In the Arms of the Elite (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #4) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,66
only issue with it is that it’s a bit short when the wind blows.
“Hey,” he says, and the rough grumble of his voice makes it seem ten degrees hotter out than it is. “I missed you.”
“Did you?” I quip, and his full, lush mouth curves into a smile. I’ve forgiven him for the Jalen incident. We all make mistakes, surely. But … I can’t stop thinking about what he said, about his father and grandfather. They want him with someone who has better breeding, more money. Surely I’m none of those things. And Zack and I, we have a tumultuous history. Yet when I look up at him and into his brown eyes, I feel like a woman who’s wrangled herself a bear. He has teeth, but they’re not for biting me.
“I told you, Marnye, I love you.” He says it so plainly that I can’t help but blush. It’s just sitting there between us, this big statement of emotion. He’s the only one that’s said it to me outright like that. The only one. Zayd came close, but then he followed it up with yeah, pretty much and sort of blew the moment.
We don’t get a chance to carry the conversation any further because another car is on its way up the driveway, a blue Jaguar convertible with the top rolled down and Zayd’s tattooed arm waving at us from inside. He parks, and gets what I’d really consider a triple frisking before security is satisfied.
“They just profiled me,” he grumbles, but then, he’s a straight, white male so lucky him if this is the first time that’s ever happened. Zayd flashes a grin and looks around the place, whistling under his breath. “This looks like some serious postcard shit.” He pauses and glances down at me, his hair still colored with that gorgeous sea green. I may or may not have asked him to leave it that color for the time being … “Hey, did you and Wind fuck yet?” he asks, and the blatant way he stares into my eyes with his emerald green ones makes me choke.
“Seriously, Kaiser?” Zack scowls, but Zayd ignores him, putting his hands on his hips.
“I’m just saying, it’ll be kind of hard to pick between us unless you’ve fucked us all. Chemistry is a huge part of like, love and all that romantic shit.” He lights up a cigarette as Zack scowls, and I try to remember how to form actual words with my mouth.
“You want me to fuck Windsor and Tristan?” I ask, and both boys exchange a look before glancing over at me.
“You haven’t fucked Tristan yet?” Zayd clarifies, and I give him a look.
“I’ve been honest with you guys every step of the way, whether it’s just kissing or … something more. Don’t you think I’d have told if you that’d happened yet?”
“Holy hell in a handbasket,” Zayd murmurs, taking a drag on the cigarette. It smells like cloves, and I frown. Sure, it smells good, compared to a normal cigarette, but those things are twice as bad. I want him to quit. Maybe, if I picked him, that’d be the first thing I asked … But then I remember that I picked Zayd once before, and I didn’t like the way it felt. Not that picking him felt wrong, but that not picking Creed and Tristan made me squirm. “The only three girls Tristan ever spent time with that he didn’t fuck are …” Zayd holds up a tattooed hand and ticks off fingers. “Miranda, Harper, and Lizzie. The first because, you know, there’s the whole gay thing. The second, because he’s hated her fucking guts since, like, kindergarten, and the third—”
“Wait, what?” I ask, as Zayd turns his green eyes over to me.
“Wait, what, what?” he asks, raising his dark brows.
“Lizzie and Tristan never …” Zayd snorts and shakes his head.
“Nope. Never. I think … he liked her too much, maybe?”
A cold wave of jealousy rolls over me, and I have to count my breaths to get in control of my emotions again. I’m having an irrational reaction to that news. Shouldn’t I be happy that they’ve never slept together? But yet … Zayd is right.
My heart pounds as my mind replays Tristan’s words over and over again. “Because I use sex like a weapon. I won't wield it against you.” I’m not sure if I’m relieved that he didn’t sleep with Lizzie … or terrified.
“Come on, Charity, don’t stress,” Zayd says, ashing his cigarette and