Rich Boys vs. Poor Boys (The Cruel Kings of Castle Hill Academy, Book 1) by Devon Hartford kd103

by Hartford, Devon

  “Yeah,” he mutters and hooks his thumb around my fingers, which are resting on top of his hand. His eyes swim with tears. “My dad is always calling me a dumbfuck jock. He says I spend too much time worrying about sports and not enough thinking about the family business. Vee knows Dad calls me that. That’s why she said it.”

  “What?!” I blurt. “How could she?!”

  “I don’t think she wants to get married,” he says with weighty disappointment.

  “You shouldn’t either! I never like to talk bad about other people, Duke, but I have to say this. Victoria is a bad person. She locked me in an effing stabbing cage because she thinks I’m trying to steal you from her! That’s not even true! And she doesn’t even want you?! What the F is her problem?! I’m telling you, Duke, don’t waste your time on her. Tell your parents the wedding is off.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  “Yes it is! Your fiancée is cheating on you! She has no respect for you! None! What more do they need to know before they get their heads out of their asses?!”

  “A pry bar.”

  “A what?”

  “A pry bar, you know, to pry their heads out,” he chuckles. “Or a tow truck.”

  I laugh at that. “You think that’ll be enough?”

  “Two tow trucks,” he grins. “One for each of them.”

  “Exactly,” I laugh. “Gosh, Duke, I don’t know what to say. I mean, it’s not like they can force you to marry her, can they?”

  “Maybe not legally, but yeah, they can.”

  “Not once you’re eighteen. Then they can’t make you do anything you don’t want.”

  He offers a cringy sneer.

  “What?” I ask.

  “They can disown me.”

  “Good. The sooner the better,” I blurt.

  “I mean financially.”

  “So?”

  His face softens in thought. “Only thing is, if I did, I’d be losing out on a mountain of money.”

  “Who cares?!” I snort. “You can get a job. You don’t need their money.”

  His wheels are turning. His eyes shimmer with possibility. Then they darken. He says somberly, “You’ve never had money, have you?”

  “No. So what? Money doesn’t solve everything. Money doesn’t make you happy. Love makes people happy.”

  He frowns.

  I suddenly realize Duke probably has no idea what it feels like to be loved. My heart tightens with sadness. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have parents who hate you. I may have spent nearly half my life in foster care, but the first half of my life was heaven by comparison. My parents loved me like crazy. I can’t imagine not having had that. Sometimes, memories of their love is the only thing that keeps me going.

  “Oh, Duke,” I sigh and throw my arms around him in a big hug.

  At first, he’s stiff, just sitting there. Then his big arms slide around my waist in an awkward side hug.

  My body buzzes with compassion for this young man, like I’m trying to squeeze as much love into him as I can.

  Eventually, he squeezes back, pulling me into him. I’m intimately aware that my breasts are pressing against his hard chest. I try to ignore it. I’m here for the hugs. Duke desperately needs them. It isn’t easy with his hard muscles and cedar scent teasing every inch of me. I do my best to ignore it and focus on our friendly embrace. Two friends hugging. Nothing sexual about it. Nope, not turned on at all.

  We hug for several minutes before he breaks away.

  “Thanks, I needed that,” he smirks, slightly red-faced, like maybe he’s embarrassed about being vulnerable.

  “Any time,” I grin. “You don’t need money for hugs. They’re free.”

  “Yeah,” he chuckles and takes my hand, lacing his fingers in mine, examining them, turning them over and over. His hand is warm and big, yet gentle and affectionate.

  It sends a thrill through me, piercing my defenses and sending my heart fluttering.

  He frowns, “You know what?”

  “What?” I giggle, trying to hide my desire.

  “Vee and me stopped holding hands a long time ago. I remember doing it when we were little, then it stopped.”

  “Why-a?” I practically sneer. “My parents always held hands. All the way until—” There I go again, telling Duke about my parents when I’d rather not.

  “Until what?”

  “Nothing. You were saying about you and Victoria?”

