Home > The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3)(15)

The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3)(15)
Author: C.M. Stunich

We don’t talk much, but at least I have a study buddy this year that cares as much about schoolwork as I do. Why, exactly, he cares as much as he does is a mystery to me. Clearly, his father’s putting pressure on him to be the best, but there’s something more. Maybe … Tristan actually likes to learn, to succeed on his own merit?

My tongue itches to ask him why: why did you try to sabotage me last year? I was so disappointed in him, even when I hated him. So why? Eventually I’ll get up the courage to ask. For now, I just work through the first two classes of the day, thank the heavens that we get through lunch without confrontation, and enjoy the relative ease of my English class in the afternoon with Lizzie.

As soon as I get to my locker however, Zack is there, putting his palm against the metal and leaning down to look at me with the most intense brown eyes known to man.

“Marnye,” he says, as Creed comes jogging up to stand beside us. And when I say it’s weird to see Creed Cabot jog, I mean it’s really weird. He can barely walk most of the time, lazing his way along the halls with an entitled air of superiority. Right now, he just looks pissed and red-faced, like he ran all the way over here.

“You son of a bitch,” he spits as Zack leans down and kisses me hot and fast on the lips. He pulls back and leaves me breathless, reaching up with his left hand to cup the side of my face.

“I know I said I don’t deserve you, and I don’t, but …” He sucks in a sharp breath, closes his eyes, and then exhales before he opens them again. “I can’t watch him make his move, and not say anything.” My heart gives this big, triumphant little thump, and I bite my lower lip. “He wants you to be his girlfriend. Well, so do I.”

“Zack Brooks, you are a grade-A piece of shit.” Creed’s mouth is thinned into a flat line, and his hands are curled into fists. He shakes them out, and then exhales, reaching up to undo the top two buttons on his shirt. He’s not wearing his jacket—unsurprising—and his clothes are all gently wrinkled, this very purposeful disheveled dishabille that’s part of his charm.

“I …” I start, but then I just lean my back against my locker and squeeze my bookbag against my chest. “Holy shit.”

“What’s going on?” Miranda asks, appearing from around the corner with Andrew by her side. Lizzie steps up beside them, eyes flicking between Creed, Zack, and me.

“What’s going on,” Creed drawls, sauntering forward and putting his own palm on my locker, so that both Zack and him are standing in much the same position. Both of them too close, both of them with their own, unique but tantalizing scents. “Is that Zack here has decided he wants to move in on my girl.”

“Your girl?” I choke out with a small laugh. “Since when?”

Creed’s face hardens, but he’s focusing all of that intensity and cruelty of his on Zack.

“You saw us in the hot tub together. You know the chemistry we have. Back off, Brooks.”

I groan and cover my face with my hands, but Zack just snarls right back at Creed.

“Marnye could do so much better than you,” he says, and I glance up from between my fingers to see that he’s shaking. “Better than me, too, but I at least have to tell her how I feel and throw my hat in the ring. I’ve already told her that I’m in love with her, but now I’m extending an invitation. Marnye, be my girlfriend.”

“You told her you love her?” Creed asks, sounding perplexed. “When?”

“Guys.” My voice comes out clear and authoritative, and both boys glance down at me, their gazes burning. “It’s only the second day of school, and I can’t breathe.”

“Why can’t you breathe?” Zayd asks as he swaggers up to us, his tie missing (he probably got a mark for that from Ms. Felton), his sleeves rolled up and showing off his glorious collection of tattoos. He reaches up to muss around with his fiery orange hair as he looks between the three of us.

“We’ve both just asked her out,” Zack declares, pushing off the locker and standing up straight, his letterman jacket on his broad shoulders. He has football practice three times a week now (has been having practices in Cruz Bay since before school even started), so he probably can’t stick around too much longer. He won’t be able to have dinner with us until the season’s over. And even then, only until track and field starts.

“You asked her out?” Zayd sputters as Zack moves around us and heads toward the back door and the golf carts waiting to drive him and the other boys out to the field. In about two weeks, I’ll have cheerleading practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Since I tried out last year, I don’t have to go to tryouts this time, but until Coach Hannah is done choosing new recruits, I’m off the hook. Maybe she’ll actually feel confident enough in us this year to let us compete?

