The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,56

won't be able to.

"For what you've done to me," I give Windsor a semi-apologetic glance. Technically he's done nothing but be a friend to me. The thing is, I know, I know he has ulterior motives. Nothing he does is pure and simple or without calculation, so I'm sorry, but he's going to have to play along, too. "For what you've done to me," I repeat, "you're all going to … have to court me at the same time."

"Court you?" Zayd says with a small, tight grin. "So old-fashioned."

"You're going to have to date me, at the same time, all five of you." I exhale, close my eyes, and lean my head back against the wall. I need … something to decompress from all of these emotions. I lift my head and open my eyes, scanning their faces. Their emotions range from bemused—Windsor—to cold fury—Creed—and everything in between. "No other girls." My voice gets hard on that last bit. "I mean it. If I see you with another girl—”

"I haven't touched another girl since first year," Tristan says, and my eyes go wide. He was a bit of a slut. Do I even believe what he's telling me right now? "So that's fine. I don't care. Anything else?" He's all business right now, but … maybe in a good way? He sounds like he does in class, like he's taking notes and figuring out the best way to get an A, to win.

“I …” I start, but my mind is going totally blank. “No, I think that's it. We date, and we do … whatever we'd do if we were just dating each other. That's … that’s all I've got."

I jump down, sprint into my room, and lock the door behind me.

I only stand there long enough to catch my breath before I change into my swimsuit, throw on a robe, and head downstairs to the pool.

It's ice-cold when I jump in, but it clears my head.

That's all I need right now, a clear head.

And the equivalent of a cold shower.

A very cold shower.

Later that night, I'm lying on the giant king bed all by myself, watching some stupid late night TV which is kind of a treat for me considering Burberry's no outside electronics policy. I mean, sometimes on weekends, I watch stuff on my phone, but it's nice to have a big TV for a change.

Just as I'm fumbling around for the remote to turn it off, I hear a creak and a crash, and then Zack cursing furiously.

Pushing up from the bed, I pad over and crack open the door that separates my bedroom from the sitting area.

And then my hand flies up to cover my mouth.

The old metal bar in the couch bed has bent and broken under Zack's muscular body. He's now struggling to get out of the mess of blankets and pillows. Once I get my laughter under control, I rush over to help him. Of course, when I take his hand and pull, it's like yanking on a mountain of muscle. He lets me pretend to help him out, stumbling from the pile in low-slung boxers and nothing else.

My heart gives this big, hard thump that pushes all the blood in my body to my head and … other places.

"Fucking stupid ass bed," he curses, bending down to dig his phone from the blankets.

His boxers slip slightly, and I see some serious ass crack.

But … like good ass crack. Like, he has dimples in his lower back, and muscles that my hands ache to touch. This is not like looking at a plumber's crack. I slap a hand over my mouth to hold back some more nervous laughter.

Zack rises to his feet and glances back at me, raising his dark brows.

"What's so funny?" he asks, his voice a deep baritone.

"Well, your muscles just broke a bed," I reach out and squeeze his bicep. It's like a sun-warmed freaking rock, so smooth and hard and hot. "And you flashed me a lot of butt cheek when you bent over."

"You think my butt's funny?" he asks, a smirk tracing its way across his lips. "I happen to really like yours."

My cheeks flush, and I realize I've been caressing his arm this entire time, just molesting the heck out of him. I jerk my arm back, and put a few feet of space between us.

"I didn't say I didn't like it," I tease, and the way he looks at me, all of that darkness inside of