The Elite Kings Club

just existing? Everything was fine until you came back,” he mutters, before shoving me out of the way and walking toward the door. He pauses with his hand on the handle and peers at me over his shoulder briefly. His dark jeans hang off his narrow hips, and the white tee he is sporting clings to him effortlessly. He mumbles something before storming out the door.
“Back?” I ask Hunter. “I’ve never been here in my life.”
He watches me, pushing off the side of the wall. “He didn’t mean back. He just meant when you got here.” He walks toward the front door, dismissing me. “I’m out. My duties are no longer needed.”
I stay there, staring at the door absently for a couple of breaths. “What in the world?” Immensely confused by everything that has shifted in my world in such a short amount of time, I walk up the stairs and into my room, pulling out my sketchbook and sitting down at my desk. Taking the remote off my table, I push Play on my sound dock. Picking up my pencil, I then press it into the corner of the blank white page and start scribbling.
Banging on my door somehow breaks through my drawing and music haze.
Thud thud thud. “Madi!”
Sliding my chair back, I glance at my alarm clock that sits on top of my bedside table. “Fuck.” It’s 5:30 p.m. I have been sketching for three hours flat without so much as a break for fresh air. Before my mom passed, I would draw like this at least three times a week, if not more, but since she died, I find it more difficult to completely let go of my surroundings and engross myself into my pencil and pad. Music has always been an outlet for me, but sketching was something personal that my mom and I used to do together.
Pulling on my bedroom door, I open it to Tatum. “I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I got a little carried away in my drawing.”
Tatum strolls past me, a paperback clutched in one hand and a pink duffel bag in the other. “I see that.” She waves her hands around my head, referring to my wayward bun that’s messily scrunched up and sitting lopsided on the side of my skull.
“Hey!” I scold her, giggling as I point to the bed. “This is nothing. You should see it in the morning.” This is true, because my hair game is atrocious in the morning. Not only is it thick and long, but it also has a natural bouncy wave to it too, coming from my mom’s Spanish background. “Relax.” I eye her suspiciously. “Where’re your pajamas?”
She looks at me with a smile, pulling out a pack of Twizzlers. “In my bag.”
I bend over, snatching candy from the pack, and walk toward my closet, taking out my cotton pajama shorts and a light tank. “I’ll take a shower. I came straight home and didn’t get a chance to clean up.”
“Oh,” Tatum clutches her chest in mock awe, “you’re getting pretty for me?”
I scoff, walking toward the en suite bathroom. “Definitely not.”
After scrubbing up in the shower, I brush my teeth quickly, just in case I fall asleep during the movie, and flick Nate’s door unlocked before slipping into my room.
I look down at the mountain of sweets around her legs. “Holy mother of f—”
“What?” she asks innocently. “Did you underestimate my sweet tooth?” I look down at the cheesecake, potato chips, M&M’s, packaged donuts, gummy bears, and soda. “I think I’m about to get diabetes.”
She tosses a handful of M&M’s into her mouth. “Possibly.”
“I’ll go down and get some spoons for that.” I flick my fingers toward the cheesecake. Leaving her unattended with the goods, I fly down the stairs and run into the kitchen, my head bobbing as I hum the tune to “Simple Man” by Lynyrd Skynyrd—it’s still stuck in my head from my sketching. With two spoons clutched in my hand safety, I fly out of the kitchen, but pause at the foot of the stairwell, backing up until I’m in clear vision of the sitting room, where all the boys are sitting around on the large L-shaped sofa.
Nate is leaning back, his hand hiding his mouth, but the smile lines around his eyes show how much he’s trying to hold back a laugh.
“What?” I snap at him, ignoring the rest of the boys. God, he annoys me.
Uncovering his mouth, he shakes his head. “Nothing.”
My eyes narrow. “Yeah, sure.” I look to his left to see Bishop sitting there, his arms sprawled out over the couch. His dark T-shirt hugs him in all the right places, and his dark jeans sit on him casually. He has white Air Force Ones on his feet, and by the time my gaze travels back up his body, landing on his eyes again, his features have changed. Wiped clean of anything else but the resting bitch face he gives like a pro.
“Don’t you guys have a place where you can all meet? Why here?” I tilt my head, looking at all of them.
“Calm down, kitten. I’m on babysitting duty, so we have to come here.” Nate pauses, his grin kicking up. “Unless, of course, you would like to come with us?” I look back to Bishop to see his eyes, which still haven’t moved themselves off me, darken. Ace whips his attention to Nate, scolding him.
“First of all,” I say calmly, “don’t ever call me kitten—ever again. Or I’ll shoot you.” I pause, laughing inwardly at his change of facial expressions. That probably wasn’t very nice, considering everyone already thinks I’m crazy because of my mom. “Second of all,” I add, “I’m not a child. I can take care of myself.” The end is more of a mutter, as I turn on my feet and walk up the stairs. I have just landed at the top, when I glance over my shoulder, feeling eyes on me. Bishop is at the bottom, staring up at me.
I