The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3)(77)
“Sure, but that’s obvious. Of course you’re going to be upset if your car gets dumped in a swimming pool. But not receiving some roses on Valentine’s Day? So what?”
“That’s why I like you,” Zayd says, tugging on one of his lip rings. “Because you don’t think like they do. You have no idea how much someone like Becky craves attention and approval from others. Not getting roses on Valentine’s is, like, the equivalent of being shaved bald for her. Trust me: this is sweet, sweet revenge in its finest form.”
The door to The Mess opens, and the other boys come in, talking up seats around the table. Creed slides his foot up my leg, and I flush, pretending not to notice. Last night, he snuck over to my room in the middle of the night, and we … well, he had a quick repeat of what happened at the hotel.
He came in and didn’t say a word, pushed my shirt up and over my breasts, sucked gently on the flesh, and slid in me with a groan that’s still ringing in my ears. Just thinking about it makes my nipples pebble to fine points. It’s all so new, all this physical affection. I get jitters just thinking about it.
“What are the plans for tomorrow?” Windsor asks, leaning back in his seat and folding his hands over the front of his uniform. I’m in love with the red jackets, the plaid ties, and the white shirts. I’m going to miss them. Then again, fourth year uniforms are solid black: black ties, black shirt, black jacket, black skirt/slacks.
“Hit the garden party, grab a table, and romance the shit out of our new girlfriend?” Zayd says with a grin, and Zack slams a palm onto the table, shaking the dishes. Everyone turns to look at him, his brown eyes narrowed to slits, his gaze focused on me. I shiver under the intensity.
“No.”
“No?” Creed echoes, and Windsor raises his eyebrows. Tristan looks bored, and Zayd looks irritated.
“What do you mean no?” the rocker boy asks, rubbing his inked hand up his equally inked arm.
“I mean I’ve been placid, and I’ve been nice, and I’m done with it. I thought that’s what Marnye wanted.” Zack stops and then sits back in his chair, lifting his chin in a way that promise he’s just as much a member of the Burberry Prep royal court as any of the other guys. “But it’s not. She wants me to fight for her, so that’s what I’m going to fucking do. I’m taking her on a date, just me.”
“Says friggin’ who?” Zayd growls, rising to his feet. I reach out and grab his arm, and he sits down, letting out a string of curses.
“Where are you wanting to take me?” I ask, heart pounding, knowing this is going to be good. Zack is thoughtful. He bought me a freaking pedal harp for Christmas.
“I got some off-campus passes for the afternoon. Thought we could go to the bookstore, and I could get you some more of those boys’ love mangas you like. And then … maybe a picnic by the lake.”
“Are you for real?” Zayd asks, leaning back in his chair so far I’m worried he might topple over. “What makes you think you get Marnye all to yourself on Valentine’s Day?”
“Because I asked for it first,” Zack says, voice cool and dark. He turns to look at me. “What do you think?”
I look at the others, but they don’t give anything away.
“We can hold court at the garden party,” Windsor says, surprising me. “You go. There’ll be time for other dates later.” Zayd curses, but then he just chucks his napkin onto his plate and throws a tattooed hand up in the air.
“Yeah, sure, Mr. Rich and Royal is going to be all chivalrous and shit. Fine. Go, have fun, but remember that when I take you out,” Zayd smirks as he levels a glare on Zack, “it’s going to be a hell of a lot better than a fucking picnic.”
Valentine’s Day is just a normal day of school, capped off with the dramatic ritual of the roses. This time, I end up with a huge bundle. Pretty sure all of them are from my friends—boyfriends and non-boyfriends alike—but Zayd was right: it really does feel good to be wanted and appreciated.
After I set my colorful spray of roses up in a water pitcher (I don’t exactly have a lot of vases lying around), I change into a short, pink dress and some white ballet flats, pausing as I head out the door and find a small stack of gifts waiting for me.
Not a one of the boys is about to be outdone, so there’s a little something from everyone but Zack.
“The things I want to give you,” he says, leaning against the stone wall next to my door, dressed in jeans, a tight black shirt, and his red and black letterman jacket, “can’t be wrapped.”
My cheeks flush, and I lick my lower lip.
“Look at you, all poetic and romantic,” I murmur, putting the stack of presents carefully on my bed for later. What a treat that’ll be to come home to. What girl wouldn’t want to go on a date with her hunky football player boyfriend, and then come back to a stack of beautifully wrapped gifts from her other four beaus.
I’m starting to feel spoiled.
Zack takes my arm and we head outside, threading through sun-dappled woods toward the visitors lot until we get to his orange McLaren. He opens the doors—which lift up in a Back to the Future sort of way—and holds my hand while I climb in, ever the gentleman.
True to his word, we hit the bookstore and load up on yaoi—yes, more of the super sexual Japanese manga that I like. I’m not even ashamed to admit it anymore. Zack decides to go a different route and ends up deciding to try some yuri—a girl on girl version of the books I’ve got. He says he’s not really into manga, but I appreciate that he’s willing to give it a try.