Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(48)

My list is in the front pocket of my bag, so I pull it out, unfold it, and enjoy the squeak of the red Sharpie in the silence of the courtyard.

It feels so good to cross Zayd’s name off my list.



Tristan is a tricky little Idol to pin down. I almost feel like he’s actively avoiding me which makes zero sense, considering all the threats he’s leveled my way.

So my next step is sitting down with Miranda and going over exactly what happened in the Hamptons during the summer. According to her—and she is the gossip queen—Lizzie Walton declared war on the Burberry Prep Idols. Tristan, in particular, was on the receiving end of her wrath.

“She did it all for you, I think,” Miranda hazards, but even though I’ve sort of forgiven Zack, how can I deal with Lizzie? What can I do to get back at her that will even the odds? But contacting her is probably the best chance I have at finding some way to get under Tristan’s skin. I mean, I’m still kicking his ass in the academics department, but I did that last year, too. It’s not enough, not even close.

Besides, I won’t admit it aloud, but … I miss Lizzie. Every Friday, I looked forward to our conversations. Burberry Prep life feels much emptier without her.

“She’s still in love with him, too,” Miranda adds with a wistful, sad sounding sigh. “She’s going to marry that douche guy, what’s-his-face, the one that always adjusts his junk and licks his lips while he does it? Anyway, she’s going to marry him, but it’s going to be Tristan she’s dreaming about on her wedding night.”

“Do you think he still loves her?” I ask, an idea taking place in the back of my mind. Even though I know it’s ridiculous, I wait with bated breath for Miranda to answer my question.

“Definitely,” she says, and it’s like an arrow’s just gone through my heart. Doesn’t make any sense. As soon as I saw Tristan look at Lizzie Walton last year, I knew it, too. Everyone knows it. He never loved me. How could he? It was a game all along. Although Zack … Nope. I shut that part of my brain down and refuse to go there. Dating Zack won’t work, not with the plans I already have in mind. “Why? You want to share a room with him on the ski trip or something?” Miranda chuckles, and I wrinkle my nose. “Are you jealous?”

“Gross,” I laugh, pushing at her as she pushes back at me. “I’m not going on the ski trip.” Miranda blinks stupidly at me. Instead of the winter formal, second-years are given the option to attend an academy-sponsored ski trip. The cars leave the last Friday before winter break, and drop students at their houses (or the airport) on Tuesday which is Christmas Eve.

“You have to go on the ski trip,” she groans, putting her forehead down on the picnic table. We’re sitting outside, enjoying the icy morning and the bright rays of sunshine that make the frost evaporate like fog. “It’s a rite of passage.”

“The last time you used that phrase on me, you dragged me to that beach party.”

“And you had fun, despite the assholes in residence, right?” she asks, lifting her head up from the table. I sigh, and Miranda smiles softly. “I know you want to get back home to your dad, but it’s just a few days.” I give her a skeptical look, tapping my fingers on the table. “Oh, at least think about, Ms. Revenge. But factor this in, at least: there’s so much cheating and fooling around on the ski trip that it’s now academy legend to call the lodge Hookup Point.” She grins at me as I raise my eyebrows. “Do you see how messed-up Jalen and Ebony still are from the journal? Come on the ski trip, and I guarantee you’ll find some dirt worth digging up.”

“After some careful consideration …” I begin, and Miranda squeals with laughter, giving me a huge hug. From the corner of my eye, I see Creed watching us and flip him off.

His sister would rather be with me than with him.

He smirks at me as he rounds the corner, and I see then that he’s got Anna Kirkpatrick on his arm.

Hmm.

Fine. Challenge accepted is right.

“I’ll go,” I tell Miranda, watching Anna carefully.

If she’s not messing around with one of the other Bluebloods, I’ll be shocked.

Loyalty isn’t exactly in their DNA.



The door to the music room opens, and Zayd walks in, surprising me. He's got his fingers tucked into the pockets of his wrinkled white academy slacks. His jacket is nowhere to be seen, and his tie is loose and flipped over his right shoulder. With the sleeves rolled up, I can see two muscular arms wrapped in ink.

My fingers pause in their dance across the harp strings, putting an end to the harp solo from Donizetti's opera Lucia di Lammermoor. I sit back in my chair and watch him warily as he approaches. Mr. Carter is in his attached office with the door closed, so nothing truly bad can happen here. I cross my arms over my chest and wait.

Oddly enough, one of the things I miss most from last year is having Tristan attend my orchestra practices. Having him sit in one of the back rows, fingers steepled, eyes locked on me … There was an intensity in him that transferred to my music. I feel like I played better when he was around.

Zayd comes all the way down the steps of the auditorium and pauses next to the raised platform in the front. I’d call it a stage, but it's only ever used for teachers giving lectures. No performances actually happen here.