“Duh. Who doesn’t? You want to invite Krampus in to wreak havoc?” I head toward my room, but Zack pulls me into the kitchen instead. “Do you mind?” he asks, pointing at the fridge, and I nod, noticing that small but important difference between him and Windsor.
The prince just waltzes around like he owns the world. He opens cabinets and fridges without even thinking to ask. I like that about him, but I also like that Zack, at least, has learned some humility. Other people’s boundaries actually mean something to him now.
“Go right ahead.” I watch as Zack gathers ingredients from around the kitchen and lays them out on the counter. “You believe in Krampus, too, huh? Scary.”
“So scary. But not as scary as the epic fights between my dad and grandpa.” Zack pulls his phone out, looks up a recipe, and sets it aside before he moves to the sink to wash his big hands. Mm. Football player, rich boy, baking Christmas cookies in my house at midnight on Christmas Eve-Eve, that is, the day before Christmas Eve. Maybe I’m the only person in the world that calls it Eve-Eve?
“What were they fighting about this time?” I ask as Zack pulls me forward and puts an egg in my hand. There’s a bottle of molasses on the counter, so I’m guessing we’re recreating the same cookies he made with his family. None of the lamps are on in the house, just the colored strands of lights on the tree, and the single white strand wrapped in garland over the sink.
My house, my sink, I remind myself, my lips curving into a private smile. The last thing Dad needed was the stress of a move, or an overbearing landlord. Harper du Pont is going down, and going down hard. When I come at her, the whole world will know.
“All sorts of things. I mean, there was the usual stuff: politics, religion, whatever. They got into this heated verbal brawl over whether the sweet potato dish I made should have marshmallows on it or not. That’s when I knew things were getting bad.” Zack’s low, rumbling voice seems right at home in the tiny space. Although he looks a bit like a giant in a dwarf’s kitchen, he takes up the space admirably, like he belongs there regardless.
I crack my egg into the bowl and toss the shell in the trash. I’m not going to tell Dad about the house, not just yet. If I do, then I’ll have to explain why Windsor bought me a house without sounding like I’m living some teen version of Fifty Shades of Grey, like oh, Mr. Sexy Man, I love that you own the place I live in. Control me, dominant me. Bleh. I shiver as I think about the prince fucking me in the barn. Ugh. Yeah, no, it’s best if I just don’t tell Dad until he … until he gets healthy again.
“Did they fight about me and you, too?” I ask, and Zack doesn’t answer right away, stirring the dry ingredients together and then reaching up to rub his hand over his forehead, smearing it with a streak of flour.
“They both see me as their legacy, their pawn, some piece to move around a board.” Zack and I combine our bowls, and soon we’ve got a sweet-smelling, sticky dough that Zack puts in the freezer to firm up a bit. When I move over to the sink to wash my hands, he steps up behind me and curves his arms around me, helping me cleanse the dough from under my fingernails. “They want me to marry Kiara Xiao.”
“The girl Tristan—” I start, but that memory is too much right now. I can’t handle it. “No.”
“No,” Zack breathes, turning the sink off and pulling me against him. “She’s not right for me.”
“Yeah, because she’s a spoiled rotten brat who fits in so well with the Harpies I can’t tell her claws apart from the rest of them.” I turn around, so close to Zack that the swell of my breasts brush up against his chest. I bet I look pretty ridiculous in my outfit, but not him. He doesn’t look ridiculous at all, just … gorgeous, like the front cover of some sports magazine. It’s his lower lip that really does it for me, so full and ripe. My thumb comes up of its own accord and traces the shape of it. Zack shudders and sighs under my touch, like I’ve somehow managed to put him in a thrall.
“Well, all of those things, and also … because she isn’t you.” He shrugs his shoulders and steps away from me, like he’s trying to extricate himself from the tension between us. Not sure why. Doesn’t he know I’m going to ask him to stay the night? “You could leave the dough in the fridge overnight, and bake it in the morning so the cookies are fresh.”
“I could do that,” I say with a nod, folding my brown-furred arms over my equally brown-furred chest. “And you could try to sneak out in the morning before Dad knows you’re here?” I look up at Zack’s face and watch as his tight expression loosens up a little.
“You sure you still want me, after Zayd and Windsor?” He pauses, frowning slightly. I didn’t have to tell the guys about me and Windsor because, well, Wind did it for me before I got a chance. And then I jumped in the pool and stayed under just long enough to make them all worry. But just a little. A little angst is fun. Too much gives me a stomachache.