“Yeah, so … if you were planning on it, you’re a little late.” Zack shoulders Zayd out of his way, and the rocker boy sneers, flipping him off and mumbling a string of dark curses under his breath. The way he looks at me after that scares me a little. If he asks me out next …

“All of this posturing and the she’s mine, I love her, so on and so forth bullshit, it’s entirely useless.” Windsor is just there suddenly, leaning casually against a stone column like he’s been there all along although I swear he’s just materialized.

“Oh, is that so?” Creed snaps back at him, running long fingers through his white-blond hair. “And you’re the proverbial expert?”

“You’re terrible people, all four of you. Why on earth would someone like Marnye want to date any or all four douchebags who bet against her heart and her life? Hmm?” He stands up and saunters over to us, pushing red hair off his forehead with his palm until it sticks straight up. “Shall we shelve this conversation for later? Harper’s already spreading the word about a party on Friday.”

“And we’ll be crashing it,” Tristan says, appearing from down the hall. He pauses, narrowing his gray eyes as he senses the tension in the group. Or maybe he just notices the look on my face. One part shock, one part confusion, and the rest … excitement? “What’s going on?”

“I asked Marnye out,” Creed drawls, slumping back against the lockers and crossing his arms over his chest. He looks out at Tristan from heavy, half-lidded eyes and smirks. “So did Brooks.” Tristan stares at Creed, and the tension between the two of them is thick and toxic. They’re still competing with each other, even if they’re not completely aware of it.

“Oh?” Tristan echoes, his voice as cold and gray as the stones arching above our heads. He stands there, all perfectly tailored and put-together, but there’s a tightness in his jaw that he can’t hide. “Is that so?” He turns his sharp attention from Creed to me. There’s so much in that gaze that it feels like my knees might buckle. “What did you have to say about that Marnye?”

“I’d say … if you guys are fucking with me again, I won’t just let you hang yourselves with your own rope; I’ll braid some new shit. Miranda, walk me back to my room?” I glance over and find my bestie gaping at me before she nods abruptly and scurries over to take my arm. Just before we go, I take in the small group with a stern sort of stare, ignoring the fluttering hormones in my heart for the time being. “Friday, after school, my room. We need to have a little chit-chat.”

Dragging Miranda along with me, I head down the hall, and the boys watch me go.

After a minute, Lizzie jogs to catch up with us.

Miranda scowls at her a bit, but she’s never told me if there’s anything more to her dislike of Lizzie than the bet. To be fair, it was an awful, awful thing to do, but I’m not entirely sure that’s it.

“Are you … excited?” Lizzie queries, peering into my face as we walk. “Or angry. I can’t quite tell.”

“No, because you’ve barely spent any time together in person,” Miranda snaps, and I give her a questioning look. “What? She enrolls in Burberry, and suddenly she’s one of your buddies? Have you forgotten what she did to you?” Lizzie cringes beside me, but she doesn’t argue. “I saw you annihilate Zack in front of the entire school. He got kicked off the team. Granted, I don’t think it was enough, but how has she paid for what she did?”

“I …” The anxious little butterflies in my belly take flight and reveal a whole host of raw nerves I didn’t realize I had. “It’s complicated.” I invited her to Hookup Point so she’d see that Tristan was engaged, and then I noticed she was hurting so bad that I crossed her name off the list.

“Well, I’ll tell you what’s not complicated: I don’t trust Lizzie Walton, and I never have, not since we were kids.” Miranda pauses in front of my door—somebody’s already spray-painted The Brothel onto the front of it, how creative—and stamps her shiny black kitten heel on the stone floor like a child. She’s a sweet, genuine sort of person, but sometimes it’s pretty damn obvious how spoiled she is. “Hell, I didn’t trust her when we were in diapers.”

“Miranda,” Lizzie starts, putting her hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m only here to help. I transferred here to help.”

“Yeah, sure.” Miranda spins to me and puts her hands on her hips. “Did she tell how Tristan, Zayd, and Creed used to follow her around like puppies during the summer? But then she got interested in Tristan, and couldn’t bother giving her other friends the time of day. Creed was heartbroken.”

“Miranda, stop,” Lizzie says, curling her hands in her plaid pleated skirt. “That was a long time ago.”

“She dated all three of the Idols—Tristan, Zayd, and my brother for a whole season in the Hamptons.”

“That was years ago!” Lizzie finally snaps, raking her fingers through her dark curls. A weird thought occurs to me, a text from first year that I’d assumed was a typo. If I had any other choice, I’d still be with them. Lizzie had sent that to me. Holy … crap. “I’m engaged to Marcel now.”

   
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