The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,65
the same time, that means we're not dating you."
Harper ignores him, sweeping out the front door with her cronies at her heels. John flips us off and curses us all out before heading down the steps and climbing into his Aston Martin. There's the sound of peeling rubber and churning gravel, and then silence.
Tristan scans his blade gray gaze over the crowd, and smirks.
"You're either with the Bluebloods, or you're against us. You're here with the Idols and our Inner Circle, or you're not." Tristan and Creed exchange a glance before Tristan continues speaking. "Just remember: they've closed ranks, and we're still recruiting."
Tristan nods his chin, the music starts up, and the party goes on.
Miranda gives me a look, grabs my hand, and pulls me onto the dance floor. Maybe, like me, she knows there'll be time to talk later. Right now, I'm not sure if I'm frustrated with the boys or flattered by what they've done for me.
It's always nice to feel protected; I just don't want that feeling to come at a price that’s too high to pay.
Despite all the partying and the drama, Burberry Preparatory Academy is the best high school in the country, and even students like Zayd and Windsor are full-up on coursework and extracurricular activities. Students like me and Tristan are completely swamped.
It takes me almost an entire week to get a moment to talk to the boys as a group. Creed and I have a study session in the library, and I invite the others to join us.
The five of them fan out across the long table, and it occurs to me that the way they each sit is indicative of their unique personalities. Creed slouches, Tristan sits with his back ramrod straight, Zayd kicks his heels up on the table, Windsor rests his elbows on the table and leans in close, and Zack sits with his arms folded tight across his broad chest.
I smile.
It isn’t until I start writing in my notebook again that it really hits me: I have a boyfriend. No, not just a boyfriend, five of them. Anyway, I start jotting my feelings down (and don't worry, I hide my notebook inside the cabinet of my vanity, taped to the top above a stack of towels), and it’s only then that I truly realize what I’ve gotten into.
I agreed to date these guys. Date them.
I have five freaking boyfriends.
They all have a streak of cruelty in them, a velvety stripe of darkness that's woven into their souls. The question now is: can I channel that cruelty, that darkness, into something positive?
“It's so quiet in here,” Zayd says, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the decorative copper tiles on the soaring ceiling of the library. “No wonder I never come in here. The quiet stresses me out. I like noise.”
“We’re well-aware,” Creed drawls, waving a hand lazily around. “You talk just to hear your own voice; it’s constant.”
“How about you eat a bag of dicks?” Zayd replies, grinning and flipping Creed off. I let them do their thing for a minute, and then switch off my academy-issued iPad, tucking it into my bookbag. “What are we doing here anyway?” he continues, raising his pierced brow. “We should be in The Mess having dinner at the high table. God knows, Harper and her bald buddies are probably already in there.”
I smile because come on, the term bald buddies is hilarious.
“You guys didn’t tell me what you were planning at the party,” I say, and Windsor and Zack exchange a look before the prince turns back to me.
“Do you know what bet I made to get into the Infinity Club?” he asks, tilting his head to one side, a small grin working its way across his lips. “I’d wager it’s bloody killing you that you don’t know.” I purse my lips and narrow my eyes on him.
“It may have crossed my mind a time or two.”
“Ah,” Windsor says, leaning across the table and grabbing my hand. He puts my knuckles to his lips, his hazel eyes flashing a green-gold color as his grin doubles in size. “You’re lying now, and that was one of the rules, wasn’t it? No lies?”
“Fine. I’m dying to know, so tell me, for crap’s sake.” I take my hand back, and pretend to rub his kiss off on my red blazer. In all actuality, it’s tingling, and I wish he’d never stopped kissing it.