I smile slightly and let my fingers trail down the side of the picture to hang at my side before joining him. I want to ask more about his mom, but maybe Zayd isn’t ready to share just yet?
“Holy shit,” I murmur, stepping into the room and letting my eyes wander the massive wall of guitars. Like, literally there are probably a hundred hanging there, starting right at floor level and going all the way up to the soaring ceiling. “This is insane,” I whisper as Zayd moves over and grabs an acoustic guitar off the wall, sitting down on the red sofa nearby. He strums his fingers across the strings and hums under his breath, rocking back and forth slightly with the music.
“Marnye, I can’t believe you’re in my room,” he purrs, and I feel my face split into a grin. “I must be the luckiest ass alive.” Zayd drags this last word out in a soft coo that brings chills up all over my skin. “How could you possibly forgive an idiot like me? And did you ever try the pot chocolates I made?” He pauses and raises both brows.
My cheeks flush, and I bite my bottom lip.
“I gave them to my dad because … I read some stuff about marijuana and cancer, and …” Zayd grins and sets the guitar aside.
“Hey, Charity, you don’t have to explain, okay? I made those chocolates for you. I’m glad you were able to give them to your dad.” Zayd stands up and moves over to this gorgeous dresser that I know must’ve cost a fortune; it’s all shiny and shellacked and modern looking. It doesn’t quite titillate my architectural senses the way old things do, but it’s beautiful nonetheless. “I’ve got some pre-rolls though?” he says, holding up a plastic tube.
He hands it over to me, and I turn it in a circle. Ah. Right. A pre-roll is literally a marijuana joint that’s been rolled by the dispensary, and purchased ready to smoke. Charlie gets these all the time; smoking pot is supposed to help with the tumors in his lungs.
My heart clenches tight, and I feel this sudden rush of guilt for being here when I should be at home with my dad.
“Marnye,” Zayd says, taking the tube gently from my fingers. He tucks it into his pocket and then puts his hands on my shoulders, gripping them tightly and looking into my eyes. “You can’t feel guilt for living your life and being a teenager. Your dad doesn’t want you to sit at home and pine over him. If he did, he wouldn’t have told you to go. I might not know the guy very well, but the way he told us all off that day in your room … I get the idea that he isn’t a man who lies and bullshits.”
I laugh, but it’s a bit teary.
“No, you’re right. Charlie is a man of few words, but the ones he says, he means.”
“Two nights here, and I’ll take you right back. Then I’m gonna chill at my dad’s place in Cruz Bay until school starts. I’m not leaving your side, okay?” Zayd leans in and kisses me before I can respond, the sensation sweeping down from my lips and all the way to my toes. He pulls back and grins. “Let’s party tonight, rock out tomorrow, and worry about life the next day. What do you say?”
Music throbs from beneath our feet, and I look down before turning my gaze back to Zayd’s.
“Party?” I ask, because I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.
“Of course,” Zayd says, standing back up and gyrating his body in time to the hip-hop music that’s being blasted downstairs. He gets in close and grabs me, encouraging me to move in time with him. He’s a seriously freaking talented dancer. “What would an Afterglow concert be without a proper pre and after-party?”
We dance for a minute, and I let Zayd twirl me in a circle before he pulls me close again. It’s … maybe less like dancing and more like sex there for a minute. Our pelvises gyrate together, and my body begins to throb. Now that I’m not a virgin anymore, it’s like my body’s been awoken to the pleasures of sex and can’t be put back to sleep.
“That’s it. I’m taking you downstairs and showing you off.” Zayd grabs my hand and drags me out of his wing and into a suddenly bustling mansion. He moves up to the edge of the banister and throws his arms up. “Welcome partygoers!” he shouts, and his million dollar voice cuts through the hubbub of the ever-growing crowd; it’s almost wall-to-wall people already and they just keep streaming in the door. “Booze and smokes in the lounge, snacks in the kitchen, and clothes optional in the pool!”
He turns back around as I raise my brows and Miranda comes up the stairs with her suitcase.
“Did you pack any party dresses?” she asks me, voice barely audible over the noise.
“Um, what do you take me for?” I reply, feeling my heartbeat pick up speed. “I didn’t exactly expect a party tonight, but I knew there’d be one tomorrow. Let’s go.”
