Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(27)

“I’ll hang out and wait for you,” she says, leaning back into my pillows and making herself comfy. I grab a sweater and leave her there, knowing that the cameras will catch any suspicious activity. I want with all my heart to believe Miranda’s innocent in everything that’s gone on here at Burberry Prep, but I don’t think I can know that for sure, not just yet. If she does nothing while I’m gone, that’ll help go a long way towards easing my distrust.

I make my way through the halls as quick as I can. As much as I’m ready to stand up to the Bluebloods, I can’t fight off a dozen people by myself. Fortunately, I manage to slip into the dining hall without anyone seeing me.

Zack’s the only one there, sitting by himself at a table near the window. I make my way over and flop down in the seat across from him. His dark eyes lift up from his plate, but only briefly before he refocuses on his food. He’s a huge guy, and he works out constantly, so that means he also eats like a horse. He’s polite about it, but it’s almost fascinating to see how quickly he can make food disappear.

“This is unusual,” he says finally, after we’ve sat in silence for several minutes, and I’ve placed my order with the waiter. Tonight I’m having steak with chimichurri butter, asparagus, and garlic cheddar biscuits. Fancy.

“What is?” I ask, my heart beating as he sits up and slips out of his letterman jacket, revealing a tight white wifebeater underneath. It looks like it’s about to rip in half it’s so tight. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking? Why does Zack have to have such rock-hard biceps and broad shoulders? It’s infuriating.

“You, coming to see me.” He sets his fork down and then signals the waiter over with a dessert menu. Have I mentioned how amazing the desserts are here? They serve things like crème br?lée and tiramisu and bread pudding. All so very fancy. Back home in the Train Car with Dad, dessert is about as eclectic as dinner: pudding cups from the fridge, brownies from the bakery section of the supermarket, or if we’re feeling adventurous then ice cream from the shop down the road. “What’s up?”

I consider thanking him for helping me get on the team, but then I remember the cruel darkness in his eyes when he laid into Ileana, and I’m just not sure I have it in me. Leaning forward, I put my palms on the table and school my face into the most serious expression I can manage.

“Last year, when Dad got drunk during Parents’ Week, what did he tell you?” Zack goes completely still, his dark eyes lifting up to mine. There’s something strange about the way he’s looking at me that makes my stomach flip over with nausea. It’s bad. Whatever it is, it’s so, so bad.

“He hasn’t told you?” he asks carefully, and I almost choke on my water as I struggle to take a sip. I push the glass aside and lean even farther forward.

“Zack, what the hell is going on?” He lets out a string of frustrated curses, and then sits back suddenly in the chair, running his palm over his short, dark hair. He looks like he wants to throw something. His teeth are clenched tight, his right hand is gripping the table for dear life, and I swear there’s a bead of sweat that forms on his temple and runs down the side of his face. “You’re scaring me.”

He looks at me for a long moment, and then sighs.

“I can’t lie to you, but I can’t tell you the whole truth either. For that, you’ll have to talk to your dad.” He leans back in his chair and just looks at me, this dark, broody asshole thing going on that I shouldn’t like, but sort of do anyway. He’s as bad as the rest of them, I remind myself, worse maybe. “You know your parents are having an affair, right?”

I just stare at him unblinking for several seconds.

“Come again?”

“Charlie and Jennifer are seeing each other behind Adam Carmichael’s back.” He smiles tightly, but there’s no warmth there. Sympathy, maybe, but that’s it. My mouth opens, closes, opens again. No words come out though. How the hell does Zack know that? Why would my dad confide something like that in him?

I decide to ask.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but … how do you know that?” I lean forward, putting my forearms on the table. Zack watches me carefully, like he’s trying to absorb my every movement. The attention makes me feel fidgety, and I wiggle in my seat, refusing to think about that time I wiggled in Creed’s lap … Ahem. “I mean, why would my dad tell something like that to a high school student?”

“He didn’t.” Zack shrugs his massive shoulders. That seems to be his go-to response to everything. “I came over once to help him fix a leak in the roof and walked in on them …”

He trails off, and I add with a dry note to my voice, “kissing?”

Zack raises his dark brows at me, but then smiles a little.

“Something like that. Anyway, he said they were in love and they’d been seeing each other.” Zack looks down at his empty plate as the waiter comes back to deliver my food and take his dessert order. Then, of course, he clams up and leans back in his seat, like that’s all there is to say on the matter.

“So the news he received …?” Because even if Zack is telling the truth—which I’m not sure of—then what drove my dad to drink during Parents’ Week last year? Clearly, he would already be aware that he was having an affair with Jennifer, even though it’s news that would drive me to drink. “Maybe … she was going back to that Carmichael guy?” Zack just stares at me, and I groan in frustration.