The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3)(45)
And then my hand flies up to cover my mouth.
The old metal bar in the couch bed has bent and broken under Zack's muscular body. He's now struggling to get out of the mess of blankets and pillows. Once I get my laughter under control, I rush over to help him. Of course, when I take his hand and pull, it's like yanking on a mountain of muscle. He lets me pretend to help him out, stumbling from the pile in low-slung boxers and nothing else.
My heart gives this big, hard thump that pushes all the blood in my body to my head and … other places.
"Fucking stupid ass bed," he curses, bending down to dig his phone from the blankets.
His boxers slip slightly, and I see some serious ass crack.
But … like good ass crack. Like, he has dimples in his lower back, and muscles that my hands ache to touch. This is not like looking at a plumber's crack. I slap a hand over my mouth to hold back some more nervous laughter.
Zack rises to his feet and glances back at me, raising his dark brows.
"What's so funny?" he asks, his voice a deep baritone.
"Well, your muscles just broke a bed," I reach out and squeeze his bicep. It's like a sun-warmed freaking rock, so smooth and hard and hot. "And you flashed me a lot of butt cheek when you bent over."
"You think my butt's funny?" he asks, a smirk tracing its way across his lips. "I happen to really like yours."
My cheeks flush, and I realize I've been caressing his arm this entire time, just molesting the heck out of him. I jerk my arm back, and put a few feet of space between us.
"I didn't say I didn't like it," I tease, and the way he looks at me, all of that darkness inside of him becomes deep, warm shadows that sweep across me with his gaze. "Do you need help fixing up the bed?" I ask, because in a B&B this small, it's doubtful there's another room to switch him to or even someone at the front desk to talk with.
"Eh," Zack says, pulling the bedding off and tossing it aside. "I think it's a bit beyond fixing." He tries to wrangle the broken bits and turn the bed back into a couch, but it's a no-go. It's beyond saving. "Floor it is," he says after one of the rusted springs literally falls off.
I stand back as Zack makes a sad, pathetic little bed on the ground.
I bite my lower lip and twist my hands in the front of my tank top.
This is like one of those yaoi mangas that Creed bought me where the characters go to a hotel and by accident, they've only reserved one bed instead of two, and end up having to share …
Yep. Yep. This is exactly like an anime or a manga or a romance novel.
My cheeks flush as Zack tosses his pillows into a heap, pausing to glance over at me.
"You can share my bed," I say, and my voice comes out a breathless whisper.
Zack stops and turns to look back at me, standing there in a pale pink tank top and short-shorts made of this thin, flimsy material. It's super soft and comfy, but I'm now suddenly aware of my nipples in a way I've never been before. Probably because I'm not wearing a bra. Or underwear.
If I'm going to share a bed with one of the hottest guys in school, maybe I should consider putting those things on first?
"Are you sure about that?" he asks, blinking those beautiful umber eyes of his at me. They're brown, yes, but there's this honeyed quality to them in the low light from the bedside lamp. Zack must've fallen asleep with it on because it was already lit when I walked in here. "You don't have to do that, you know."
"I … no, it's fine," I say, pushing some strands of rose-gold away from my face. I smile to lighten the mood, but there's a tension between us that's been growing since … shit, I don't know, sometime last year? "Grab some pillows."
I turn and head back into the room, listening to the murmur of late night Comedy Central as I make up a little pillow fence between us. It's a tad juvenile, but I do it anyway.
Zack grins as he puts his pillow on the left side of the bed and climbs on, his big body denting the mattress. I suddenly find myself with sweaty palms, and a pounding heart.
"What are you waiting for?" he asks, reclining back in the pillows and crossing his arms behind his head. "Is my butt that scary?"
"I said funny, not scary," I mumble as I get on my side of the bed, and lay on top of the covers. It's a bit warm in here, so I don't feel the need to be under the blankets just yet. Neither does he apparently.
We sit in silence for a few minutes, watching a particularly raunchy episode of South Park together. It's one of the older ones where one of the main characters, Stan, pukes every time his crush, Wendy, looks at him. I feel that on a spiritual level. My crushes—all five of them, ahem—make me feel sick. But, like, in a really good way.
It's so confusing.
"You know … I thought by leaving you alone, I was doing the right thing," Zack says when a commercial starts up. Ugh, I'd forgotten how annoying commercials were. I use ad blocking apps on my phone, so I never have to look at them anymore.
I stay silent because I'm not sure what to say.
He turns over and leans on the pillow wall to look at me.
"But you wanted me to fight all along, huh?" I say nothing, but Zack just smiles. "Now that I know, I hope you're ready."
"Ready for what?" I ask, as he sits up and then puts his arms on either side of me, a cocksure smile on his face. I haven't given back his letterman jacket yet. To be quite honest, I love wearing it. I love his smell, that sporty scent that I recognize in an instant, but which always seems to present new notes. This time, I smell mint and nutmeg and lavender.