In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,44

at him, breathing in his cinnamon and peppermint smell, my heart bouncing around inside my chest like a kid in a blow-up castle.

I look to the side, toward the waiting cars that’ll take us out to the football field.

“I think … what Lizzie did to free herself of an unwanted engagement and take control of her own destiny is admirable.”

“Right.” Tristan clacks his teeth together and pushes up off the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and lording over me in a way that makes me want to squirm. Well, it’s true, I think, but I know I’m pretty much bullshitting myself. My current urge is to excuse myself to my dorm, so I can punch something soft and fluffy—preferably that new pink feather pillow with the fur on it that says Princess that Windsor got me for my birthday (I hate it by the way, and I’m pretty sure he knew I would). “You think it’s admirable how hard Lizzie Walton is fighting to be with me?”

“It takes courage to fight for one’s love, particularly in the face of adversary,” I continue, and Tristan makes this choking sound in his throat which somehow still manages to sound aristocratic and elegant. What do I know? Maybe being born of such a long and distinguished line really does make his blood blue? If I were to make a noise like that, I’d sound like a coughing donkey.

“Fight for one’s love … huh?” His voice trails off, and he scowls, turning away and cursing under his breath. I take a step forward, my hand reaching out and then dropping by my side. I want to tell him … that I’m jealous as all get-out, that I don’t like knowing Lizzie fought so hard to get past her parents’ objections because that means that now, she’s got a clear shot to him.

“The lifestyle he’s accustomed to …” I start, watching as Tristan pauses next to one of the waiting limos and turns around to look at me. He crosses his arms over his chest and raises both dark brows in question. I start to move forward, but slowly, as the thought dawns on me.

Even if Tristan and I both got into Bornstead (we will, considering one of us is going to be valedictorian and the other salutatorian—I better be the former) and worked our asses off, got good degrees and even better jobs, it’s likely he’d never live the Vanderbilt lifestyle again. The best he could really hope for is upper middle-class.

What if that’s a deal breaker? What if I’m holding him back?

Aaaaand, there it is. You’re letting Harper win, letting her get to you. This is exactly the sort of poison dart she meant to throw.

Exhaling and squaring my shoulders, I take off toward the limo and climb in.

When Tristan gets in behind me, I scoot right onto his lap, grab his face in my hands and kiss him.

The sensation of our mouths touching is sharp, almost painful, like he’s cutting me with a knife and making me bleed, but then healing me right after. Pain, pleasure. Sharpness, soothing. A dichotomy. Tristan Vanderbilt’s mouth, much like Zayd Kaiser’s tattoos, is a warning.

I’m hot and wild, and desperate for your touch … but stay away from me or you’ll taste my venom.

With a groan, I pull away from him, and he looks at me like I might be the most confusing thing he’s ever encountered in his entire life.

“I hate football games,” he tells me, but he lets me pull him out of the car anyway, leaving me only when I’m safely deposited next to Coach Hannah.

The Mess is fairly quiet, and we don’t have any showdowns at the high table like we did last year. Turns out Harper has carved a new niche for herself in the rear courtyard. Fine by me. I’d rather not battle over chicken cordon bleu with garlic mashed potatoes and roasted zucchini, thank you very much.

I pick at my plate and wonder about Isabella, if she really is my full sister like Harper is claiming, if she’s mixed up in Infinity Club bullshit already. I’ve asked the boys, but they all swear they have no idea, that if she is being sponsored by one of the Harpies, they don’t know about it.

“I haven’t heard anything,” Lizzie says, handing her plate up to waiter when he stops by. I send him with mine as well, even though I didn’t eat much. I’m too distracted, and all the