The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3)(84)

“Hey,” Zayd says, panting as he runs up to us, leaning over and putting his hands on his knees for a moment, so he can catch his breath. He turns his green gaze up to look at the two of us, and a flicker of jealousy shadows his eyes for a moment before he blinks it away. “Thought you guys might want to see some action going down in the front courtyard.”

“What’s happening?” I ask, and Zayd grins and winks.

“Remember what I said about Myron? Well, Tristan sent him sniffing for trouble, and he found some.”

Creed and I exchange a look, and then we’re both standing up and following Zayd into the chapel building, down the hall, and out the front doors toward the courtyard. There’s no crowd when we get there, just a couple of girls and a boy in plainclothes, a pair of drivers loading up their suitcases. It’s not until I get a little bit closer that I recognize the three of them: Anna Kirkpatrick, Ebony Peterson, and Sai Patel.

Tristan is standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, Lizzie beside him (why?!), and Myron on her other side. They all glance over at me as I step up to stand next to Tristan.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my list clutched in hand. No way was I leaving it there for any random Pleb—or more importantly, Harper—to find. Sure, it doesn’t exactly say anything damning, but I still don’t want it to end up in the wrong hands.

“Busted for buying paying others to do their coursework for them,” Myron answers, and I think maybe that’s the first time he’s ever spoken directly to me. “They’re being expelled. Apparently it’s been going on since first year.” He smirks, and I see a darkness in his face that makes Tristan look like a pussycat. I have a feeling, though, that Zayd wasn’t just talking about the guy’s gumshoeing skills when he warned me about him.

Myron Talbot has violence etched into every feature.

I’m guessing the only thing that’s keeping him in check is Tristan Vanderbilt.

“They’re being expelled?” I repeat, and Tristan smiles, glancing over at me.

“Taking out the trash, one bag at a time.” He turns toward me and then reaches down, sliding a finger across my collarbone and stealing my breath away. “Next year, I don’t want you to worry about anything. I’ve still got a ways to go with Harper, but there’s always the summer.”

“It’s not like we can’t finish the list next year,” I say, wrinkling my brow and giving him a look. Tristan puts his hand on the top of my head, ruffles up my hair in a distinctly un-Tristan-like way, and then turns to head for Tower Three. Lizzie trails behind him, giving me a half-smile as she passes, and frankly, I’m relieved to see Myron go with them.

“I don’t like that guy,” Zack says, appearing from the direction of the chapel building with Windsor by his side. Looking at him, I still have a hard time believing that he went down on me, that he slid into me from behind. His brown eyes swing my way, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking about and finds it amusing.

Swallowing hard, I tuck my fingers in the pockets of my blazer and try to act casual.

“Myron?” I ask, and Zack nods.

“Don’t worry about him,” Creed drawls, waving his hand dismissively. “He’s Tristan’s pet. I’d only worry if our illustrious king drops the leash.” He sighs and looks down at me, cocking his head to one side as I lift up my list and stare down at it. Three more names to cross off. Fantastic. “It’s getting dark. Maybe we should collect our stuff and head back to my place to finish up?”

“Right,” Zack growls as Windsor narrows his eyes on both of them. “You just want her to come up to study? I call bullshit.”

“Why don’t you let me and Marnye worry about that?” Creed asks, as Zayd scowls, reaching up to ruffle his hair. It’s sea green again. He dyed it sometime during spring break and showed up with it like that. Pretty sure I squealed and threw my arms around his neck. I’m kind of attached to that color now.

“How about Marnye comes up with me, and we finally get it on?” Zayd says, lighting up a cigarette and giving me a wink. He dances out of the way when I try to pluck it from his lips, and I sigh. I put my hands on my hips and stare him down. After a few puffs, he sighs dramatically and then hands it over to me, watching sadly as I tap it out against the stone ground, and then throw it away. “You’re such a shithead,” he murmurs, but he says it so affectionately that it doesn’t bother me.

“I’m going to go back to my room now,” I tell them all, lifting an eyebrow. “And I’m going to read some of my gauche manga books, and then take a nap. None of you should have time for sex, not with finals around the corner. Third year’s the most important when it comes to getting into college, and I’m off to Bornstead if it kills me.”

I attempt a hair flip, fail, and then saunter off in my shiny kitten heels, and hope I look hot as fuck.

Probably not, but, you know, it was worth a try.



A few weeks later, when I seriously feel like I have nothing left to give back to the monster that is the brutal Burberry Prep academics schedule, I find Zayd asleep in the library. He’s lying facedown on his notebook, a pen still clutched loosely in his tattooed hand. Carefully, I pull it out and pack up his things for him.

Then I gently shake his shoulder in an attempt to wake him up.