  He shakes his head, mystified, “We just stopped holding hands.” Then he sneers. “We kept fucking, but no hand-holding.”

  “What is wrong with her?!” I scowl. “She’s like, I don’t know. Heartless or something. Wait, does she hold Skill’s hand?”

  Duke flinches.

  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that.”

  “It’s cool,” he grumbles. “I don’t really know, actually. And I don’t fucking care.” His face flashes through a hurricane of conflicted emotions. Anger, annoyance, disgust, amusement. “She can have him.”

  “Good,” I smirk. “Throw that bitch under the next bus.”

  “The next ten buses,” he chuckles. “Really run her over.”

  “Yeah,” I laugh.

  He sighs, “Man, if I had someone like you in my life, I wouldn’t need money.”

  “See?” I smile. “When you have love in your life, money doesn’t matter.”

  His face changes.

  Did I just say love? Oops. I didn’t mean it like that! I meant in general! I giggle nervously.

  Duke’s charcoal eyes search mine.

  I bite my lower lip.

  We’re still holding hands.

  I don’t know what he’s doing, but there’s a flood of butterflies rushing up my arm and swirling around my heart and breasts and everything else.

  He leans in and—

  “Duke, we shouldn’t,” I whisper, tipping my head down to hide my lips from his.

  “Yeah,” he grumbles, touching his forehead against mine. He sighs heavily.

  Now is when he lets go of my hand and we sit up straight like a couple of well-behaved teenagers.

  Neither of us moves.

  My heart is pounding, sending out throbbing waves that make their way between my legs. My skin tingles in slippery anticipation.

  This is a terrible idea.

  But I can’t move!

  A firm hand lifts my chin.

  He says earnestly, “I don’t want to live a life without love, Mary.”

  Don’t you just want to awww? I do but I don’t because I feel this warm energy reach out from him and pull me forward into a kiss before I realize what’s happening.

  Duke’s mouth welcomes mine.

  Then his tongue finds its way home.

  I lose all control.

  Sizzling stardust erupts from our lips.

  I grab his shirt and clutch it in my fist.

  Duke grunts and pulls me into his lap without breaking the kiss, practically picking me up and lifting me.

  I settle in and stroke his cheek with my free hand. His other hand won’t let go, trapping mine in his. I pull it between my breasts and hold it close to my heart.

  We’re both heaving into each other as the kiss continues, exchanging breaths like we’ve become each other’s oxygen, like our souls are intertwining inside of us, mine in him, him in me.

  I’m lost in bliss until I feel him straining and rigid underneath me.

  That brings reality crushing back.

  What am I doing?!

  I’m living with Prince and he asked me to the effing winter formal! I don’t need more men in my life! One is more than enough! Yet here I am with Duke on his couch. Kissing and couches always, always leads to fumbling and f—

  “Stop,” I mumble.

  Duke instantly breaks away. “Is something wrong?”

  “Erm,” I relax my hand.

  He releases mine.

  I shoot to my feet.

  “What?” he asks, suddenly afraid.
/>   “I just, I need to, I forgot, I have a—”

  “Is something wrong? What’d I do?”

  “It’s just—” There are no words. I rush out of the room before he can stop me. I find Mimi in whichever room she’s cleaning and gasp, “I need you to cover for me!”

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, immediately concerned.

  “Mary?” Duke calls out from the hallway.

  “Is that Duke?” Mimi asks, in a loud whisper.

  “Yes!” I hiss.

  She cringes, “Did you and he just—”

  “Yes! I need to get out of here! Cover for me!”

  “Mary?!” Duke calls out, just outside the room.

  Mimi grabs her cleaning stuff and rushes out the door of the room, closing it behind her.

  The doors to these rooms are almost completely sound proof, but if you put your ear to them, you can sort of hear. I listen to Mimi make excuses for me, telling Duke I’m not here. Eventually, their conversation stops. A minute later, Mimi opens the door and whispers, “Go! He’s back in his room!”

  I dash down the hallway to the elevator and take it to the penthouse floor and hide in Prince’s guest bedroom.

  Kissing Duke was a huge mistake.

