The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3)(38)

"Fuck," he curses after a minute, turning his head away from mine. We're still all pressed together, and with my right hand, I can feel his heart thundering in his chest. "Damn it. Why do I like you so much?"

"My winning personality?" I joke, and Creed snorts, but we're both panting and shaking. There's a tension inside of me, like a string's been pulled taut between my lips and my core. I want … more. More than this. So much more. "The real question should be: why do I like you? You're a major jerk, Creed Cabot."

"An insufferable asshole," he agrees, turning back to look at me. This time, the heavy-lidded bedroom eyes aren't just for show. This time, I can tell he wants more, too. Creed's kind of a … virgin. That's what Miranda said. Do I believe it? Does it matter?

Or maybe it does?

Maybe I'd rather lose my virginity to another virgin?

Or am I overthinking this?

"We should get back to the project," I whisper, but I don't take my hand out of his shirt.

"I'm not going to lie: I have a raging hard-on right now. I am absolutely not going back to write about crusty old white dudes."

"You …" I start, but then words just fail me. I'm stuck between a giggle and a fresh bloom of lust. My eyes drift down, but Creed beats me to it by grabbing one of my hands and placing it right over the hard bulge in his crotch. I make a small sound, and he groans. When he lets go of me, I don't move my hand.

We're both staring at each other now, panting hard, quivering with need.

"Marnye!" I hear Miranda call my name cheerfully from the study area, and I know she's found our stuff. She'll know we're here.

It's like a bucket of ice water's been thrown over the two of us. Creed jerks back and turns, raking his fingers through his hair and cursing. Me, I shuffle back to the table and find Miranda leafing through one of the old yearbooks I pulled out.

She glances up and then crinkles her brow.

When she sees her brother close behind me, holding a book over his crotch, her brows practically go up to her hairline.

"What the hell are you two doing in here?"

"Discussing how you've always copied me, even as a child." Creed sweeps his bookbag up and levels a devastating glare on his sister. Most people would shrink back from that look, but Miranda barely blinks. She must be used to it.

“Because I wanted my hair cut short when we were five? That's me 'always'”—she makes little quotes with her fingers—“copying you?”

"I'm just saying, the first girl I've ever truly liked and you decide to go after her, too? You're the epitome of annoying little sister."

Miranda chucks a pencil at him, and he dodges, still covering his crotch.

"I'm ten minutes younger than you, you prick!"

Creed sweeps blond hair from his forehead, in the boys' version of a hair flip. He is disturbingly good at it.

"I have to go. Try not to make-out with my future girlfriend while I'm gone." He moves past us, and Miranda tosses another pen at him. This one nails him right in the back of the neck, and he pauses briefly to turn another earthshaking glare on her before he spins back around and gets the hell out of Dodge.

My body is on fucking fire.

Being seventeen sucks.

"What were you two doing in the shadowy aisles, hmm?" Miranda purrs, but I just sit down in the chair with a huff.

"Just kissing," I say, but I wonder … if we hadn't been in the library, and we hadn't been interrupted, how much farther would we have gone?





With off-campus privileges restored, it's actually a possibility for us all to take a little trip into town together. I'm so nervous when we meet in the front courtyard … until I spot Zayd pretending to hump the statue of the stag. Or maybe he's trying to ride it? I'm not sure, but I'm already covering my mouth to hold back a snort of laughter when I walk around to the front of the fountain.

"Don't make a bet you know you can't win," Zayd crows, howling with laughter as he scrabbles up onto the deer's back, and gets out his phone. It's Saturday, and I swear, it's like an electronics frenzy sweeps the school when we all get our phones back. The addiction is real. He takes several pics of himself, and then notices me standing there.

"Zayd Warren Kaiser," I say, putting my hands on my hips. I've got on tight, dark skinny jeans, red leather boots that I stole from Miranda's closet, and a tight, corset-like top with little buttons down the front. I feel good today, confident, but now that I'm standing out in the brisk fall breeze, I'm wondering why I didn't bring a jacket. "What are you doing up there?"

"Uh, riding the stag?" he says, and then cringes when Ms. Felton's voice snaps out.

"Mr. Kaiser, climbing the courtyard statue is worth two marks. Get down from there right now." She marches up to the brick half-wall that surrounds the fountain and crosses her arms over her chest.

Zayd hops off the statue, but whatever stupid bet he just made, he's clearly won. Creed is scowling, so I'm figuring he was on the opposite end of this particular bet.

"Miss Reed," Ms. Felton says, noticing me standing there. She glances over at Creed and Zayd, and then pauses as Tristan Vanderbilt strolls in, dressed in black jeans, black boots, and a crisp black button-down with the sleeves pushed up. I do my best not to drool. "Is everything okay out here?"