Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(22)

Believe me, this is an Olympic sized swimming pool, made of pure cash. It’s huge, as long as the house is, with fountains and water slides, faux coves and caves and bits of aesthetically pleasing rock. There’s plenty of room for a car. Or two. Or three.

I don’t let myself enjoy the sight for too long, heading back for Creed’s Bentley next. I do the same thing, scraping it along the other vehicles, and leaving it floating in the water with the windows rolled down. I’m not sure how long it’ll take to sink (pretty sure it only takes a few minutes), but I don’t care. Just seeing it partially submerged in water is enough.

Zayd’s car is last, and by the time I’m letting that roll over the edge, both Andrew and Zack are standing on the back patio watching.

Zayd is not far behind.

“Holy … what the fuck?!” he screams as I stand there on the edge of the pool, barefoot and frowning. I don’t smile as I pick up my shoes from the pavement and watch him stumble over to the edge of the water. The cars are very quickly disappearing beneath the surface. “Jesus Christ, are you fucking insane?!”

“You can’t go around hurting people and expect to just get away with it,” I tell him, glad that the kiss is already fading from my mind. I feel better now, more in control. I curl my hands into fists as Zayd drops to his knees next to the pool.

“My dad is going to flay me,” he groans, putting his hands over his face.

“Babe?” Becky asks as she steps out the back door. She gasps and clamps a hand over her mouth as I flip open the top on my purse and dig around inside. “Oh my god. Oh my freaking god. Harper! Tristan!” Becky stumbles outside in her four inch stilettos and turns to look at me, face aghast with horror. “You psycho bitch,” she snarls, blond curls billowing in the wind. I reach into my purse, grab the fancy scissors I bought from the salon, and then reach up and chop a huge hunk of her hair off at the scalp.

She screams and stumbles back toward the edge of the pool. It doesn’t take much for me to reach over and push her in.

Miranda and Jessie appear just as the splash dissipates and Becky comes gasping to the surface, hauling herself over the edge. Zayd helps her up, but then just leaves her lying soggy and wet on the pavement as he turns to me. The edge of my lip quirks up in a half-smile, and I shrug one shoulder.

“I give as good as I get,” I say, just as Tristan, Harper, Creed, and Ileana appear in the doorway. I wonder if she’s going to be the next female Idol, taking Gena Whitley’s place. At this point, I really don’t care. I chuck the scissors in the pool, reach into my bra, and grab Andrew’s keys. “Guys, you ready to go?”

Miranda makes a tiny squeaking sound and nods, grabbing Jessie by the arm and dragging her towards the Lambo. Andrew follows, and Zack pauses beside me, watching as I take in the Idols and their gaping faces. Even Tristan is wide-eyed, his face stricken. Actually, Creed seems the calmest. He turns to look at me, much like his sister did, like he’s never seen me before.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” he asks, sounding as bored as he ever does. I meet his blue gaze, and ignore the little thrill that travels through me. I chalk it up to adrenaline. I’m practically dripping with it right now. “We report you and you’re done. Permanently.”

“Right,” I say, pulling my journal out and cracking the lock. As the party filters outside and the music stops, I scribble some things down inside before looking back up again. “Tell the administration how I somehow single-handedly got these three cars that you’re not supposed to have, in the pool of a house we’re not supposed to be at, surrounded by alcohol we’re not supposed to be drinking, and see if that does the trick. Maybe I’ll be expelled, maybe not. How satisfying would that win be for you?”

Several students lift up their phones and start recording, so I stop talking. I won’t say anything else. I don’t need to: Creed’s face tells me everything I need to know. His shoulders stiffen, his jaw tightens, and his heavy-lidded eyes narrow to slits.

Without waiting another beat, I turn and head back to Andrew’s car with Zack on my heels. Just before I climb in, I look at him, standing so close I can feel the heat of his body. He smells like citrus and musk, and my heart skips a few beats. I look up into his dark gaze.

“Thank you, but … this doesn’t change anything.” He digs his hands into his pockets and shrugs his shoulders.

“I know. It’s fine.” He nods; I nod.

And then I climb in the Lamborghini and drive away.

When I get back to the academy, I change my clothes, wash the makeup from my face and the hairspray from my hair, and then I report the Bluebloods for drinking.

Oh, and their breathalyzers … don’t exactly zero out.





My mind is focused on one thing above all else: college. That’s why I’m here, suffering through this nightmare of a school. Burberry Prep will give me the best possible future, the greatest chance at a good life. So I’ve upped my game, and by the end of the second week, I’ve added a second language (Spanish) to my class roster, and tacked on a few extracurricular activities. I’m now part of the academy’s book club, history club, and the model UN. The one place I am lacking in, however, is in sports.

Today, I’m going to make up for that.

Cheerleading tryouts are taking place in a special gymnasium once used to house the academy’s gymnastics team. Since moving toward more academically focused endeavors, the school retired their gymnastics program and left the building more or less abandoned for close to a decade. This year, with the addition of Zack to the varsity football team, Burberry Prep is looking to dip its toes in the proverbial waters of sports.