The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3)(41)

Ugh.

All this political intrigue is driving me nuts.

But, hey, Tristan likes nuts, right?



I'm so excited by the time we get to Lujo that I'm the first out the door when it opens, practically skipping into the café where I went with Creed and Miranda. According to the guys, the girls made their bet just before winter formal, so when he bought me those shoes, he knew. I push that information aside, peering into the glass and looking at the sea of pretty pastries.

Windsor tosses his card on the counter before anyone even orders, and declares that he's taking care of the bill. It's a control thing with him, I think. Actually, I'm pretty sure he wanted to know why Tristan was in charge of arranging the car because he wanted to do it himself.

"Look, a Union Jack cookie," I say with a grin, pointing at the row of flag-frosted cookies in the back. "A taste of home."

"You Americans and your cookies," he says with a chuckle. "They're bloody biscuits. That is a frosted biscuit."

"Biscuits go with gravy. These are freaking cookies, Wind." I order an eclair and an iced chai from the woman behind the counter, and Windsor copies me, following me through the archway and into the side area where I sat last time I was here. I choose a slightly different spot, near the fireplace in the back, and settle into the sofa.

Wind sits beside me, his body denting the cushion and causing our bodies to touch.

He reaches down and curves his fingers through mine, making my heart stutter in my chest. He touches me all the time, so it's not really that big of a deal, but … something seems different now.

"You know how I said we could date, and it'd be fun?" he asks, and I nod. How could I forget that? "I think that if you're considering one of these idiots, you should consider my offer, too."

I sit there for a minute, breathing in the smell of coffee and sugar, the faint smoky scent from the fire. Underneath it all, there's Windsor's smell, that daffodil and shoe polish scent. Such a weird combo, but so accurate. I think the latter part is because he's always wearing those leather boots of his, and they're always shined to perfection. That must be where the polish part comes in. The sweet floral scent … sometimes I wonder if I'm imagining it.

The other boys filter in, and Zack puts my chai and pastry on the table while giving Wind a look.

"You'd grab mine, wouldn't you?" he asks, his accent cheerful and chipper. He reaches up and pushes some of that beautiful red hair of his from his forehead, making it stick up like it always does. "Be a mate, Zack, and help a guy out."

"You can get your own fucking food," Zack says, taking up the seat on my other side. Windsor flips him off, but sighs and stands up anyway. The other guys are already seated, or else I think someone might've taken his spot.

That wouldn't have gone down well.

My fingers tingle from where he touched them, and I shake my hand out before grabbing my chai. It's spicy and sweet at the same time, like star anise and cardamom and vanilla. Ugh. So freaking good.

"You know the Lujo Pride Festival is insane," Zayd says, leaning over and propping his elbows on his knees. "It'd be a dream to play during it." He looks down at his pile of frosted sugar cookies and sighs.

"When can I meet your band?" I ask, and he glances over at me in surprise. "I mean, you never talk about them, but you guys must spend a lot of time together, right?"

"Every free second I have when I'm not at Burberry or being dragged around on my old man's tour bus." Zayd grins. "You Googled us, right? You've seen them, bunch of assholes." He pulls his phone from his pocket and passes it over, so I can scroll through pictures. About … two dozen pics in, and I get one of him shirtless in front of a mirror, abs tightened, taking a ridiculous selfie.

I hold back a giggle and scroll over again, only to find a nude pic of Zayd.

His, um, well, let's just be straight here: his dick is in full view. I can see everything, including the fact that it's pierced at the tip.

"Jesus, man," Zack says, snatching the phone from me and chucking it back at our rocker friend. Zayd catches it, looking confused, and then glances down to see the picture. He grins big and looks up.

"What'd you think?" he asks, and I can tell my cheeks are bright red as Windsor comes back in and sits down beside me.

"Your friends look really nice," I say, and he shakes his head.

"No, I meant about my body, mostly my dick."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Creed drawls, draped over a chair like he owns the place. He and Tristan exchange glances, and I grin, putting the eclair in my mouth, so I don't have to answer.





After we're done at the café, we hit up just about every shop on the main street, gathering supplies for our costumes, and then hit the B&B at just about check-in time.

We've got a family suite which, really, is just a collection of rooms with inner doors so they can be connected. We have three rooms, one of which has a seating area, and a giant bathtub that's sort of just … in the middle of the bedroom.

"Don't get me wrong, this looks scrumptious, but why is right next to the bed?"

"First off," Zayd begins, leaping into the tub and reclining back with his ankles crossed next to the faucet. His shirt rides up in the front and I catch a glimpse of tattoos, and a sprinkling of dark hair that promises that the view I saw on his phone was not imaginary. There's really something down below that waistband. And by something, I mean his cock. My cheeks flush as Zayd continues to ramble. "Did you just use the word scrumptious in a non-ironic sort of way? Second, the bathtub is in the bedroom because this is a honeymoon suite, and the bride and groom are meant to fuck in it."