“Don’t take too long, babe,” Zayd says, turning and hopping up on the banister in a way that seriously concerns me. But then, I figure this is his house and he’s probably done this before. I refuse to be a wet blanket, no fucking way. If I’m going to be one of the Idols of Burberry Prep, the Bitch of the Bluebloods, I have to act the part. If I’ve got control of the school, I can put a stop to the bullying. “I’m going to crown you Queen of the Elite tonight, my darling. Mark my fucking words!”
“Zayd!” I scream as he lets himself fall back and then lands in the crowd, surfing along raised arms toward the entrance to the living room. My heart is pounding like crazy, and it’s not helped when Lizzie comes up the steps with a dress in a garment bag tucked over her arm.
“Thought we could make an Idol entrance? You can bet that even if the Harpies aren’t here, they’ll see videos and pics; they’ll know all about it. United front?” She puts her hand out, and Miranda grudgingly puts hers over the top. I personally can’t believe my boyfriend just threw himself off a second story balcony, but I grab on and hold tight anyway.
The Idol girls of Burberry Prep, just the way Tristan set us up.
Let’s see how well this works.
I’ve packed Zayd’s red dress for the occasion, the short, tight little number crawling up my thighs as I fidget and let Miranda put the finishing touches on my hair. I had it cut fresh just before we left, but it was mostly a trimming and a shaping. I’m adding on just a little length.
“There,” Miranda declares, spinning a big ringlet around her finger and letting it bounce against my head. “We’ll fix your lipstick, and get you some hairspray.”
“Didn’t you just hairspray me to death?” I ask with a smile, but Miranda steps back and gives me this look. It’s a fierce look, too, paired with the dramatic smoky eye, the waves of shining blond hair, and the short sapphire dress she’s got on. If I were into girls, I would marry Miranda tonight in that dress.
“For your thighs, not your head,” she says, reaching down and lifting my dress just enough that my black lace panties show. She sprays my thighs while I choke in surprise, and then tugs the dress back down. “Keeps it from riding up.” Miranda shakes the can and then passes it over to Lizzie who’s got a gold party dress on with loose sleeves covered in tiny glass beads. “I read online that gymnasts use the same technique to keep their leotards in place. Not sure if it’s true or not though.”
“You learn something new every day,” I say as Miranda makes me pout my lips so she can freshen my lipstick up.
“Now close your eyes.” I do as she says, and then flinch when she hairsprays my face.
“You’re like the dad on My Big Fat Greek Wedding who sprays Windex on everything. Stop that.” I wave her away and open my eyes, blinking at myself in the giant mirror on the wall opposite the vanity. We’re in one of the upstairs guest wings. Yeah, not rooms but wings again. It’s crazy. My entire house could fit in this one guest suite.
I run my hand down the front of the red dress, and hope like hell that it doesn’t piss Creed off too much. I’m planning on wearing his to the next party. I wore Tristan’s to that nightclub a few weeks ago, but I’d like to wear it to an event with him, too. Even though the guys were pricks, I don’t think I should’ve picked between them during first year.
“You look like a fucking model
,” Miranda says as Lizzie comes to stand beside me, smiling softly. We still haven’t talked yet about her confession. I’m not even sure how to bring it up. In any case, tonight is not that night. “Don’t you think, Lizzie? It’s no wonder she’s got five guys drooling after her.” Miranda drapes herself over my shoulders and gives me a sweet-scented kiss on the cheek. “Now, let’s go slay some Burberry Prep assholes.”
“How many of our fellow students do you think are going to be here tonight?” I ask and Miranda gives me a strong look.
“As many as can make it—or are allowed in the door.” She smiles and grabs my arm and then encourages me to take Lizzie’s on the other side. Guess presenting a solid front is more important than her hatred for Lizzie. A hatred I’m still not entirely sure I understand. Either it’s just solidarity for my sake or … maybe something else.
“Let’s do this,” I whisper, feeling a nervous flutter in my belly.
I’m a fourth year at Burberry Preparatory Academy.
I’m dating the five hottest guys in school.
And now, I’m supposed to help rule over all of it.
Wish me luck.
