Read The Queen B* Strikes Back for Free Online Page A

asking you to do my homework. You’d be the type to purposely do it wrong so I’d get an F.”
    “Glad to know we’re on the same wavelength,” I replied with a smirk.
    “Here’s where I need help.” He spun around to his computer screens and pulled up the Common Application website. A few clicks later, he was at the blog post listing this year’s essay prompts. He turned around and jerked his thumb at the screen behind him.
    “Your college admission essay?”
    He nodded. “Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You’re my only hope.”
    Normally, I would’ve grinned at the Star Wars reference coming from the lips of an uber-jock/closet geek, but too many warning bells went off. I crossed my arms and adopted my unyielding Queen B* posture. “I’m not writing your essay for you.”
    “Did I ask you to?”
    “Well, what do you want from me?”
    “I need someone to help critique my essay.” He rubbed his hands on his shirt and fidgeted in his chair. “I kind of bombed the writing portion of the SATs, so I’m retaking it in a few weeks, but since I knew you aced it—”
    “How do you know what I got on the SATs?”
    He gave me a sheepish grin and slid his eyes toward the computer.
    I should’ve known he’d been prying into my records when he’d hacked into the school system the other night.
    He cleared his throat. “Um, anyway, since I know you’re awesome at these college essay things, I was wondering if you’d be willing to tutor me after class and teach me how to write a good essay so I can keep my college options as open as possible.”
    I narrowed my eyes. Something wasn’t adding up, but I couldn’t quite say what. “Isn’t there a special set of classes for jocks at most big football schools?”
    “Maybe, but I don’t want to be in them. You’ve heard my mom. It’s important I get into a good school and get a good education. I got an eight hundred in math on the SATs, so I’m not an idiot. And I did well on the reading comprehension part, too. But this whole writing thing has me stumped. It’s easier for me to write code for a website than write an organized essay.”
    The Golden Boy had a chink in his armor. Who would’ve thought it?
    And now I knew his weakness. The fact he trusted me with this information made me pause long enough to mull over the implications.
    “What’s in it for me?” I asked.
    “Besides the joy of my company?”
    I arched a brow. Was he kidding me?
    “How about a friend helping out another friend?” He rose from his chair and approached me with slow steps until his hands cupped my elbows. “Come on, Lexi, you’d do it for Morgan or Richard. Besides, you still owe me from last week.”
    Ugh, he had a point. If he hadn’t helped me track down the kid posting those videos, my sister’s bra-stuffing secrets would still be out there on the web for everyone to see.
    “Fine, I’ll help you with your essay, but on one condition.”
    His grin widened as though he was expecting me to ask for a daily makeout session as payment. “What?”
    I jabbed my finger into his nose. “Don’t you ever call me ‘Lexi’ again.”
    His bottom lip jutted out in an almost-perfect imitation of his sisters’ pouts. “But what if I like calling you that?”
    “Then you can find yourself another tutor.” I turned to leave, but he caught my wrist and whirled me into him.
    We were pressed together, chest to chest, his arm along the base of my spine holding me to him. Our breaths synchronized at the same rapid pace, and from what I could tell, his heart was hammering away as quickly as mine.
    He brushed aside one of the flyaway curls that always frame my face. “As you wish, Alexis .”
    I don’t know if it was The Princess Bride quote or the sexy timbre of his voice as he said my name that had my knees ready to buckle, but I was thankful he hadn’t loosened his hold on me. My attention fell to his lips. I wanted to feel them, taste them, lose my head like I’d managed to do when he