class, calling our attention to his upcoming directions.

  The room is set up so that we sit in one large circle. There aren’t many of us in each period due to the size limitations of the seating arrangement. Inside the circle of our desks is usually a small, round table covered in a solid black tablecloth and whatever item we’re currently working on whether it’s drawing, painting, or sculpting, so we can see it from every angle. Today, the table is missing, and in its place are three large squares covered in plain white sheets. Everyone quiets immediately, waiting for him to let us in on our next assignment.

  “If you remember back to the first week you were in here, you took a packet home discussing our assignments. Your parents had to sign a permission slip that you then returned to me.”

  Murmurs fill the room with everyone either agreeing or shrugging their shoulders. I remember now that he’s mentioned it, but otherwise, I’d forgotten all about my mom signing that paper. I never read it; I figured it was just some sort of generic form with the grading requirements or something. Professors have always sent home similar forms in the past, so I don’t pay much attention to them aside from getting them signed.

  “Today, you will all understand why it was required, as we begin our sketches of the human body. Now, I must insist you act in a mature manor from here on out. Although I’m confident there won’t be any issues. I’m passing a basket around the room. Your cellular devices and tablets must be placed in the basket to sit on my desk. This is nonnegotiable, so don’t bother arguing about it.” There are a few groans in response, but we follow directions.

  Rolling my eyes, I drop my cell in as I pass the basket to my left. It’s not like we ever have free time to use them in here anyhow, so the groans are a waste of their breath. Art is literally the entire period, and it requires us to be creative in some aspect. Mr. Hastings likes us to keep everything we’re working on until the last possible moment, as he says there is always something to improve on no matter what we may believe.

  “It’ll behoove you to refrain from immature or lewd comments,” he continues. “Anyone not heeding that strong suggestion will be written up immediately and sent to the office, if necessary. This happens to be my most talented art pupil, whom has been gracious enough to volunteer his time to be our muse. Be thankful, as I almost asked my seventy-year-old mother in here instead.”

  Snickers overtake the quiet room at his mom comment. Stark silence quickly follows as our human model strides out of Mr. Hastings attached office. He’s in a Sherpa robe, which he promptly drops as he steps into the center of the room, stopping next to the art instructor. Our model is stark naked, save for a small, thin piece of black material covering his front that’s been pinned in place. Leaning back, his muscular buttocks sit against one of the oversized blocks as he finds his comfortable pose. His head lifts and his playful, smoky orbs fall on me as I’m sitting directly in front of him. My cheeks heat, as my entire body fills with desire. Sweat dots my brow, and suddenly, I’m feeling a bit feverish.

  He’s only clad in the black piece of material and obsidian rimmed glasses...and holy shit, Axel is by far the sexiest boy I’ve ever seen.

  After staring at Axel’s flawless, bare form yesterday for an entire class period, I made myself scarce. I didn’t study with him per our usual routine after school either. I couldn’t get him and his nakedness out of my head, nor deny the overwhelming feelings of wanting to run my hands all over that smooth flesh he had on display. I knew if I showed up to study and we were there alone, I’d make a complete fool of myself. Bad enough that he’s kissed me in the past; it’s been weighing heavily on me. Now add in me seeing him nearly naked in art class, and it has my hormones running rampant.

  I’m strung so tightly; I woke up panting from a far too revealing dream. I’d dreamed that instead of Axel walking out alone in art class that all four of them had been there. They were standing in front of my desk, each only wearing the tiny scrap of fabric. I was devastated waking up to find that I’d imagined the whole thing and they weren’t really there on display. I shouldn’t think that way of the four of them, and even though I try not to, I can’t seem to help myself. I’m drawn to each of them in their own unique way. I don’t only think of Tristan like I’m supposed to, but rather dream and crave kissing and touching them all. I have to stop this...I’m marrying Tristan!

  Sitting in my usual place at lunch the following day, I gesture to the server and ask for my usual meal. The cafeteria’s abuzz with excitement. The halls have been overly decorated in our school’s football colors along with posters wishing the individual players good luck, and the class doors are covered in wish boards. It’s basically a blank door cover that anyone coming or going can draw and write supportive messages on. Each door is decorated, and at the end of the week, the football team votes for their favorite. It’s completely overwhelming; everyone, including the staff, is focused solely on the various rapidly-approaching homecoming activities.

  I’ve also been fairly annoyed, as the academy girls have been gawking since at Tristan and Brent in their team jerseys since this morning. I overheard Brent telling Axel and Cole that the coach wants the players in their jerseys and throughout homecoming to spread school spirit before the pep rally takes place. I certainly enjoy seeing them out of their usual school clothes, but wish I was the only one to witness how well their jeans mold to their muscular frames. I swear, if I hear one more girl talk about how they want to grab their asses, I’m going to poke their damn eyes out.

  Tristan leans in, his delicious clean, woodsy scent surrounding the two of us. His minty breath hits me as he says, “I want you to be cheering before homecoming. I want you on the side of the field for my game.”