We walk out and down the hall, only to find Andrew waiting for us just inside the hall door. He’s got on a sharp white suit that makes him look a bit like James Bond, especially with his slicked back hair. He whistles when he sees us and pushes off the wall to stand up straight.
“Holy hell, girls,” he says, and then he gives all three of us kisses on the cheek. He’s come a long way since his first year when he was sneaking off to kiss Gary Jacobs in the woods. I wonder if he’s told his parents yet? “You all look amazing.” He opens the door and gestures for us to step out onto the foyer together.
Zayd is waiting … surrounded by a bunch of girls.
I raise my brows as I step out, and they all scatter as Zayd stands up, his eyes widening when he sees me. He’s still wearing the Feminist AF tank, but he’s jazzed up his hair and added a dash of eyeliner.
“Marnye fucking Reed,” he growls, moving over to the top of the steps and cupping his hands around his mouth. “Make way for the Idols, folks. Your queen has arrived.” Zayd takes me by the arm, leaving Miranda and Lizzie behind us as we come down the steps.
Everyone is staring at us; everyone is looking.
It’s something I never really wanted, but now that I have it, I’m going to use my position for good. Because next year, there’s going to be another student who comes into Burberry Prep with the Cabot Scholarship Award, and I want the way paved for whoever that person is.
The other boys are waiting at the bottom of the staircase, fanned out in various states of dress: a blazer, t-shirt, and slacks for Tristan; tight shirt and jean shorts for Zack; what I swear to God is a polo uniform for Windsor; and a loose white button-up that’s most definitely not buttoned up for Creed.
“Boys,” I greet, and I get the laziest, sexiest little smile from Miranda’s twin.
“Your Majesty,” he says, and Windsor grins.
“Your Majesty, indeed. Marry me and make it official. No pre-nup. You can have half my fortune if we ever get divorced.”
“You’re seriously freaking weird, and I love you for it,” I say, and then my cheeks flame as Windsor’s brows go up. “I mean, like … not love-love, but … just …” I groan and put my hand up to cover my face. I’m not ready for I love you’s just yet.
Zayd just laughs at me and pulls me through the crowd, not caring either way if the others follow along behind us. The partygoers part for us, and I swear, I don’t get jostled by even one elbow. There are faces everywhere that I recognize, some in uniform, some not. There are Coventry Prep kids here, as well as Beverly Hills Prep students. There’s even a group wearing blue blazers that say Adamson Academy on the breast pocket.
“Alright, babe,” Zayd says, turning and throwing his arms wide to indicate the massive living room with the floor to ceiling windows, the huge taxidermic elk head over the stone fireplace, and the modern furniture with just a hint of cowboy to it. Yeah, Billy Kaiser’s style is definitely not my style, but I can appreciate it. Well, okay, I can appreciate everything but the decapitated animal head. Just not my thing. “We have our own canna-bar aka cannabis bar for those who just don’t do alcohol. If I may make a recommendation …” Zayd scans across the impressive array of marijuana products. There are edibles, joints, tinctures, vape pens, all sorts of stuff.
Legal age for both booze and marijuana is twenty-one in California. I’d be worried about the cops raiding this place if I didn’t think they’d probably already been paid off.
“A recommendation, huh?” I ask, because I’ve actually never tried pot before. Like, ever. Yes, I know, I’m the epitome of the quiet study hound, but that’s okay. I’ve always embraced that part of myself. Still, while alcohol is not something I’m ready to try yet, because of my dad’s past issues and all, maybe I’d try weed?
Zayd picks up a very small piece of chocolate between his fingers and turns to me, giving me that sexy, cocksure smirk of his. There are literally dozens of girls looking our way and checking him out, a few guys, too. My possessive nature rears its ugly head, and I glance back to find similar situations with the other boys.
Trust, Mayne, trust, I think as I meet Zack’s eyes and he smiles, lifting up a beer in solidarity. He’s got his letterman jacket on again which, of course, just does all the right things for me. He’s got a girl seated on either side of him, and a couple more gathered in front of him.
“Sativa?” Creed asks, snatching the chocolate from Zayd’s fingers and giving him a look. Zayd narrows his eyes slightly, and then shrugs.
