Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(71)
It doesn’t bother me though because Creed’s one and only admirable trait is the protective brother thing. He’d kill for his sister; I know he would.
“I’m going to excuse myself,” I murmur, standing up and slipping away.
I end up bumping—quite literally—into Zack in the next aisle. He actually looks surprised to see me, a book of poems open in one hand, his academy-issued tablet on the table next to him. Aww, he’s actually studying. Zack is by no means the top of the class, but since the school year started he’s worked his way up from the bottom twenty percent to the top fifty. Huge improvement.
“Do you need any help?” I ask, peeping at the cover to see what he’s looking at. “Ah, Emily Dickinson. Did you know many of her poems are still under copyright? She’s a classic, a legend, and she’s long-dead. Do you want to know how messed up copyright law has actually become? It used to be a tool of the people, and now it’s used against the people by corpor—”
Zack puts a finger on my lips to shush my rambling, and then leans down suddenly, replacing his hand with his mouth.
The book of poems falls to the ground between us, and I’m soon standing with my back against a wall of literature while Zack explores my mouth with his tongue. His big arms sweep around me, filling me with this sense of protection and safety. When did that happen? When did I go from hating Zack to … liking him?
We break apart with a small gasp, his dark eyes locked on mine, burning with need.
“You can tell me about Emily Dickinson, or copyright law, or random historical facts whenever you want, Marnye. I think it’s hot.”
“Hot for me to tell you the library wing was an addition added to Burberry in the early nineteen hundreds by a grant from the Vanderbilt family?” I choke out and Zack grins. He kisses me again, and I swoon so badly that if his arms weren’t there, I would fall over.
“So fucking hot. Except for the name Vanderbilt. Let’s just leave that part out.” He moves to kiss me again when a dramatic throat clearing breaks us up, a sudden foot of space appearing between our bodies as we turn to find Windsor York … lounging on top of a book case?
“How did you get up there?” I choke out, and he shrugs. He’s all stretched out on the wood like it’s a hammock or something. “You’re going to get suspended,” I warn as he looks down at us with his hazel eyes sparkling.
“Don’t stop on my account. Occasionally I get tired of fucking and like to watch.” My nose wrinkles, and Zack scowls, gathering his book from the floor. Windsor doesn’t seem to care, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side. He hops down to the ground next to us. “So.” He props his forearm on the shelf above me and leans in dramatically. “I was thinking: you’ve got a few names on your list that aren’t crossed off. Small fries, though. We should knock those out, and then focus on the girls.”
“I showed you that list, so you could offer suggestions, not take over,” I say with a roll of my eyes. Windsor raises his eyebrows and gives this self-satisfied little smirk that I couldn’t force my mouth to make if I tried. Once, I stood in front of the mirror to see if I could get my expression to look as haughty and arrogant as the Idols, and I failed miserably. “I’m working my way up to the girls. They’re the most difficult.”
“You’ve also gone too soft on the Idol boys, in my not-so-humble opinion,” he continues, and I duck under his arm to head back over to Zack. Heat is still coursing through me, rampant and white-hot, infectious. Now that I’ve had a taste of him, I just want more. So much more. I could easily see dating him one day …
One day.
But the Idols already think I’m dating him, and I need the boys to think I’m accessible enough that they could get me as a date to the graduation getaway. Unfortunately, I might have to put a bit of space between me and Zack for now.
“Windsor, I told you my story, yes, but that doesn’t mean you know everything.” Told you my story, hah, please. Basically you sit across from me in The Mess everyday and work your princely magic until I spill all my secrets. “Forget about the guys for now. The girls are trying to kill me, remember? Can we focus?”
He sighs and shrugs, rolling his shoulders as he taps his fingers along the spines of several poetry volumes and then selects one at random. He flips it open, glances at the poems inside and sighs.
“I’ve memorized all of these,” he says as he flicks through the pages. “There’s nothing quite so charming as a man that can recite poetry from the heart. Wouldn’t you say so, mate?” He glances up and smiles at Zack, but Zack is not impressed. The only thing he likes about the prince is that the prince hates the Bluebloods as much as we do. What was it he said? “They’re only playing at being royals.” Pretty sure he finds them as amusing as hamsters on a wheel.
“You know, all I have is at your disposal as well …” Zack begins, running his palm over his chocolate brown hair. It’s grown out quite a bit since he got kicked off the football team, but it’s still short. I resist the urge to touch it, too. “We don’t have to put up with him.” Windsor chuckles and snaps the book closed, shoving it back onto the shelf.
“Your money, Monsieur Brooks, is all tied up in your grandfather’s spindly old hands. Isn’t that why you joined the Infinity Club? To get it back?” Zack’s face pales as I glance over at him. Holy … shit.