The Elite Kings Club

“Well, we get so drunk that we no longer care about our weight.”
I laugh, taking another swig and pointing to the dress she’s holding and contemplating. “Deal. By the way, wear that dress.”
She nods and then spins to look me up and down. “By the way,” she mimics my tone, her eyes eating up my skin, “you have a fucking banging body, Madi. What the fuck?”
I turn beat red and change the subject. “Wear the dress.” I bring the wine back to my lips.
My bedroom door swings open, and I turn around with the bottle of wine pressed to my mouth, expecting Tillie to walk through.
It is Tillie. But she is not alone. Fuck.
“Holy shit!” Hunter gasps. Nate halts the door from opening any more, and then Bishop strolls in, his eyes licking all over my skin, making me feel even more naked than what I already do.
I squeal, dropping to the ground and ducking behind my bed. “Oh my God! Everyone but Tillie, get the fuck out!”
Bishop watches me, his head tilting until his eyes twinkle in mischief.
“Hey!” I point at the door. “Get. Out!”
They leave, but not before Hunter halts, his fingers gripping the edge of the door. “Just for, you know, future reference, what were you two—”
Bishop drags him out of my room by the back of his collar, and Tillie slams the door in all their faces.
“Jesus,” I mumble, getting back to my feet. “Fucking pack of unruly wolves.” Tillie is still watching the door when I burst out laughing.
“Sorry about that. I should have warned you about my stepbrother and his pack of...” I pause, attempting to find the appropriate word for them. “Of exactly that—wolves.”
Tillie turns to me and smiles. “No problem at all.” She looks down my body. “But seriously, can I have your boobs, because mine are like tiny lemons compared to those scrumptious things.”
We all laugh as she steps in closer with her bag propped over her shoulder. “I’ll get ready here.”
I nod, handing her the bottle of wine. “As you can see... we are far from dressed.”
Tatum nudges my hip with hers. “Ignore Madi. She’s a little...” She circles her index finger up near her temple to emphasize my edginess. “...crazy, because she didn’t get to go shooting after school.”
“Shooting?” Tillie asks, pulling out some clothes from her backpack.
“It’s a sort of hobby of mine.” I smile at her, and she grins at me.
“That’s badass. I’d love to learn one day.”
My back straightens at the opportunity to find someone, a friend, who is maybe interested in something I do. I know Tatum and I have grown extremely close in the short amount of time we’ve known each other, despite my thinking we couldn’t be friends, but Tillie seems like the center of Tatum and me. Sort of like... a bit of each of us.
I’m obviously a little buzzed, because my train of thought is heading into the emotional tunnel, and I need to derail that right now. Swallowing, I nod. “I’d love to take you! Get changed and drink!”
She laughs, pulling out a long-sleeved short dress that looks tight. She hitches her thumb over her shoulder. “I’ll slip into the bathroom.”
Modest... far more modest than I’m being right now, which, now that I think about it, is a lot worse. At my revelation, I place the bottle of Moet down on my bedside table and turn to face her. “Of course.” Sober up right now, Madi, or you’ll be joining Tatum facedown before 9:00 p.m.
I spin back around to face my closet when I catch Tatum looking at the closed door. “Why would she be shy around us?” she whispers.
“Shh!” I bring my finger up to my mouth. “Maybe,” I say, scolding her and pulling my new—or Tatum’s—choice of dress off the rack, “because she’s been around us for all of five minutes.”
Tatum narrows her eyes. “Hmmm, maybe.”
“Stop!” I point my finger against the tip of her nose. “Don’t dig or anything. Just leave it.” Shit. I’m a little buzzed. “What the hell is in that wine, anyway?”
“Uhh, wine? Wine is what’s in that wine, and not the cheap kind. Live and learn, my love.” She steps into her dress, every inch of the sequined material pushing against her tiny frame. “Do me up!” I zip her up and she turns. “How do I look?”
“Holy shit, you look incredible!” Tillie says, walking out of the bathroom.
I halt, scanning her curvy frame filling her tiny little dress. “So do you!” I point. “You two are going to make me look like the ugly stepsister.” Tatum looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and Tillie scrunches up her face. “Better continue my drinking,” I half joke under my breath.
I don’t have that high of a self-esteem, but that came from years and years of just never fitting in. All the pretty girls hang together; they all gravitate toward each other and all feed off each other’s beauty and what not, but that’s never been me. I’ve always been the tomboy loner who likes to shoot guns and wear Keds or Chucks. Tatum? She’s a heels-and-diamonds kind of girl—always looks stunning—and has the kind of confidence that could only come from being told “you’re the shit” for most of your life. Tillie, on the other hand, I’m still trying to work out. She has this retro hippie feel about her, what with her pastel pink hair and earthy, naturally beautiful, in-line-with-the-universe thing going on, if that even makes sense—which I’m sure it doesn’t, because fucking wine.
Jesus, I need to pull my shit together. Deep breathing, in and out. But every intake of breath I take, I get hit with a rich tang on the back of my throat from the after taste of the expensive alcohol.
“Hello?” Tatum waves her hands in front of my face. “Earth to Madi, get changed!”
“Shit.” I snap out of my lingering thoughts of self-pity and tipsy ramblings. “I’ll get changed. Fire up the curlers.” I slip into