Bad, Bad Bluebloods (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #2)(84)

“I see,” Windsor drawls, tapping at his chin, like all the pieces are falling together. “You’re throwing yourself at those idiots to win a bet?” I nod, and I feel ashamed. I don’t feel like a badass, revenge seeking missile anymore. I feel like Marnye Reed, a girl who’s gotten herself in over her head. I actually like Zack. And I like Creed. I like Zayd, too. And Tristan. They’ve been trying to protect me from the girls all year; I can see it now. It doesn’t make their behavior right, but it does make me want to know more. More about them, their feelings, more about what could happen if I spent more time with them.

“I need to make them fall in love …” I start, and the task feels so monumental that I don’t even know where to begin. I’m running out of time, and my dad’s future is on the line.

“Oh, love,” Windsor says with a chuckle. He pushes his red hair up and off of his forehead. “You know how I’d first guessed you’d fucked?” I nod, warily, but I acknowledge him. “I thought that’s what I was sensing, but I was wrong.”

“Right, because I’ve never … slept with any of them.” I’ve only made Creed come in a hot tub, I think, and I want to choke and then disappear into a hole in the ground. “So what?”

“You’ve already won, you shagging wanker,” Windsor says, shaking his head at me. “If you ask, they’ll go to your party with you. It’s so bloody obvious it’s practically written on the wall.” I gape at him, but he seems so damn sure of himself, it’s hard not to … freak out and feel satisfied at the same time.

“They don’t love me,” I say, and Windsor shrugs, the epaulettes on his jacket wrinkling with the motion.

“They like you enough that they’ll go. Just ask, Marnye. Take them, crush them, win your bet, and then figure out if forgiveness is something you’re interested in.” He frowns briefly. “Although I was looking forward to eating them alive. You will let me help with the rest of your blue-blooded friends however, won’t you?”

I nod, but I’m so speechless, I don’t know what to say.

Windsor grins, puts his arm around my shoulders, and leads me away from The Mess.

“Let’s go get you a drink: you could clearly use one.” I follow along after him, even though I have no intention of consuming any alcohol. Guess I needn’t have worried: as soon as we get to his dorm room, Windsor makes me a cup of tea with milk and two sugars. And he’s right: after I drink it, everything seems just that much clearer to me.



It’s a fine balancing act, keeping up with all of my relationships. And I don’t just mean the ones with the guys, Miranda and Andrew and Lizzie, too. The end of the year academic load is heavy, and I find that I spend most of my time just trying to keep up with my activities, let alone my friendships and my … other entanglements.

Creed is the first one I ask, marching right into his apartment after Miranda opens the door, and pausing next to him while he lounges on the couch. My face is bright red, but I’ve got some of my conviction back. Whatever happens with the boys later, they need to learn a lesson now. I’ll take them to the getaway, and I’ll see how they react. After all, I survived it. They can, too.

“Go to the graduation getaway as my date?” I ask, and Creed glances lazily up at me. He’s so beyond gorgeous it’s hard to believe what actually happened between us. “To the party I mean, at the Royal Pointe Lodge. Go with me, officially.”

“Harper won’t like that,” Creed says, and I end up scowling. His eyebrows go up in surprise.

“I don’t care what Harper likes. She doesn’t own me. Does she own you?” This time, it’s Creed that’s sneering. He runs his tongue across his lower lip, and then nods, once, sharply.

“Fine then.” He pauses. “Wear my dress?”

I consider that a moment, and then shrug.

I chose once, and it didn’t feel good. This is sort of the opposite scenario, but I still won’t choose. Either all three Idol guys go with me, or none at all.

The next day, I make sure to seek Tristan out while he’s separated from Harper, leaning against his locker with one shoulder, eyes closed. He seems surprised to see me when he finally opens them up.

“What do you want?” he asks, like we didn’t hang out for a week in Paris, or share a kiss in The Mess. I’ve given him back his jewelry, just like he asked. He barely said thank you. I’m starting to wonder if taking Windsor’s advice is a mistake. I feel like Tristan is nowhere near ready to say yes to this. He looks so unapproachably gorgeous that I don’t know what to do.

“You … you’re engaged to Harper?” I ask, and his brow crinkles, mouth twisting into a scowl. “Even after she tried to drown me?”

“I explained this to you,” he says, but there’s this quaver in his voice that reminds me of a trapped animal, looking desperately for escape. “My dad won’t allow anything else.”

“Do you even like her?” I ask, and he just stares me down with his cold, silver gaze.

“I stopped liking her when I found out she beat you.” That’s all he says, and the words are cold enough, but the meaning behind them makes my heart flutter.

“So, can you do me a favor?” My heart is racing so fast now, I can feel it in my palms.