In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,41
He looks so tough all the time, with his big, broad shoulders, and that fierce gaze of his, but underneath, he's like a teddy bear. A defensive lineman teddy bear. Yep. “Once she gets past that, she'll see the Harpies for who they are.” I turn back around and look down, watching the wave of faces that turn as Harper marches into the chapel with her cronies behind her, and takes up the front row.
“This is a year that'll go down in Burberry Prep history,” Zayd says, pausing beside me and sitting on the railing in a way that makes me incredibly nervous. He flips Harper off when she glances our way, but she ignores him, nostrils flaring.
“It's a year that'll go down in Infinity Club history,” Zack murmurs, and the two boys exchange a look that makes me nervous.
There's more going on behind the scenes of this academy than meets the eye—and I'm determined to find out what that is.
The new cheerleading uniform for Burberry Prep is a midriff that shows off my entire belly. In my room, I take a moment to pace and freak out, but when I walk out into that hallway, I almost hair flip I’m exuding so much confidence.
There are no condoms on my doorstep, no spray painted words on my door.
Of course, I still have an escort. It’s too dangerous not to.
“Look at you,” Zack growls when I step out and find him in his black jersey, the number 60 printed on the front. He doesn’t even need shoulder pads to make him look big and broad. He curves a muscular arm around my waist and pulls me close. “I’ve never seen you look so damn hot.”
“Uh-uh.” I put my palms on his chest and push him back just enough to look him over. He really is beautiful, his hair like dark chocolate, his eyes just as decadent, his body hard and toned to perfection. He’s certainly come a long way from the bully of Lower Banks Middle School, now hasn’t he? “So you have a thing for cheerleaders, huh? Good to know. I’ll have to keep an eye on you.”
Zack looks me over, eyes staring at the intertwined black and red ‘V’ shapes on the top of my uniform, the white background, the Burberry Prep crest in the center of my chest. The arms are long, patterned with black and red, and the skirt is a super mini in white, no pleats this time, just a small ‘V’ cutout on one side, and more black and red stripes along the hem. Underneath, I have on bloomers—aka spanky pants, but like eww, I’m not about to call them that—ankle socks, and brand-new sneakers.
The whole uniform costs like six hundred bucks, but extracurricular activities are covered by the Cabot Scholarship Award, so I’m covered. Of course … I could probably ask any one of my boyfriends to help me out with costs, but the thought just makes me sick.
I’m not dating them for their money, and I refuse to take advantage of it. Even Windsor purchasing Dad’s house has left me feeling uncomfortable. Charlie doesn’t even know about it, and I don’t know how to tell him. All he knows is that the house sold, and that our current landlord has briefly suspended rent payments …
Zack cups my face in one, big hand and looks at me from heavy-lidded eyes.
“There’s only one cheerleader I have my eye on,” he says, his mouth curving into a sharp smile. “Well, I’m only checking out one cheerleader, I should say. There are a few others that I’m watching in a different way.” He pauses, and I know we’re both thinking about the Harpies. Most of them are on the team with me: Mayleen, Abigail, Kiara, and Ileana. They’re trying to start a trend on campus, calling themselves the Reigning Royals. I’ve heard it whispered a few times here and there, but I hear the term Harpies just as often.
“Don’t worry about them,” I say, taking his hand and letting him walk me to class. The game isn’t until this evening, but the academy is trying to drum up some school spirit by having us wear our uniforms during the day. I don’t mind it, especially not with the way everyone looks at me as I walk the halls. I’m not the Working Girl anymore, not to the majority of the students. They watch me with respect … and maybe a little bit of fear.