In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,18

everything.

I'm worried it's starting to wear on him.

“You're trying way too hard to be cool. In reality, you're just a douchebag like all the rest of us.” Creed leans back and curves his arm over the back of the seat, trailing his fingers across my shoulder and making me shiver. I glance his way and his pale blue eyes catch on mine. I can't we believe we spent our virgin night together. My breathing picks up slightly, but I look away before I end up embarrassing myself.

Luckily, it's only a four hour ride to get the rest of the band, and then another couple hours to get to the venue. I'm not sure if I could handle the tension for much longer than that. Lizzie barely looks at me now, but she won't leave Tristan alone.

I have this irrational urge to pry her away from him.

He, on the other hand, doesn't seem to be bothered by her constant proximity. My hands curl into fists, fingernails digging into the denim of my jeans. Don’t blame her, Marnye. It’s his choice. If he wants Lizzie by his side then …

“Am I going to hate your band members as much as I hate you?” Zack asks, raising both of his dark brows. He's dressed in a tight black shirt and jean shorts, his letterman jacket tossed aside for the summer heat. It’s been an unusually warm season for our area, like concerningly warm. At least we have AC in both this silly bus and my dad’s house. The Train Car was sort of hit or miss. We had to use either those portable units or the janky window ones. Oftentimes they’d work for a few weeks and then conk out.

“If by hate, you mean love with your whole heart and soul, then yes,” Zayd says, sweeping over to the door as the bus rolls to a stop. He’s practically giddy, running his inked hands down the front of his loose tank. It’s got those big armholes that show off his lean, muscular form underneath. He’s just covered in art, enticing my eye to travel the smooth lines of his body looking for more.

I liken Zayd to a poisonous tree frog (I’ve told him this, by the way) because he’s very pretty to look at, but he’s deadly to touch.

He glances over his shoulder suddenly, green eyes bright as jewels, a crooked, goofy smile on his pretty mouth. The black rings pierced through either side of his lower lip and eyebrow add this slight edge to all of his cute. And he really is, cute I mean.

“Hey Charity,” he says, and Zack makes this irritated sound under his breath.

“Yes, Zayd-Gets-the-Girls-Made?” I ask, blinking my lashes prettily. He raises both brows at me as Creed snorts.

“That’s seriously the worst bad boy nickname known to man. Why don’t you just call yourself Two-Pump-Chump? That has more oomph somehow.”

“Ah, don’t be jealous, man,” Zayd says, leaning his palms on the table and giving me this super saucy look. “If Charity’s heard that awful nickname, then that means she’s been lookin’ me up online, eh?” Zayd ducks down suddenly, and a small squeal escapes me as he drags me under the table and pulls me out, swinging me up into his arms. “Did you need spank-bank material, Working Girl?”

“You are so gross,” I groan, but he’s at least partially right. I did look him up and find that horrible, awful, not-even-a-very-good-rhyme nickname. There are entire threads online of girls who claimed they’ve slept with him.

Just thinking about it pisses me off.

“Guys!” Zayd shouts as the door opens and this huge dude with a beard walks in. “I got me a proper girlfriend!” He lifts me up, and laughter spills from my throat. I can’t help it. Besides the fact that we’ve got some sort of crazy, natural chemistry, this is why I liked him so much during first year. He’s got a natural charm—when he’s not being a total bully, that is.

“This isn’t the poor girl you tortured, is it?” Beard Guy grumbles, crossing his arms over his lumberjack-like chest. He gives me a sympathetic sort of look. “If you are, then I’m sorry. If you’re not, then … scratch what I just said.”

“No, you’re right, that would be me,” I say as a boy with electric blue hair comes up next, followed by a brunette with frosted blond tips, a sweatband pushes his short hair into spiky little bits on the top of his head. All three