“Hybrid, but sativa dominant. Reviews on Leafly say it’s got an energetic and creative edge.”
“Energetic, huh? I could use a boost right now.” Creed pops the chocolate in his mouth, and smirks at me as he swallows. “Have you ever seen Pineapple Express, Marnye?”
“Not exactly,” I say, but I smirk right back because I’m not as ignorant as these boys might think. “But I know Leafly is an app where people can rate how much they like certain strains of marijuana, that is certain breeds, like the difference between chardonnay and cabernet. I also know that there are two types of marijuana: indica and sativa. In general, indica makes you feel more sleepy and relaxed while sativa is more likely to offer an upbeat feeling.” I exhale as both Creed and Zayd raise their brows and exchange a look. “What? I had to research this stuff for Charlie.”
“It’s not that,” Creed says, picking up another piece of chocolate. “Just … you sound so clinical. Loosen up, Marnye-bear.” He puts the piece of candy between his lips and leans in, kissing me with it. His tongue pushes the chocolate into my mouth, and I have half a second to decide if I want to spit or swallow it.
Whoa.
That sounded much dirtier than I intended it to …
But also … good question. I’ve never actually, um, had to consider whether I’d spit or swallow.
I swallow the chocolate, and exhale. Based on Dad’s experiences with Mrs. Fleming’s edibles, I know it can take up to two hours for the effects to set in. Please don’t let me regret this.
“Whoa there,” Zayd says, lifting up his palms as Creed leans back, smirking and sliding the fingers of one hand into the pockets of his tight black jeans. “I thought we were dating the good girl, Creed. Guess our new Idol Queen is a little naughty, huh?”
“Oh so naughty,” Creed drawls, making a show of licking the chocolate from his fingertips, swirling his tongue enticingly around each one. “Now, do you want to know why I brought up Pineapple Express?”
“Because … you like the movie?” I ask as Creed gives Zayd another look.
“Maybe not so naughty after all? She’s so damn sweet. Let’s poison her, Zayd.” Creed steps forward as Zayd grins and grabs me around the waist. Creed leans in so close that I can smell his cologne, even amongst all the other sweating students, and the acrid burn of alcohol that seems to permeate the ai
r. He’s got that clean linen and sunshine smell, like sheets left to dry in the summer heat. “I mentioned it because at one point, Seth Rogen launches into a rant about how weed makes food taste better, music sound better, crappy TV shows seem better … It makes sex exquisite.”
“Seth Rogen uses the word exquisite?” I whisper, and Creed gives me this naughty kitty smile, like a very bad housecat. A very, very bad housecat with claws. Is it wrong that I want to get scratched? That maybe I even want to get bitten? “Because I have a hard time believing that.” Creed chuckles softly, just enough that his shoulders quiver, and then he shakes his head like he can’t wait to see how this affects me.
“Just wait until that edible hits you then come find me.”
“Nah, I don’t think so,” Zayd whispers, nibbling on my ear and making me shiver. “Fuck off, Cabot. I’m taking Charity here swimming.” He grabs me by the arm and pulls me toward the pool. Miranda’s already out there, dancing on a table with a bottle of champagne in one hand. Creed follows along and then pauses with a sigh, crossing his arms over his chest as he stops to guard his twin from unruly guys. Jesus, it’s like a rap video in here or something. Or should I say rock video?
Tristan’s already in the hot tub, his head thrown back on the pavement behind him, his arms stretched out on either side of his body. He must’ve wandered off during the edible conversation because I swear, he was right behind us.
Windsor and Zack are still close by which is a good thing, too, because I almost lose my shit when I see Lizzie climbing into the hot tub in a tiny bikini and scooting up close to Tristan.
“What is she doing?” I whisper as Windsor comes up to stand on my right side.
“She’s fighting, love,” he tells me, giving me a look. “She wants him—almost desperately so.”
I purse my lips and reach down to tear my dress over my head. Zayd and Zack both make shocked noises under their breath, but Windsor doesn’t seem surprised. This is ridiculous; I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m not even wearing a bathing suit under my dress, just sexy black panties and a push-up bra that I don’t even really need. Miranda insisted I wear it though.
In the Arms of the Elite Page 6