“Right foot on red,” I tell him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet. I show him what to do, and then grab the spinner. In a normal game, there’d be a referee to spin for us and call out the moves, but I’m always willing to improvise. “Right hand yellow.”

I squat and put my hand on one of the colored dots, and Tristan rolls his eyes.

“This is a stupid game. How do you even win?”

“First person to fall over or fail to complete their move is the loser,” I say with a sniff. “When neither of us is able to spin, we’ll take turns calling out a color or a body part for each other’s move.” I hand him the spinner and he gets left hand blue, very purposely leaning over me to place his palm on a spot.

We keep going until we’re both tangled up, and neither of us can touch the damn spinner.

“Red,” he says, and I lick my lips, looking around strategically.

“Right hand,” I add, and Tristan struggles to make it work. We look like we’re doing advanced yoga this point. “Yellow,” I say, choosing my own color.

“Breast,” he whispers, and I chuckle, almost losing my balance.

“That is not a body part,” I choke, and I can feel him quivering above me, struggling to hold his post.

“Damn right it is,” he growls, and I shrug. Because it’s easier to just lean down and touch my boob to the map, I do it. “Dick.”

“That’s your body part choice?” I ask, and he grunts. “Fine … uh, green.”

Tristan adjusts himself, putting his crotch on the mat, so that we’re pretty much face to face. He looks at me, and I just start laughing. It’s so bad that I actually fall, and end up in a heap on the floor. Tristan sits down beside me, panting and sweating, and then takes off his shirt, tossing it aside.

“You lose the bet,” he says, but he doesn’t sound all that happy about winning. “Want to play again? All or nothing?” I nod and push up, finding his gaze on me. He reaches out with his fingers, brushing them along my jaw, and I sigh.

Tristan pulls back before anything can happen, and we start all over again.

This time, we just call out body parts and colors from the very beginning.

Within minutes, we’re face to face, mouth to mouth. And the kiss we share in that moment … is the truest we’ve ever had. We move over to the bed, kissing slowly, hands roaming over one another’s bodies, but it only lasts as long as the alarm on Tristan’s phone.

When it goes off, he groans and pushes me over to lie next to him.

“William will be here any minute. You really need to get the hell out of here.”

His gaze is like ice, but his fingers feel like fire, I think as we look at each other.

I lift my hands up to hide my face, but Tristan isn’t having any of it. He pulls them down, and he gives me this private, little grin that I can’t help but return. We’re still lying there and smiling at each other like lovestruck idiots when Lizzie opens the door and walks in.

“Shit, I thought that was locked.” Tristan sits up and slides his fingers through his mussy, raven-dark hair. He looks almost … cute. That is, if Tristan Vanderbilt is even capable of cute. Sure, he’s one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen, but I’m not sure the word cute is the right adjective.

My mind is wandering, so I put the brakes on and make myself look at Lizzie’s face instead. She’s freaking shattered right now. Guilt surges through me, as uncomfortable as a punch to the gut. This isn’t what I wanted to happen. She probably thinks we were having sex. But no. All we did was play Twister and then make out.

Although, putting it that way, it sounds almost as bad.

“The guests are arriving.” Lizzie stares at us, and I can’t help but feel empathy for her. What if I’d walked in on this situation? I would be beyond upset. My empathy flares to life, and my stomach churns. “William is furious; he’s looking for you.”

“Of course he’s furious.” Tristan scowls, and slides his hand over his sweaty face. “I’m not just a bastard anymore; I’m an embarrassment.”

Lizzie pulls the door closed and then leans her back against it, locking eyes with Tristan.

Even though I have four other boyfriends downstairs, even though sometime in the future I’ll have to choose, I don’t want to lose Tristan now.

“What?” he asks her, his body stuff, muscles taut with stress.

Lizzie closes her eyes, and then carefully twists off her engagement ring. She opens them again and her irises are painted with the brilliant colors of emotion: love, and want, and desperate need.

