In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,29
and climbing over the edge of the balcony railing before I can stop him. He quite literally dives into the pool and gives me a heart attack as I race over and curl my fingers around the banister, holding my breath until he pops up and swims over to the edge.
Zayd hauls himself up and then rises to his feet before he shoves another dude in the water and then turns around to wave at me.
“Still an asshole! Just not to you.” He presses kisses to his palms and then flings them my direction, green hair dripping into his face as he makes his way across the courtyard and out a side gate.
“Tip of what?” Creed repeats as I glance over at him, tall and imposing with eyes like chips of ice.
My face heats, and I look up at the blue, blue California sky.
“Erm, would you believe me if I said … lollipop?”
“No.” Creed narrows his eyes and huffs. “Unless by lollipop, you mean Zayd’s dick. Surely you noticed the stupid piercing? He’s such a showboating cocksucker.” Creed pauses, like maybe he’s reconsidering the use of that last term. He glances down at me. “Did you—”
“No!” I choke out, flushing. “We were both high. He stopped me.”
“He stopped you?” Creed asks, and then shakes his head, toweling his gorgeous hair before he tosses it aside, probably for some underpaid maid to clean up. It bothers me, so I pick the towel up and bundle it into a basket that’s already got some dirty clothes in it. “Interesting.”
“How is that interesting?” I ask, and Creed shrugs lazily, slouching his way over to the bed to lie facedown on it. He doesn’t even seem to care that we’re in Zayd’s room. Or that he came in his pants lying right next to me last night. Apparently the pot doesn’t erase memories the way I’ve heard alcohol does.
“Just … I mean, Zayd turning down girls is a new phenomenon.”
“You mean like you being a virgin?” I ask, sitting down next to him. He cracks one heavy-lidded eye and looks up at me.
“I’m not a virgin anymore,” he says, and this cavalier little smile takes over his mouth. “And neither are you. No matter what happens, you’ll probably remember me the rest of your life. I like that.”
“You’re a cocky, arrogant, lazy dickhead,” I say, but Creed just shrugs again.
“No arguing that. Should we take a nap before the concert? I don’t even know why we’re up at the butt crack of dawn anyhow. It’s not our show tonight.”
“We could take a nap …” I start, and there must be something in my voice because Creed suddenly doesn’t look so sleepy anymore. His cavalier smile turns into a satisfied male smirk as he pushes up and crawls over to me.
We just barely finish in time to get dressed for the start of the show.
“Gross, gross, gross,” Miranda murmurs as I flush, sitting in the back of the golf cart with her and Lizzie while Zack drives. “I can’t believe I walked in and saw that gross, wrinkly butt.”
“My butt is not wrinkly,” Creed growls, turning around to give her a look. Zack is so big and muscular that only he and Creed fit in the front seat, while the three of us girls fit easily in the back.
“Looked that way, pumping up and down like that …”
“Miranda!” I shout, putting my hands over my ears. “Please stop.”
Having Miranda walk in on me and her twin for a second time was not pleasant. Guess it serves us right for not checking to see if the door was locked.
“Okay, fine, but it still looked wrinkly to me …”
Zack makes a frustrated sounding growl while Lizzie giggles and puts her hand over her mouth. I’m just done with the conversation, so I ignore them all, gaping at the massive, heaving crowd gathering around the stage.
We follow the other golf cart around to the back where several burly security guards check and recheck our badges before letting us backstage.
“What a circus,” Tristan drawls, like he’s bored out of his mind.
“Better than a wrinkly butt,” Lizzie says, and I swear, she does it on purpose. I stop dead in my tracks and turn to look at her, but she’s already breezing past and giggling. Tristan looks at her and then back over at me. If the rumors are true, he hasn’t had sex in … years, right?
“Miranda walked in on me and Creed,” I tell him, locking eyes with