In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,14
hate them all in that moment.
“Are you okay?” Zack asks, leaning against the side of his orange McLaren. I lift my gaze up and glance over at him, his brown eyes dark and narrowed, his expression soft but his stance foreboding. He looks so scary. Hell, I used to be scared of him. But when I walk over and slide my arms around his waist, he gathers me up close, his sporty scent comforting me.
I close my eyes and breathe in the sweet and savory mix of nutmeg and lavender, and decide I don't care if Dad looks out and sees us. I hate secrets. I need to tell him the truth about the guys, and that I'm dating all five of them.
Zack cups the back of my head with one of his big hands, squeezing me so tight that I feel more than safe wrapped up in all those big muscles of his.
He doesn't ask me to talk about it, just holds me there until I push away and sniffle a bit.
“Want to go check out the campus at LBMS?” he asks, and I give him a look. The day I left, I swore I'd never go back to Lower Banks Middle School again. But … maybe it'd be cathartic somehow? “We can write Mrs. Dickweed in Sharpie on Mrs. Dillword's door and pretend we're fourteen again.”
“I never wrote Mrs. Dickweed on that woman's door,” I tell Zack, crossing my arms over my chest. “Because I am not a bully.” His face softens up and he reaches out to ruffle my hair. It could be a patronizing sort of move, done wrong, but Zack makes it seem affectionate. “But she was a bit of a bully herself sometimes, so I get it.” I pause and study his tall form for a moment, trying not to think about our sessions in the dark. We've only had sex a handful of times, and it still feels so new. When I look at him and think too hard about it, I flush and feel the nearly uncontrollable urge to blurt out random architectural and historical facts. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“You got me addicted to this place,” he says, pausing as one of the pretty young waitresses bounces down the steps with a bag of to-go food.
“I've got your order, Zack,” she says, biting her lower lip and blinking long eyelashes in his direction. Then she notices me standing there and looks at me like I'm getting in her way.
“Thanks, Lucia,” Zack says, reaching into his pocket to pull out a wad of cash. “Keep the change, okay?” She takes it and gives me another sassy look before storming off.
“Come here a lot, huh?” I ask, glaring at him, but it's tempered with a smile. “Lucia seems to really like you. And you're on a first-name basis, too?”
Zack gives me a cocky grin and leans down, close enough to kiss.
“I don't know if you're aware, but I'm a fucking football star. I can have any girl I want.”
“Uh-huh,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. But I do feel better. I mean, as well as anyone could considering what Dad's going through. My body starts to tremble and Zack notices, frowning slightly and standing up as the front door to the diner opens again and Charlie comes down the steps.
He's still not Zack's biggest fan, but we're getting there.
“Zack,” Dad greets, looking between the two of us like he can't quite figure out our relationship.
“Mr. Reed,” Zack says, and I feel another pinch of guilt that I came between their friendship with that video. Maybe I went a little too far with that one? “I was just here picking up a to-go order, and ran into Marnye.”
Dad nods, turning to me with this inscrutable expression on his face.
“I'm going to head over to the winery and start installing those arches.”
“You shouldn't be working,” I tell him firmly, feeling my body get hot with frustration. “I have that poker money—”
“Which you'll need for college.” Dad reaches out and touches the side of my face with a thin hand, a hand that used to be strong and sure. “I want to work, Marnye. I like it. Ironwork is like an art form for me. If I stop doing it, that's like giving up. Do you want to drop me at home, so I can grab my truck?” Dad gestures at the rose-gold Maserati, sitting so conspicuously in a row of rusted old