Chapter One

Zach

"Zach," Cassie coos, toying with my tie the way I'd expect her to play with a flaccid dick. Overeager and a little desperate. She didn't take the hint when I leaned against my locker, and she's not taking the hint now as I check my phone instead of gazing at her overly made-up eyes. "How long are you going to keep me waiting on that date?" She bites her bright-red bottom lip. I admire her balls to phrase her question like I've already asked her on a date and she's just waiting for me to confirm when it will happen. Girl's hot, but I haven't asked her out.

Pushing herself forward, she gives me an eyeful of her straining breasts. We go to one of the most expensive schools in Connecticut, yet it looks like she's worn the same uniform since freshman year. I guess she likes the overly restrictive look.

Giving her a small smile, I think of how to gently let her down like I've done all the other girls at South Point Prep who have thrown themselves at me since I joined last year. It's as though they don't realize how easily I can see through their flirty fa?ade.

I may not be in the same wealth bracket or have their social status, but I'm not stupid. And rich girls are so predictable.

What better way to piss off your work-obsessed daddy than fooling around with the kid his donations pay for?

So yeah, even though Cassie is as hot as her lingerie model mom and has a daddy as rich as Jeff Bezos, I will not bite.

"I'm sorry, Cassie." I sigh, trying to sound remorseful. "I've got so much on with football and keeping my grades up for my scholarship, I don't think I can give a girl like you the attention you deserve." It's not a lie, just a convenient truth. I'm already late because of football practice, and standing here isn't helping that. I need to go.

Pouting out her bottom lip, she stretches her shoulders, emphasizing her breasts again, and widens her large doe eyes. I guess that move usually works for her. "But Zachy."

Zachy? Does she want me to vomit in her cleavage?

"I'm not like the other girls in this school." Her eyes drag down my uniform, stopping at the cusp of my black leather belt. "I'm not looking to be wined and dined." Like I can afford to take a girl out, anyway. "I just want a ride on your motorcycle." She lowers her eyes, giving me a hooded glare.

Sidestepping out of her way, I shove my bag onto my shoulder. "Ah, unfortunately, it's still in the shop. I'll let you know when it's fixed. Catch you later, C." I don't bother looking back as I walk down the hallway, ready to catch my bus.

"Hey, Z," Mike, my teammate and the only person I can tolerate in this school, calls. His feet slap against the concrete as he walks behind me and clasps my shoulder.

With his usual wide smile, he takes me in and asks, "What's the rush?"

"Just got stuff to deal with at home," I mumble as he follows me down the hall with his arm slung around my shoulder. He smiles, waving and acknowledging all the preppy assholes like any good politician's son would.

Growing up around all this pomp and circumstance worked well for Mike; he knows when to please people and what to say to get them on his side, even if he wasn't born into privilege like most students here. It's a much better position than I'm in. People respect him because his family earned a place at this school. Me? I was merely pushed into it during my sophomore year because I could throw a ball down a field.

"Right, right." He nods, the grin never leaving his face even though he knows exactly what I'm dealing with at home. He knows more about it than I'd like, and that was only because he offered me a ride after my bike broke down once.

A couple of our teammates walk past, and as usual, they ignore me but high-five Mike. You'd think they'd show a little gratitude since I'm the only reason our team is sniffing at a chance at state for the third year in a row, but nope, they can't see past my scholarship or my unbranded shoes.

"Are you going to the bonfire tomorrow? Rachel and Hayley have been asking about you." I raise my eyebrows at the mere mention of our prep school's version of Bella and Gigi Hadid. When Mike doesn't answer my condescending glare, I snort loudly and turn my head in his direction. He looks like the perfect senator's son today, with his conservative, straight dark haircut and a perfectly pressed uniform. He's the guy you'd trust your accounts with. Stable, reliable, and always so damn pleasant to everyone.

"Are you trying to pimp me out to Olivia's friends again?"

A wry smile forms on his lips, and his blue eyes glisten at the mention of his girlfriend. Olivia's a cool chick and one of the few girls I can remotely stand in this school. Although, that's probably because she's one of the few who hasn't tried to get into my pants. "No. I learned my lesson last time. But you know, I am tired of dodging questions from girls about you when all I want to do is spend time with my girl."

I shake my head. "Sorry, but you know bonfires aren't exactly my scene." Yeah, hanging out with anyone from this fancy-ass prep school longer than I have to makes the prospect of gouging my eyes out with a rusty spoon sound appealing. Skating past the students, Mike dutifully sticks by my side, still acting like the big man on campus.

"You're not going to get out of these bonfires all season, you know. Coach wants you to make a speech since they're basically thrown in your honor." Like anyone at our school would listen to what I have to say, anyway. I'm the kid who was lucky enough to be born with talent. They don't realize they got luckier being born into money, because money opens the doors. Talent's wasted if those doors aren't opened. Besides, why would any of them be interested in how I got recruited out of my public school because I can throw a clean seventy-yard pass?

"I'm good."

He stops, looks up at the ceiling, and sighs. "Just one night. That's all I'm asking. Please. So you can address the girls yourself. They aren't going to stop until one of them gets in your pants, you know."

"Get out of my way!" a small form shrills as she pulls Mike and me apart with more force than any of our defensive linemen. Glancing over my shoulder, the blur of a girl sprints out of the building as she shoves a few more people, smacking them with her monogrammed handbag that probably cost more than my house on the way.

Honey Sanderson.

I mentioned earlier that all the rich girls like toying with the poor scholarship boy, but that's not the case with Honey Sanderson.

She may be bitchy, wealthy, and entitled, but she's a different breed of rich girl. She's everything I hate rolled into one, and it always makes me laugh when people call her Honey since she's anything but sweet. We share every class, but she hasn't once acknowledged my existence or glanced in my direction since I stepped foot in this place.

