Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(12)
“You had your warnings,” Zayd scoffs, but I think I’ve caught him off-guard a little. There is no way that all of those moments we spent together were bullshit. No way. None. Months of being on the road have left Zayd with a fresh tan, some new tattoos, and a headful of silver-ash colored hair. The red he dyed it for the graduation gala is gone. Good. I didn’t want to see it like that anyway.
Before that day, Zayd had easily been the nicest to me, the one with a lot less to answer for. Creed had stolen my essay and read it aloud; Tristan facilitated the purchase and burning of that book. But Zayd? He’d just been an all-around, general sort of asshole. That was easy enough to forgive.
But now? I’d chosen him, and he’d destroyed me. All for the sake of winning a stupid bet.
“What are you even doing here?” he asks, like he’s exasperated with me. “Do you ever get enough?”
My eyes burn, but crying in front of these monsters is not an option. They’d probably film it, and make a new video. As it is, the one they already worked on, with me and the guys in compromising positions, had ended up on YouTube. Within two days it was gone, but that didn’t stop it from racking up over ten thousand views first.
“Get out of my way,” I snap, pushing past him. He moves, but only because he wants to, and I can feel his eyes on me as I head toward the chapel. Everyone moves out of my way, Plebs scattering as the Working Girl stomps up the center of the aisle and takes a seat in the frontmost pew. There’s a visible bubble around me, an emptiness that I know isn’t going to be filled.
It’s fine. I expected it. I’m okay with it.
The talking and giggling soon starts up again, and I can very clearly hear remarks made intentionally for me. I ignore them. They’ll get what’s coming to them; it’s just a matter of time. I exhale and glance up at the Gallery. There’s a scattering of familiar faces up there: John Hannibal, Gregory Van Horn, Ebony Peterson. And Creed Cabot.
His blue gaze drops down to mine, eyes widening imperceptibly before he controls himself, fading back into the bored royalty routine. I don’t look away and neither does he; it feels like a challenge, and I refuse to back down. Day one, step one, remind the Idols that I’m not one of their groupies. Creed holds my stare, his eyes narrowing the longer our confrontation continues.
All around us, people stop talking and turn to stare, watching the exchange with drool hanging from their mouths. Okay, so not really, but they might as well. They all look like wolves, smacking their lips in anticipation of a fresh kill.
That is, until the last of the students funnel in and the staff moves to close the chapel doors. An instant later, they burst open and a dull roar emanates from the back of the room, spreading toward the front like wildfire. Creed’s head whips around and his eyes widen. Since he’s broken our stare down first, I turn and look.
My breath leaves me in such a rush that I feel lightheaded, my stomach twisting into knots as Zack freaking Brooks makes his way down the aisle, dressed in the white blazer, red tie, and white slacks of a Burberry Prep second year student. Holy. Shit.
He pauses next to the pew I’m sitting on, indicating the empty space on either side of me with an outstretched hand. He’s got a letterman jacket over the top of his blazer, and it’s in the red and black colors of Burberry Prep Academy.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” he asks, his eyes burning a hole straight through me. My teeth clench, and I want to scream in frustration. Instead, I glance back at the Gallery to find Tristan, Creed, and Zayd all watching me.
Hm.
They don’t like Zack, none of them do. When they were wooing me, they pretended it was because of the bet he made with Lizzie. Clearly, they couldn’t care less about me, so it’s got to be something else. Based on their facial expressions, it’s obvious they’re not happy about Zack’s presence here.
“Why not?” I whisper, but the room is now so quiet that my voice echoes in the chapel. Zack sits beside me, pressing his thigh against mine. Where our bodies touch, my skin burns, but I ignore that sensation. I’ll admit it: last year, I was desperate for friendship, for companionship, for … romance. This year, I won’t make the same mistakes. I won’t give into the hot ache inside my chest when the guys are around, and I won’t let the empty siren song of my loneliness drag me to the rocks. “Why are you here, and how did you get that jacket?” I shouldn’t even bother asking, but my curiosity is killing me.
“Coach saw me play when Burberry went up against Coventry Prep.” Zack shrugs his big shoulders, dark hair shaved into a crew cut. He looks straight ahead and keeps his palms flat on his thighs. He acts like he doesn’t notice everyone staring at us. I call bullshit. “He got tired of losing to public schools, and convinced the admins to let me in.” Zack glances over at me, eyes shadowed and unreadable. “I’m such a legend, I’m the only second-year on varsity.” He grins and pinches the shoulder of his jacket, pausing as Miranda appears in front of me.
We stare at each other, and I swear, I’ve never been more of a nervous wreck.
Ms. Felton is already taking the stage behind her, so instead of talking, Miranda just flops down on my other side, being careful to keep her leg from touching mine. I have no idea what this means between us, but when I hazard one, last glance at the Bluebloods, I can see the tightness in Creed’s face, and I wet my lips.