The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3)(90)

“Breast,” he whispers, and I chuckle, almost losing my balance.

“That is not a body part,” I choke, and I can feel him quivering above me, struggling to hold his post.

“Damn right it is,” he growls, and I shrug. Because it’s easier to just lean down and touch my boob to the map, I do it. “Dick.”

“That’s your body part choice?” I ask, and he grunts. “Fine … uh, green.”

Tristan adjusts himself, putting his crotch on the mat, so that we’re pretty much face to face. He looks at me, and I just start laughing. It’s so bad that I actually fall, and end up in a heap on the floor. Tristan sits down beside me, panting and sweating, and then takes off his shirt, tossing it aside.

“You lose the bet,” he says, but he doesn’t sound all that happy about winning. “Want to play again? All or nothing?” I nod and push up, finding his gaze on me. He reaches out with his fingers, brushing them along my jaw, and I sigh.

Tristan pulls back before anything can happen, and we start all over again.

This time, we just call out body parts and colors from the very beginning.

Within minutes, we’re face to face, mouth to mouth. And the kiss we share in that moment … is the truest we’ve ever had. We move over to the bed, kissing slowly, hands roaming over one another’s bodies, but it only lasts as long as the alarm on Tristan’s phone.

When it goes off, he groans and pushes me over to lie next to him.

“William will be here any minute. You really need to get the hell out of here.”

His gaze is like ice, but his fingers feel like fire, I think as we look at each other.

I lift my hands up to hide my face, but Tristan isn’t having any of it. He pulls them down, and he gives me this private, little grin that I can’t help but return. We’re still lying there and smiling at each other like lovestruck idiots when Lizzie opens the door and walks in.

“Shit, I thought that was locked.” Tristan sits up and slides his fingers through his mussy, raven-dark hair. He looks almost … cute. That is, if Tristan Vanderbilt is even capable of cute. Sure, he’s one of the hottest guys I’ve ever seen, but I’m not sure the word cute is the right adjective.

My mind is wandering, so I put the brakes on and make myself look at Lizzie’s face instead. She’s freaking shattered right now. Guilt surges through me, as uncomfortable as a punch to the gut. This isn’t what I wanted to happen. She probably thinks we were having sex. But no. All we did was play Twister and then make out.

Although, putting it that way, it sounds almost as bad.

“The guests are arriving.” Lizzie stares at us, and I can’t help but feel empathy for her. What if I’d walked in on this situation? I would be beyond upset. My empathy flares to life, and my stomach churns. “William is furious; he’s looking for you.”

“Of course he’s furious.” Tristan scowls, and slides his hand over his sweaty face. “I’m not just a bastard anymore; I’m an embarrassment.”

Lizzie pulls the door closed and then leans her back against it, locking eyes with Tristan.

Even though I have four other boyfriends downstairs, even though sometime in the future I’ll have to choose, I don’t want to lose Tristan now.

“What?” he asks her, his body stuff, muscles taut with stress.

Lizzie closes her eyes, and then carefully twists off her engagement ring. She opens them again and her irises are painted with the brilliant colors of emotion: love, and want, and desperate need.

“I don’t know what’ll happen if I tell my parents no,” Lizzie says, staring down at the ring. “I think they love me enough to get over it, but … I can’t do it. I can’t marry Marcel.”

Rising to my feet, I slide my palms down the front of my cream-colored dress to get out the wrinkles. No point though. Lizzie isn’t looking at me; the only person in this house that exists for her right now, the only person that matters, is Tristan. Amber eyes bright with determination, Lizzie takes a small step forward.

“Why are you telling me this?” Tristan asks, standing up and grabbing his shirt. He puts it on and then looks at her with an expression that’s equal parts frustration and confusion. “My dad’s on the warpath. He doesn’t like you, and he doesn’t like Marnye, and he doesn’t want the entire board of directors for the Infinity Club waltzing into our house to pass judgment.”

“I don’t care about the Infinity Club right now,” Lizzie blurts, and my heart begins to thunder in my chest, echoing the throbbing pulse point I can see beating in her throat. She moves toward Tristan again, but he doesn’t return the favor. “All I care about is you, Tristan. I love you.”

There’s nothing but pure, unadulterated truth in her words. It’s no surprise to me though: I’ve expected as much since I first laid eyes on her.

The logical thing to do would be to let Tristan go, push him and Lizzie together, and focus on the four other guys that are waiting downstairs for me. The thing is, the heart doesn’t use logic to make its decision. Even now, I’m dreading that future moment where I’ll have to pick a boy, where I’ll have to choose.

If Lizzie and Tristan are meant to be together, it’ll happen. I won’t do anything for or against it.

I bite my lower lip.