  How could I let that happen?!

  He’s knockout hot, that’s how!

  I am so stupid!

  I can’t be with Duke! I’ve got this thing with Prince! This living together thing! I need to do something about Duke. I can’t for the life of me understand what he sees in me, other than I’m not heartless, but I just can’t be with him!

  What I need to do is distract him from me, and I know just the person who can help.

  <(—)>

  “You need to stop sleeping with Victoria so she and Duke can get back together,” I say insistently to Skill. We’re in his office in the IT department. Peanut-faced Arthur Hovarth is in the bathroom, thankfully.

  Skill slouches into his office chair with a cocky grin, and spreads his legs invitingly. He’s wearing jeans, but he’s acting like he isn’t wearing anything.

  “Do you mind?” I sneer.

  “Mind cutting things off with Victoria?”

  “No-a, your legs.”

  “You like them?” He spreads them wider.

  “Stop it, Skill! And stop seeing Victoria!”

  “Why? So you can see me?”

  I huff. “I’d never see you.” It’s a lie. If Skill cleaned up his act, I’d seriously consider his offer. Only his manwhoring ways stop me from sending any signals that might invite him to take things further.

  “You’re seeing me now. Would you like to see more?” His scarlet bangs dangle over his chocolate eyes and he lifts up his T-shirt, revealing rock-hard abs. Gabs! Worse, his jeans and boxers are riding very low at the moment. “Does this do it for you, War Paint?”

  “Don’t call me that,” I grouse and look away reluctantly from his abs. Gabs!

  “Does it?” he presses on.

  “No-a! It doesn’t do anything for me! You need to cut things off with Victoria. You’re breaking Duke’s heart.”

  “What do you care about his heart? He’s a dick.”

  “I don’t care.” It’s a lie. The truth is, I probably care too much. The only reason I’m here is because I’m scared that if Victoria doesn’t get back together with Duke, I’ll find myself getting deeper and deeper into Duke’s drama, or I might accidentally let Duke get deeper and deeper into me. My heart. I mean deeper into my heart. Not anything else.

  “If you don’t care, why are you here?” He reaches up with a booted foot and kicks the office door closed. Suddenly, it’s silent and we’re all alone.

  “You know Arthur is coming right back.”

  Skill smirks, “His morning dump takes at least twenty minutes. That should be long enough to get your motor going and the lube flowing.” He is so obviously talking about sex. With him.

  “Unh!” I gawk at him. Literally gawk. “What did you just say?!”

  “You’re not here because of Duke. You’re here because of me. You don’t like the idea of me hooking up with Victoria after what she did to you.”

  I sneer, “You’re a genius, Skill. You figured out I don’t like Victoria.”

  “No, I figured out you like me.”

  “Ha!” I laugh sarcastically.

  “It’s true,” he grins.

  Do I need to remind you that Skill is model hot? Now that that’s out of the way, I snarl at him, “You are pathetic, Skill. Just because other women fall for your arrogant attitude, doesn’t mean I will.”

  “Then why are you here, War Paint?”

  “Do you have to keep calling me that?” Secretly, I absolutely love that nickname, but we can all see that Skill should never ever know that fact.

  “I’m not calling you Mary,” he scoffs.

  “Why not? Is there something wrong with my given name?”

  “It’s too plain. Too soft. Mary sounds like somebody’s mom offering milk and cookies after the kids run around at the playground. You’re a fucking warrior. You need a warrior’s name.”

  I force a fake smile, trying to hide the fact that Skill knows how to charm the pants off anyone, even me.

  “Why’d you really come here, War Paint?”

  “I told you!” I gasp in exasperation. “You need to stop seeing Victoria.”

  “You said that already. Why should I? What’s in it for me? You?” His full lips spread into a wicked grin. “For you I’ll do it.”

  “Erm,” I giggle.

  “We have a deal? Me and you?”

  “No-a! Would you stop?! I’m living with Prince, in case you forgot!”

  “He doesn’t need to know about us,” Skill smiles.

  “There isn’t any us, Skill!”

