In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,24

too. My possessive nature rears its ugly head, and I glance back to find similar situations with the other boys.

Trust, Mayne, trust, I think as I meet Zack’s eyes and he smiles, lifting up a beer in solidarity. He’s got his letterman jacket on again which, of course, just does all the right things for me. He’s got a girl seated on either side of him, and a couple more gathered in front of him.

“Sativa?” Creed asks, snatching the chocolate from Zayd’s fingers and giving him a look. Zayd narrows his eyes slightly, and then shrugs.

“Hybrid, but sativa dominant. Reviews on Leafly say it’s got an energetic and creative edge.”

“Energetic, huh? I could use a boost right now.” Creed pops the chocolate in his mouth, and smirks at me as he swallows. “Have you ever seen Pineapple Express, Marnye?”

“Not exactly,” I say, but I smirk right back because I’m not as ignorant as these boys might think. “But I know Leafly is an app where people can rate how much they like certain strains of marijuana, that is certain breeds, like the difference between chardonnay and cabernet. I also know that there are two types of marijuana: indica and sativa. In general, indica makes you feel more sleepy and relaxed while sativa is more likely to offer an upbeat feeling.” I exhale as both Creed and Zayd raise their brows and exchange a look. “What? I had to research this stuff for Charlie.”

“It’s not that,” Creed says, picking up another piece of chocolate. “Just … you sound so clinical. Loosen up, Marnye-bear.” He puts the piece of candy between his lips and leans in, kissing me with it. His tongue pushes the chocolate into my mouth, and I have half a second to decide if I want to spit or swallow it.

Whoa.

That sounded much dirtier than I intended it to …

But also … good question. I’ve never actually, um, had to consider whether I’d spit or swallow.

I swallow the chocolate, and exhale. Based on Dad’s experiences with Mrs. Fleming’s edibles, I know it can take up to two hours for the effects to set in. Please don’t let me regret this.

“Whoa there,” Zayd says, lifting up his palms as Creed leans back, smirking and sliding the fingers of one hand into the pockets of his tight black jeans. “I thought we were dating the good girl, Creed. Guess our new Idol Queen is a little naughty, huh?”

“Oh so naughty,” Creed drawls, making a show of licking the chocolate from his fingertips, swirling his tongue enticingly around each one. “Now, do you want to know why I brought up Pineapple Express?”

“Because … you like the movie?” I ask as Creed gives Zayd another look.

“Maybe not so naughty after all? She’s so damn sweet. Let’s poison her, Zayd.” Creed steps forward as Zayd grins and grabs me around the waist. Creed leans in so close that I can smell his cologne, even amongst all the other sweating students, and the acrid burn of alcohol that seems to permeate the air. He’s got that clean linen and sunshine smell, like sheets left to dry in the summer heat. “I mentioned it because at one point, Seth Rogen launches into a rant about how weed makes food taste better, music sound better, crappy TV shows seem better … It makes sex exquisite.”

“Seth Rogen uses the word exquisite?” I whisper, and Creed gives me this naughty kitty smile, like a very bad housecat. A very, very bad housecat with claws. Is it wrong that I want to get scratched? That maybe I even want to get bitten? “Because I have a hard time believing that.” Creed chuckles softly, just enough that his shoulders quiver, and then he shakes his head like he can’t wait to see how this affects me.

“Just wait until that edible hits you then come find me.”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Zayd whispers, nibbling on my ear and making me shiver. “Fuck off, Cabot. I’m taking Charity here swimming.” He grabs me by the arm and pulls me toward the pool. Miranda’s already out there, dancing on a table with a bottle of champagne in one hand. Creed follows along and then pauses with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest as he stops to guard his twin from unruly guys. Jesus, it’s like a rap video in here or something. Or should I say rock video?

Tristan’s already in the hot tub, his head thrown back on the pavement behind him,