The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3)(52)

“I bet I could keep you safe until the end of second year.”

My mouth drops open, and Windsor and Zack exchange another look. Zack’s eyes are narrowed, his shoulders taut. He sighs heavily, but I can tell he’s relieved when he starts to talk.

“That night, in the amphitheater, when you went to make a bet with the girls and I sat with the boys … I bet them the same thing.” My brows go up. He’d told me he was going to make up some ridiculous bet that they’d never go for, just to distract them. Guess that’s not how things turned out. “I bet that I could keep you safe. Or rather, I tried to make the bet—and I came up with the idea before he did.” Zack gives Windsor a look that the prince pretends not to notice.

“Okay …” I start as Tristan sighs. My mind is whirling. So Windsor met me, sensed an opportunity, and leapt on it. He saved me from the pool. He watched my back. Of course a bet was involved. Of course the stupid Club was involved.

“And we didn’t take Zack’s bet because we didn’t have an interest in winning that wager,” Tristan says, turning to look at me for a moment.

“How the fuck was I supposed to know that?” Zack growls, and the two boys stare each other down.

“Who did you bet against?” I ask, redirecting my attention back to Wind. He gives a tight smile, and shakes his head.

“Other members of the Club. Idiots. It doesn’t matter. Winning got me into the Club where I needed to be. I joined for you.” I shake my head, and then put my fingers up to my temples. Do I believe Windsor is trustworthy? Sure. But sometimes I think his motivations are questionable. He joined the Club for me, huh? I give him a look. “It’s true, whether you believe it or not.” He gives me this slow, confident, cocksure little smile that I don’t want to like but do anyway.

I lift my head and put my palms flat on the table.

“That doesn’t explain why you guys didn’t tell me your plan. I mean, it was a bit more heavy-handed than I would’ve gone for, but also sort of brilliant.” I grin as I think about the Company, and all the girls’ fancy new wigs. The boys are just dealing with their shiny bald heads. “Why not tell me? I mean, there is such a thing as lying by omission.”

“We want to protect you,” Zack says, his red and black letterman jacket pulled taut over his broad shoulders. Just looking at him reminds me of the weight of his body, the heat of his mouth. Ugh. Pretty sure I’ve spent the last few months just ogling the guys. I figure as long as I keep my grades up (I outranked Tristan during Parents’ Week again, so score for me) then I deserve a little indulgence. “And not just physically, but emotionally, too.”

“What he’s trying to say is … let us be the assholes.” Zayd gives me a devilish little grin. “It’s what we’re good at, after all.”

“You have a sort of …” Creed trails off, waving his hand around lazily. I swear, when I close my eyes, I can just imagine him dressed in a blue velvet jacket with lace trailing from the sleeves, an aristocrat in a crumbling old castle. He might be new money, but he doesn’t need to marry some girl with a fancy name to act like he deserves to sit on a throne. He’s the embodiment of luxe, the very definition of opulence and sumptuous extravagance. “Sweetness, yes, that’s the word.” He snaps his fingers and leans in close to me, his fresh soap scent wafting around me. “You have a sweetness to you, but one that isn’t bought and paid for with naivety. We like it.”

“We love it,” Tristan corrects, reaching up to run his hand down the smooth red and black plaid silk of his tie. His smirk is tinged with darkness, bathed in shadows, and I know for sure then that whichever one of these boys I choose, I’ll never change them. The way Zack confronted Ileana in the gym, nearly reduced her to rubble with a few sentences. The way Windsor’s eyes gleam when he’s plotting something. The cruel words that Zayd spat at Becky in the music room. They have it in them, these filthy rich boys of Burberry Prep, this vitriolic simmer, this wanton disregard for authority, and a devil-may-care attitude that can’t be tamed.

I’ll never tame the academy’s bad boys.

I’m not sure that I want to.

“So you’re saying … let you do the dirty work?” I ask, my heart pounding. I feel dizzy, lightheaded, like a goddess surrounded by devils. But I like it, the way they offset my personality, total opposites in every way that counts. And opposites, they really do attract. On the inside, I’m burning. On the outside, I stay cool, calm, relaxed. Or at least I think I do. I feel sweat beading on my forehead, dripping down my spine, sliding between my breasts.

Ah, my breasts.

I’ve never been so aware of them in all my life.

“That’s exactly what we’re saying,” Windsor purrs, propping his face in his hand and giving me this sort of love-drunk grin. See, I don’t think he’s faking it. I’m pretty sure he is in love, but what I think he’s in love with is the aforementioned dirty work, and not necessarily me. “Keep your honeyed hands clean, and let us play.”

“My honeyed hands?” I choke out on the end of a laugh.

“Give me your list,” Tristan says, holding out his hand. It’s not a request, it’s an order. Do I want to follow it? He stares at me with those beautiful gray eyes of his, watching, waiting. I swallow hard and reach into my purse, pulling out the notebook, and tearing the list out before I give it to him. He smiles this wicked, black little smile as he takes it. Next, I tear out the rules, and I hand those over, too.