“I’m not playing in tonight’s game,” he whispers, and we both know that that means: Burberry Prep will lose. “And I’m off the team.” I purse my lips, and he closes his eyes, his head sagging, chin falling to his chest. “In-school suspension, at a minimum. No off-campus privileges. My Mom’s going to disown me.” He groans and crouches down, putting his hands over his face. For a moment, I just watch him. “They’re going to discuss the rest of my punishment on Monday.”
“You deserve it, every single scrap of it,” I tell him, pulling back a few inches, like I’m afraid he’s going to strike out at me. Zack stands up suddenly and tears his jersey over his head, dumping his shoulder pads to the floor with a growl.
When he turns to me, he’s shirtless and sweaty and glorious.
Too bad I hate him.
“You’re right,” he blurts suddenly, and my eyes go wide with shock.
“Ex-excuse me?”
Zack takes several steps towards me and pauses, swiping his palm down his face.
“You’re right. Marnye, you’re right.” He drops his hands by his sides, and it’s freaking impossible for me not to notice how muscular his arms are, how rounded his biceps, how flat his chest. My breath hitches as he takes a step forward, and I cross my arms over my chest to keep myself in check. Zack’s eyes drop down to my waist, and his brows go up. When he reaches out to me, my heart stops in my chest. He takes the edge of my skirt and with a little tug, pulls me forward. His fingers dive under my waistband, searing me with wicked hot heat and dragging my waistband down just far enough that he can see my tattoo.
He lets out a long string of curses, his voice so dark it’s almost scary.
“Marnye, what is this?”
“The Infinity Club,” I start, sucking in a deep breath and puffing out my chest. I wish he’d take his fingers away. It feels good for him to touch me like that, and that’s the last thing I want. I won’t let myself get soft on these guys. There’s nothing sexy or cool or endearing about being an asshole. If this were a bully romance, well, I’d probably end up marrying Miranda because I just don’t abide by bullies. “They’re going to learn that they can’t treat people like collateral damage.”
Zack rubs his knuckles against my tattoo, and curses again before lifting his eyes to mine.
“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into,” he whispers, and I purse my lips. I know that, and yet … I can’t seem to control myself. These rich a-holes need to learn that a person is a person, no matter the size of their bank account. There’s no such thing as Social Darwinism or royalty or Idols, it’s all a façade, a bunch of bullshit that lets certain people get a free pass for throwing away their humanity. “You don’t have the resources or the insider knowledge to take down the club.”
“I don’t—” I start, and Zack leans in toward me, so close that I can see his pulse thundering in his throat, can trace the beads of sweat running down his muscular chest.
“But I do,” he says, and his eyes fall to my lips. My body trembles as his huge form towers over me, his knuckles stroking my tattoo. Damn hormones. He leans in a little bit closer. “I can help you, Marnye.”
“I’m never going to fall for you,” I blurt, but my eyes can’t seem to look anywhere but the thickness of his lower lip. “Never.”
“Good,” he whispers, closing his eyes and putting his forehead against mine. He’s sweaty, but I don’t care. My palms somehow end up on the flat planes of his chest, my fingertips curling against his damp, hot skin. “Because I’m in love with you, even though I know I’m not good enough for you.” My heart stops in my chest, and my eyes go wide. My gaze transfers from his lips to his eyes, and it stays there; I can’t look away. Zack puts his left hand over one of mine, pressing my skin against his. His right hand continues to stroke my tattoo. “You want to know why I’m helping you? Now you know. But you’ll never be with me, and that’s okay. Because I’m not enough for you. I’m the kind of person who tries to make a girl kill herself to get into some stupid club. All I want to do is try to make up for it, even if takes me the rest of my life.”
“Shut up,” I whisper, but he just leans in even closer and puts his lips right up against mine. I can taste him now, right there on my mouth. I flick my tongue out and we both groan as I trace his lower lip. “I don’t trust you, and I don’t believe you. Whatever you have to say, it’s all bullshit to me.”