  “There should be.”

  “Uch! Can you just, isn’t there some other Fundy you can fuck besides Victoria?”

  “There’s plenty,” Skill says, slouching back into his chair. “But I’d rather fuck you, War Paint,” he says pointedly.

  The office door opens and Arthur steps inside. “Why is the door closed?” He glares at Skill suspiciously.

  Skill offers a shit-eating grin and says, “Mary and I needed some privacy, if you know what I mean.”

  Arthur blushes, “Mr. Rose! You know I don’t condone that sort of behavior in the server center! This is a place of work, not a place for you to indulge in your extracurricular activities!”

  “Oh, we were definitely indulging,” Skill chuckles.

  “Mr. Rose! Do not add insult to injury! Miss Mary, I ask that you please leave. That is, unless you have official business to attend?”

  I glare at Skill and say to Mr. Hovarth, “It’s already attended. Right, Skill?”

  He shrugs.

  I give him a silent ugh.

  Why does Skill have to be so infuriatingly hot?

  Why?!

  I march out of there before I make a mess of things. Mr. Hovarth insists on escorting me past the stacks of computers.

  He opens the outside building door for me and says quietly, “Miss Mary, I suggest you give very careful consideration to the topic of getting involved with a young man like William Rose. The more I get to know him, the more I come to understand he is nothing but trouble.”

  “You’re telling me,” I mutter.

  “Were it my daughters, I would vigorously discourage them from dating a smooth operator like him, and I will do the same for you. Stay away from him, Miss Mary. Any involvement with William Rose will only lead to heartbreak.”

  “Thanks. Pretty much figured that out.”

  What I can’t figure out is whether or not Skill listened to a word I said about Victoria. I hope so.

  For Duke’s sake.

  And mine.

  Have I mentioned that bad boys are an aggravating pain in the ass? I mean, absolutely aggravating? Like sponging yourself with sandpaper and saltwater?

  You have been warned.

  Chapter 37


  “What a freaking week,” I sigh as I walk into Prince’s penthouse. It’s Friday and I just finished seventh period. I have a few hours to study before I put my French maid’s uniform on and go clean the West Wing with Mimi, per usual.

  When I walk into Prince’s living room, it’s a bustle of activity and fashionably dressed people I’ve never met, and Prince is in the middle of it looking at a bunch of dress racks loaded with what have to be designer ball gowns, from glittery and glitzy to more traditional satin and silk. Afternoon sunshine pours in through the window wall, making the gowns all shimmer and shine and sparkle.

  “What’s going on?” I laugh.

  “Princess,” he grins when he sees me. “I told you the other day, you need to pick your dress for the winter formal.”

  “I know, but, Prince, this is ridiculous! There’s like a hundred dresses here! How am I going to pick one?”

  “Pick them all, I don’t care,” he chuckles.

  “What am I going to do with a hundred dresses?” I laugh. “I can only wear one at a time.”

  “Go to a hundred different dances with me, of course,” he says like it’s a no-brainer.

  I notice the other people are staring at me now, smiling expectantly like they’re ready to wait on me hand and foot. It’s slightly overwhelming. “Erm, who are these people?”

  “The designers.” Prince rattles off a list of names, some I’ve heard, some I haven’t, and gives their pedigrees. They’re either already famous (one of them has a line of clothes at bebe and Macy’s, and another has one at Forever 21), or they’re up-and-coming fashion designers from New York. I swear one of the up-and-comers is one of the past winners from Project Runway. The group of them were obviously flown in by Prince. I’ve never been on a plane, and I have no idea how much plane tickets to and from New York cost, but for all these people and dresses, it has to be a fortune.

  “You didn’t have to do this, Prince,” I say. Having all this money spent on me is beyond weird.

  “But I did it anyway,” he grins.

  I want to tell him we could’ve rented a gown for like a hundred bucks somewhere. I can already see the designers and their assistants scoffing at my comment without having to say it. As much as I want to, I can’t tell them to pack up their dresses and go home. That would be an even bigger waste of money and totally rude. I guess I’m doing this.