  The gulp of water I just sucked from the straw and begun to swallow spews from my mouth as I choke at his words. I start coughing as if I’m drowning from the drink, and Sam, sitting on my other side, pounds on my back. She’s a good friend.

  “Sip and swallow,” she sings and then giggles. “Or maybe it’s slurp and swallow?” She laughs more.

  Rolling my eyes, my gaze lands back on the bossy man-boy to my side. “That’s not how it works,” I argue. “The girls who cheer at homecoming are the best, their varsity squad.” And besides, that freaking game is only a week away. There’s no way in hell I could even remotely learn how to cheer in that time frame.

  He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter, you’re mine. You’ll be there to cheer for Brent and me.”

  Sam shakes with giggles as I scowl. This guy can be infuriating. I don’t take to being bossed around well either, by anyone other than my father, and I have no choice when it concerns him. I stay too busy, I guess, to allow anyone else to really have the opportunity. Not these guys, though. They’re around me most of the day, so they think it’s perfectly fine to order me about like their servant.

  Tristan continues. “I went ahead and took the liberty and spoke to Hazel on your behalf. She should be chatting with you about it all soon.” He waves it off like it’s nothing I should be concerned over like I should just go along with it all like a good little fiancée.

  My heart thumps rapidly, my fists clenching and then loosening as I exhale, trying to rein my temper in. I may have to marr
y this pain in the butt, good-looking boy-man, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to sit by and let him bulldoze over me. “Exactly Tristan, that’s a l-i-b-e-r-t-y!” I spell the word out for emphasis since he seems to speak cheerleader. “You can’t go around making decisions for me like this,” I hiss quietly so people won’t overhear and gossip even more than they already do.

  Brent glowers, and while his dark, pissy expression would easily make a full-grown man cower, I’m not afraid of him. He’s protected me before, and at this point, I can’t believe he’d hurt me, so I glare right back. It’s not like he ever tells me what he wants besides ordering me to stay out of trouble and to stick up for myself. If anything, I’m heeding his prior advice, and he should be patting me on the back for it.

  My stubborn fiancé ignores my chastising, rolling forward with the conversation. “Do you have something to wear for the homecoming dance?”

  With a shrug, I turn away and offer a smile and a thank you to the server for my plate of steaming hot chicken and rice. Eventually, I admit, “I wasn’t planning on going. Sam and I usually go to the game but skip out on the dance and everything else.”

  “Coach wants us to participate in everything school related, especially with homecoming and the festivities.”

  Axel leans in, his ashy irises sparkling with laughter behind his Clark Kent glasses. “And by default, that means you, too, sweetie.” I wouldn’t mind his teasing so much if he was back in that cloth from art class.

  My gaze bounces between the four similar faces and find matching expressions. They’re all projecting the same look that says, I’m going, and they don’t care if I argue.

  Releasing a sigh, I give in, “Okay, fine. I can manage that.”

  Sam hoots. “Hell yeah, more shopping! This is going to be so much fun.”

  “You on their side or mine, Sam?” Geez, they have her pegged already. If my best friend were in my shoes, she’d be putty in Tristan’s arms. All it’d take with her is the diamond ring and him handing over his credit card.

  Her perfectly sculpted brow lifts. “One of these boys is going to win homecoming king. You need to be around to show whichever gold digger that wins queen that the de Lacharrieres belong to you no matter the occasion or the size of crown they wear.”

  My hands fly to my temples, fingers massaging. I can’t believe she just went there, and in front of them, to boot. With a huff, I shake my head, and whisper shout, “They’re not mine, Samantha! Don’t say that sort of thing out loud; someone can overhear you.”

  A loud scrape draws my attention away from her as Brent swiftly gets to his feet. His piercing regard silently demands so many things that I can’t quite figure out. With a huff, he snarls an intense, “Bullshit!” Then he’s storming off, leaving me at a loss for words and the rest of the table stunned in silence.

  H

  omecoming week came and went, and surprisingly, I had more fun than I’d had in the past years. However, the quads were crazy to think I’d be a cheerleader in a week, even if it was just to show off for them. No way was I putting myself through that much pressure to learn routines and the choreographed halftime dance. We did find a way to compromise, though, after I threatened them that I’d pretend to be sick the entire week and not participate in anything. Sam brought up the idea of me wearing Tristan and Brent’s jersey numbers, so I ended up having a special football jersey made in our team’s colors. I wore Tristan’s number on the back to face the crowd and Brent’s number on the front, paired with a cute, short white skirt. I wore spandex underneath of course, not that I was jumping around or anything, but Brent and Cole went all caveman about me only having panties on underneath.

  Hazel ended up helping me figure out a way to be a part of everything without coming off as a hot mess. She showed me how to use the megaphone to help chant cheers and pump everyone up in the stands, not that they actually needed any extra encouragement. The parents and students were yelling loudly, excited to see the team play and secure the academy another win. Of course, I dragged Sam into it with me. There was no way I was putting myself out there without her beside me. She wore Brandon’s number on her jersey to stick with the ”jersey cheer supporter theme,” which made him happy to have his own personal cheer-supporter too.