“I don’t know what’ll happen if I tell my parents no,” Lizzie says, staring down at the ring. “I think they love me enough to get over it, but … I can’t do it. I can’t marry Marcel.”

Rising to my feet, I slide my palms down the front of my cream-colored dress to get out the wrinkles. No point though. Lizzie isn’t looking at me; the only person in this house that exists for her right now, the only person that matters, is Tristan. Amber eyes bright with determination, Lizzie takes a small step forward.

“Why are you telling me this?” Tristan asks, standing up and grabbing his shirt. He puts it on and then looks at her with an expression that’s equal parts frustration and confusion. “My dad’s on the warpath. He doesn’t like you, and he doesn’t like Marnye, and he doesn’t want the entire board of directors for the Infinity Club waltzing into our house to pass judgment.”

“I don’t care about the Infinity Club right now,” Lizzie blurts, and my heart begins to thunder in my chest, echoing the throbbing pulse point I can see beating in her throat. She moves toward Tristan again, but he doesn’t return the favor. “All I care about is you, Tristan. I love you.”

There’s nothing but pure, unadulterated truth in her words. It’s no surprise to me though: I’ve expected as much since I first laid eyes on her.

The logical thing to do would be to let Tristan go, push him and Lizzie together, and focus on the four other guys that are waiting downstairs for me. The thing is, the heart doesn’t use logic to make its decision. Even now, I’m dreading that future moment where I’ll have to pick a boy, where I’ll have to choose.

If Lizzie and Tristan are meant to be together, it’ll happen. I won’t do anything for or against it.

I bite my lower lip.

Lizzie’s a good friend, but Tristan … he makes my blood sing.

“I—” They both look at me as that one, single word escapes my lips. The thing is, once I stop talking, I can’t figure out what I was meant to say in the first place.

Fortunately, Windsor is there to save my ass yet again. He waltzes in the door, the very picture of nonchalance, all dressed up nice and neat in his third year uniform. It’s obvious he couldn’t care less about the upcoming Infinity Club meeting.

“William Vanderbilt’s a clever man, isn’t he?” he says, giving me a small, little smile.

“How so?” Tristan asks, sighing, and ignoring Lizzie’s entire confession. “What has he done now?”

“He’s found someone to pay his Infinity Club dues.” Windsor watches Tristan’s face as he clenches his jaw. “Not yours though. Just his. He’s already started the rumor that he’s disowning you.”

Tristan pretends not to care, but there’s the slightest hint of his eyes widening.

“I see.” He keeps his voice calm, but there’s obvious pain resting behind his words. All I want to do is comfort him, but Lizzie beats me to it, reaching out for him. Tristan pulls away, and her face flashes with hurt.

“I’ve paid it for you,” Windsor tells him, and this time, I think we’re all surprised. Tristan stares at the prince with wide, gray eyes, but Wind simply tucks his hands into his pockets and grins. “Whatever my princess wants, she gets. And she doesn’t want you homeless and kicked out of Burberry Prep.” Windsor steps forward and smooths some wrinkles from Tristan’s shirt with his palms. “He pulled your tuition, too. But you already knew that, right?”

I gape at that news, glancing over at Tristan. He, on the other hand, doesn’t seem surprised by that at all.

“You knew you weren’t coming back to Burberry next year, didn’t you?” I ask, but Tristan simply stares at Windsor, waiting for more. With the prince, there’s always more.

“I’ve paid that, too. So … I guess Marnye isn’t the only charity case at the academy, now is she?” Wind grins, and there’s a terrifying edge to it, like he’s enjoying this moment for all the wrong reasons. Still, he did it for me. I won’t forget that. “You can thank me later. For now, we have a Club meeting to attend.”

Without a word, Tristan turns and leaves the room, slamming the bathroom door behind him.

“You, milady, will have to go. Miranda’s waiting outside for you. No non-Club members allowed.” Windsor steps forward and brushes some red hair off his forehead. His hazel eyes shimmer with mischief as he reaches up to tangle his fingers in my rose-gold locks.