The Envy of Idols (Rich Boys of Burberry Prep #3) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,73

his lips for a kiss, his lip rings teasing my skin with a little tickle. “I’m sorry, Charity, I really am.”

“I’ve forgiven you, Zayd,” I tell him, looking into his eyes and getting lost there. “Just don’t disappoint me again, okay?” He pulls me toward him, and lifts me in his arms as I laugh, carrying me over to a ring of white candles.

The boys have pushed aside one of the study tables, and set up a circle with candles and pillows. There are several bottles of alcohol gathered there, the liquid glowing a deep amber brown in the candlelight. Tristan takes a seat beside it, and I notice there are exactly six cushions laid out for us.

“We skipped the rest of the Club party,” he says, voice smooth, a Lucullan feast for the ears. “We’ve accomplished what we needed to.”

“And it was oh-so fun,” Creed adds, sprawling onto his own pillow. He looks boneless, the way he lounges.

“If the Company didn’t want to deal with a firestorm, they shouldn’t have shot the first bullet,” Zack growls, and that darkness I remember from junior high comes rushing back in. His brown eyes are heavy-lidded, and as I watch, he rakes his fingers through his brunette hair. There’s something going on between him, his dad, and his grandfather. That much is obvious. I mean, the family was completely cut-off from funds and Zack was sent to Lower Banks High with me. It doesn’t get much worse than that. What kind of man would force his grandson into a school that breeds gang members, dropouts, and assholes?

Okay, so I guess Burberry Prep is a breeding ground for assholes, too, but still.

This time, though, when I see Zack’s darkness rush to the surface, I don’t cringe away from it the way I did when he started to tear Ileana down in the gym. No, this time I watch it happen and I wonder what I can do to help

“From now on, I'll try to be a better man. It wasn't Marnye’s job to teach me how to be one, but she already has anyway.”

It might not be my job, but I want to help Zack. I want to help all of these boys. And maybe that’s a problem. Reforming a bad boy, changing a bully, those are pretty lofty ideals. In the real world, it doesn’t often go right. But these guys are my friends now, they’re … I’ve forgiven them. I really have.

It’s freeing in a way, that forgiveness. And it’s cathartic somehow, to find out that they really are human on the inside. They have wants and needs, pleasures and pains, faults and heroisms. Basically … they’re just people.

Zayd sets me down on my own cushion and takes up the one on my right. I’m waxing poetic yet again. Must be all the hormones.

Yep.

That’s it.

The fucking hormones.

“We thought you might like a game of truth or dare,” Zack says, turning to look at me, scanning me with that soulful umber gaze of his, taking me in. “Like an Infinity Club party, but without all the bullshit.”

“Rules still apply though,” Zayd says with a grin, gesturing at Tristan with an inked hand that’s covered in rings, and a wrist full of rubber bracelets from past concerts. “No chickening out. No fucking way. Now pass me the rum.”

Tristan pours a generous helping of alcohol into a red plastic cup (it wouldn’t be a party without them!) and then passes it around the circle until it makes its way to Zayd. Everyone else gets their drink of choice: vodka for Creed, a beer for Zack, gin for Windsor, and cognac for Tristan. Seems appropriate. That’s how I think of his voice, nice and smooth and velvety. I’ve never had it, but I’ve heard Dad go off on tangents before.

The boys have brought me a bunch of cold drinks, all non-alcoholic, and I smile. They never forget, and I appreciate that.

“Once you empty that beer, Zack,” Zayd says, his husky rockstar voice echoing around the quiet library. “We can play spin the bottle. But only if Marnye is the one who’s spinning it. I’m not kissing any of you assholes.”

“You will if we play a round of truth or dare,” I say with a smile. Zayd glances over at me and raises his pierced brow, grinning all the while.

“Word on the street is you like gay romance novels,” he says with a chuckle, and I flush.

“I read the occasional boys’ love manga, but that’s about