“Why would you think I wouldn’t?” I ask, and Zack shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair.
“I don’t know. I mean, how long do you really want to put up with all of us?” He looks at me like he’s certain I’m not going to pick him, like our time together is short-lived.
“As long as I can?” I respond, and then I reach down and take his hand, pulling him toward the bedroom and closing the door behind us.
I need to clean the kitchen, but that can wait until morning.
Tonight, I’m going to let Zack unzip my reindeer costume and slide it off of me first.
When I wake up later, Charlie is still asleep, Zack is gone, and the kitchen is freaking spotless.
“I don’t see why I have to keep trying,” Creed drawls, gesturing loosely in my direction as he drapes his boneless body over one of the leather chairs in the library. “I was already accepted to the school. What do my grades matter now?”
I cross my arms over my chest and give him my most severe look.
“First off, don’t you have any pride in your academic work? And second, it does matter. The university will look at your grades for the last semester, and your class ranking. Miranda already promised me you’d be going to Bornstead. Don’t disappoint me now, Cabot.”
“Oh, bossy, bossy, bossy,” he drawls, flinging one leg over the arm of the chair and looking out at me from under half-lidded eyes. His gaze sweeps me in my all-black uniform, taking in every curve. When I sit down, on the other chair arm, my skirt rides up and Creed gets a little peek at my garters underneath. “And just as sexy as you are authoritative.” His fingers dance across my upper thigh, snapping one of the straps against my pale flesh. I shiver, but I manage to stay firm.
“You need to study for this math test.”
“I’d rather study you,” Creed purrs, drawing me into his lap. His clean linen and soap smell is intoxicating, and I find my hands playing with the buttons on his shirt, even though I know I should be encouraging him to look at the rubric Miss Danebo handed out.
“Why? What is it you want to know?”
“Why do you like those boy-on-boy comics so much? Do you have fantasies you haven’t told me about?”
“Yes, I’d love to see you topped by Tristan Vanderbilt, but that’s not going to happen. What will happen if you don’t study, is me going to college with your sister, and you going home to sleep a gap year away in the Hamptons.”
“You’d go without me?” he asks, sighing and sliding his fingers down the row of buttons on my top, popping a few of them wide. The lace of my navy, blue bra shows, and I suck in a sharp breath as Creed trails the edge of his fingernail along the scalloped edges. His ice-blue eyes flick up to mine with an exquisite sort of cruelty dancing in them. He knows how badly he’s getting to me, and he loves it. I wiggle on his lap without meaning to, and Creed scowls at me. “And you know from experience exactly what that sort of move does to my dick.”
“So damn crude,” I murmur, forcing myself to stand up and put some space between us. If I don’t, I’m going to end up doing things in the library that most definitely would end up on my permanent record if I were caught. “But I like it,” I toss over my shoulder, sauntering off and enjoying Creed’s groan of frustration as he forces himself up and follows after me.
“Where are you going?” he asks as I head out the library doors, and down the stone hall.
“If you’re not willing to study, I have other things to deal with today.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my modified list. Ileana doesn’t seem to be coming back to Burberry, and not because of the whole, erm, popped boob thing. Pretty sure there’s a rift between her and Becky that’ll never be healed.
Revenge On The Bluebloods of Burberry Prep
A list by Marnye Reed
The Harpies: Harper du Pont, Becky Platter, and Ileana Taittinger
The Company: Abigail Fanning, Valentina Pitt, Mayleen Zhang, Jalen Donner, and Kiara Xiao
The fucked-up foursome—Harper, Becky, Abigail, and Valentina—are proving the most difficult. I mean, just think about Abigail for example: Tristan destroyed her at the casino, I gave her boyfriend proof of her infidelity, and she found out Harper had been screwing Greg behind her back all along. And yet, she’s still standing. It’s not enough, not by a longshot.
Of course, dethroning the girls from their Blueblood status was impressive, but it doesn’t take the cake.
For now, I’ve moved onto easier targets: Mayleen Zhang in particular.
She’s always prided herself on her schoolwork, just like me and Tristan. In fact, she often ranks in the top five in the entire academy. And yet, I’ve now got proof that she’s been using what’s called mosaic plagiarism to write a lot of her essays—including one she got an award for last year.
Mosaic plagiarism is when a person uses a general story idea or structure and simply finds synonyms or alternative phrases for the author’s original work while keeping the same meaning and structure of the piece they’re stealing from.