  Surprisingly, Hazel and the cheer squad were super sweet about the whole situation and brought up that they should’ve thought of the idea long ago. I couldn’t believe they embraced the idea, along with Sam and me right away. They don’t even act jealous when it comes to the guys and me, and it was a breath of fresh air. So now we’re officially part of their group, but only in our jerseys and megaphones for the rest of the season.

  Apparently, I’ve seen far too many mean girl movies because I was seriously expecting some vicious hazing from the squad and that hasn’t been the case at all. If anything, they’ve become friends to Sam and me. I’ve always known who the cheerleaders are, but now they talk to me often. They even say hi in the hallways and wave if they see me farther away. Having backup in the locker room for PE. has helped with keeping the bitchy girls off my case as well. Once Devon caught wind of me being friends with the most popular girls in school, she backed off. Altogether it was a win, and I feel a bit judgmental and snobbish for writing the squad off so quickly in the past.

  My days seem to get busier and busier. They’re full of homework and tests and time slips by quickly. November’s gone in a blink, along with my willpower where the quads are concerned. I thought I could rebuke them without a thought at the beginning of the year, but I’ve become more attached to having them in my life. Learning their individual personalities and their many differences, I find myself emotionally invested in each of them.

  Maybe marrying into the family won’t be so bad after all.

  The only issue I find myself fighting with daily is that I still like all four of them. Not in the friendly, big brother way either. They’ve kissed me in random spots, and I’m growing addicted to their affections. Well, all except for Brent. He’s held back from kissing me, even though it’s nearly happened dozens of times. I’m to the point that I wish he’d give in. The intensity between us has me on edge. I shouldn’t desire him like that when I’m set to marry Tristan. It’s his ring I wear on my finger.

  It’s hard to think like that, however, when they’re constantly making comments about me belonging to all of them. Does that mean what I think it does? That they can each kiss me, touch me, and be with me whenever they wish? How on earth could that work when Tristan and I are married? Will it all suddenly come to a stop? They may be able to pull that off, but I’m certainly not able too. I don’t only like them romantically, though; they’re my friends now as well, which makes it especially confusing.

  “Father decided it’s time we host an engagement party,” Tristan mentions randomly once we’ve come back from Thanksgiving break. We’re not like average schools that only get two or three days off; we get an entire week plus both weekends off for Thanksgiving. Most of our families travel and go on vacation or else have people visiting. We spent the holiday eating with Tristan and his family, of course. Their chef prepared a full classic holiday spread, and I swear it was the best Thanksgiving food I’ve ever tasted. Later that evening, Cole and Axel both took turns smearing my throat with pumpkin pie and whipped cream and licking it off. It’ll defiantly be a holiday that I never forget.

  Screwing up my nose toward Tristan, I huff out a short laugh, “Why? We’ve been engaged for months now, and everyone already knows. There were photographers taking photos the very moment you dropped to your knees and slid the ring on my finger. I think a party and announcement is a bit of a moot point by now, don’t you?”

  I still believe the engagement and photo op was all premeditated and his father had arranged them there knowing it would make the front page in most gossip magazines even without a single source to verbally confirm the news for them. It doesn’t matter anymore, though. It’s been a while now since Tristan’s p
roposal, and I’ve learned firsthand that they were serious about the outcome. The diamond he slid on my finger is not a fake and still shines beautifully on my ring finger.

  His brow smooths as he looks me over. I’ve noticed it happens whenever someone questions him, or he becomes irritated. Tristan doesn’t show many of his emotions toward anyone else when he becomes pissed off, but I’ve been able to pick up a few tells when it comes to his brothers and me.

  “It’s proper, Kresley. You don’t get engaged and not host a party to formally announce it.”

  “Oh the scandal,” I mutter, my hand coming to my mouth in mock outrage and roll my eyes. He may have been raised to know these things and follow high society guidelines, but I wasn’t. We’re rich, but we’ve never been that wealthy to need to know these specific rules of etiquette.

  He stops abruptly, his grip on my hand tightening as he spins me in, tucking me close to him. “It is when it comes to my family. You’re one of us now, or you will be soon enough; you have to think of these things. No more living in the clouds, my beautiful fiancée. It may seem dumb to you, but this is important to my father and grandfather.”

  “No kidding.” I sigh.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he questions, his free hand moving to pinch my chin and hold my face to his.

  “It’s different and overwhelming. I don’t like being something I’m not.” I have a habit of looking away and rolling my eyes when it comes to Tristan and his demands, but I need to open up to him more instead of just closing off. Things have gotten better between us. I’ve had time to get used to our engagement and his bulldozing nature, but I still haven’t learned to completely bite my tongue around him. Turning away to roll my eyes avoids us arguing, but he’s been starting to catch on and call me out. I have to broach subjects carefully and figure out how to prevent it from turning into an argument of push and pull.