Hotter than she'll ever know, richer than several European countries combined, she's untouchable. Unless you're Jamie Nicks, of course. That arrogant asshole seems to make good use of all his free time not playing on the second-string football team by fucking any hole he can find at South Point Prep.

"What the hell crawled out of her ass today?" I ask, watching her very short skirt sway as she walks, offering the tiniest peek of said ass as she shoves the front doors open.

Mike scoffs, clasping his hand over my shoulder. "Guessing you didn't hear what happened to the Princess of South Point Prep last weekend?"

"Like I have time to keep up with her." Or that I give a crap about what happens in the lives of rich people. I get enough of that when Tiff watches Baseball Wives on the weekend. I can't stand the show, but it makes her happy, and I'd do anything to see her smile, given we don't get it often.

Mike tilts his head in Jamie's direction and raises an eyebrow. Jamie leans against the blue metal lockers while watching Honey's retreating form with a small smile sprawled across his face. He has that stereotypical rich boy look about him. With perfectly quaffed butterscotch hair and a jaw that verges on the side of horsey, it's obvious girls are only into his money, because God didn't bless him with looks.

"Honey and Jamie broke up in the most spectacular fashion on Saturday."

"I didn't even know they were dating," I say as McKenna wraps her arms around Jamie's bicep and nips at his neck as though he's some prize. Jamie pulls his gaze from the door and bares his big ass horse teeth in her direction, making me want to upchuck my lunch. Thankfully, I skipped it today.

Mike groans. "Dating is probably the wrong term. They were essentially engaged."

My eyes widen. "Jamie Nicks? Engaged? When did that happen? His locker room talk means I literally know the anatomy of every girl in this school." I don't know what it is about rich guys, but most can't keep a conquest to themselves and have to bore the rest of us with their overexaggerated claims.

"You really don't pay attention, do you? Yeah, in the locker room. Outside of it, it's been Jamie and Honey since the fourth grade. Their fathers own the law firm Sanderson and Nicks and always planned to keep the business within the family, meaning they've been betrothed since Honey's first breath." Engaged? Betrothed? Sounds like the usual rich people bullshit. "Except Jamie went off script last week and slept with McKenna at a party. That would have been fine, as it's no different from his usual MO, but unfortunately for him, someone was recording a TikTok dance, and he was in the background making out with McKenna. Honey was obviously sent it."

A slow smirk forms on my lips. "Wish I could have seen her face when she saw it." I don't normally take kindly to other people's suffering, but she seems like the kind of girl who deserves a little payback.

Mike follows as I walk out of the school in my unlabeled loafers, past the Porsches, Mercs, and Jags. "Do you want a ride to the bus stop?"

Just as I'm about to say no, Olivia wraps her arm around Mike's hip and drops a small kiss on his cheek. "Hey, guys." Her high blonde ponytail swishes in the wind as she beams with pride at her boyfriend. "Sorry, but I can't come over tonight." She pouts out her bottom lip, staring at Mike with wide eyes.

Mike kisses her on the cheek, pulling her in for a hug. "I figured as much. Honey needs your attention." Then, out of nowhere, Olivia guides Mike's lips to hers, and she kisses him passionately.

Grimacing, I focus on my shoes until the sucking noises subside. Olivia sighs into his chest before wearily looking over her shoulder at the bright-pink Lamborghini housing Honey herself. That thing looks like a giant vibrator and is the definition of having more money than sense. Why the hell would anyone think that color is appropriate for a car? Unfortunately for her, Honey's wide sunglasses do little to hide the red of her cheeks and nose because they clash so obnoxiously with her car.

She's not actually upset about Jamie, is she?

Nah. I bet she's just upset that her reputation is in tatters, because I'm ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure her heart is made of stone. Nothing could break that girl.

"Good luck with that." I laugh. Honestly, to this day, I still don't know why Olivia is friends with Honey. The girl is so vapid; vanilla ice cream has more flavor.

Olivia whacks me in the chest and narrows her eyes. "Shut up, Z. You don't know Honey like I do. She's got some serious things going on in her life, and she didn't need to be embarrassed in front of the entire school like that."

I can't hold back my laugh. "I'm sure picking between her Chanel and Moschino handbag each morning must be really difficult."

Olivia shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "Whatever." She turns her attention back to Mike. "Anyway, I'm probably going to sleep at her place so her mom can't ask her any questions, which means I won't be able to call you tonight either."

Mike's eyes glisten with so much adoration I have to hold back my eye roll. He squeezes her waist, drawing her closer for a small peck on the lips. "No problem. Make it up to me tomorrow at the bonfire," he whispers.

Checking my watch, I decide I've done enough pandering to rich folk for the day. "On that note, I'm out. Enjoy cooing over Cruella Deville," I say with a salute and make my way to the sidewalk.

"What about the ride?" Mike calls behind me.

"I'm good," I throw over my shoulder, not looking back. If I'm lucky, I'll get to the bus stop in the next twenty minutes and be home before dinner.

I reach into my pocket and pull out my phone to search for the familiar number in my contacts.

Me: Home soon. I can take Ella for a walk if you want a nap or need to do some schoolwork.

I don't wait for a response before I sprint to the bus stop because I know Tiff's answer will always be yes. No matter how cute her baby is, spending a whole day with her can be exhausting. Girls like Honey don't know just how good they have it. She'd have been sent away for nine months and then have at least six nannies watching the baby if she got pregnant at seventeen. Her baby would be raised as a sibling, and she'd live as though nothing happened.

Too bad Tiff doesn't have that luxury.