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“Yeah.” Ainsley blows a hair out of her face. “And don’t feel bad, Jazz. You didn’t know, and he could definitely use a little more humor in his life. He’d understand you meant no harm.”
“Well, you should tell him you told me and that he’ll get no judgment from me on the matter.” I wag my eyebrows suggestively. “And you should definitely try convincing him that you’re more than okay with it. Whatever you need to do to ensure he has no doubts, do it.”
The flush in her cheeks deepens as we walk into class.
“Buenas tardes, señorita Davenport y señorita Callahan.”
“Buenas tardes, señor Reyes,” Ainsley and I reply in unison.
Before we split off to take our seats, Ainsley winks and says, “I’ll see what I can do.”
I chuckle. “I bet you will.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
JAZZ
If I thought Thanksgiving break went by fast, it was nothing compared to our first week back at school. On Monday, I had a pop quiz in almost every one of my classes because the teachers at Windsor are clearly giant assholes, and it didn’t get much better from there. The one nice thing is that Peyton and posse have been relatively quiet, save for a few whispered insults here and there. After school, the guys and I reviewed video footage while Ainsley was at dance class. However, the boys have taken over anything from Preston’s offices because I can’t stomach seeing the man for any length of time after recent events.
Nothing exciting has happened since we saw Preston abusing my stepsister on that video, although you can definitely sense the growing tension between my sperm donor and his wife. I won’t lie and say watching Madeline squirm hasn’t been entertaining. We’ve finally made it to Saturday, where we’re just about to head to another fancy party. If you would’ve t
old me six months ago I would be attending gatherings like this wearing designer dresses, I would’ve laughed my ass off.
“There. I think I got it.” Kingston finishes buttoning his dress shirt and begins the process of knotting his bright red tie.
“Do you need to test it out?” I straighten the corner of his collar.
“John and I did that earlier,” my boyfriend says. “It was just a matter of getting it taped up properly without smothering the mic. All I need to do at this point is to hit the button to activate it once we’re there.”
It turns out, John Peterson’s FBI friend is, in fact, investigating mine and Kingston’s fathers. John wouldn’t give us any real details because he doesn’t want to compromise the case, but he seems to think this is a positive development. Kingston agreed to wear a wire to the party tonight since there’s a possibility several vital players will be in attendance. He’s also decided to hand over any incriminating video footage we have, though I don’t know how Kingston’s getting around the fact that he’s technically engaging in illegal surveillance. John says he trusts this guy, and Kingston trusts John, so I’m going with it.
“Well, look at that. We clean up well, don’t you think?” I gesture to our reflection in the mirror above Kingston’s dresser.
His eyes darken as they take me in, lingering on my subtle cleavage for a few seconds. “You look incredible, but that’s really no different from any other day.”
I’m wearing an emerald green midi-length dress that’s fitted through the bodice with a flowy skirt. It’s simple and delicate but totally appropriate for my age. More importantly, unlike the last dress I wore to a stuffy event, this one lacks the sex kitten vibe. When I moved to the hills, my closet was filled with beautiful clothing, but there wasn’t a single cocktail dress because Madeline says evening wear should only be worn once then promptly discarded. She didn’t appreciate my scoff after that ridiculous statement, but it’s not like I really give a fuck.
My stepmonster tried buying me something to wear for tonight, but I declined for obvious reasons and raided Ainsley’s closet instead. Thankfully, the girl has a massive wardrobe, with items ranging from perfectly chaste all the way over to this-would-look-perfect-with-a-pair-of-stripper-heels. I chose a dress on the former end of the spectrum because the last thing I’d want to do is show up to a house filled with pervy old men in an overtly sexy garment. You’d think I was completely naked, though with the way my boyfriend’s gaze eats me up.
The tips of my ruby red fingernails scrape against Kingston’s light brown stubble. “You keep looking at me like that, and we’re never getting out of here.”
“As tempting as that is, I’ve got a job to do.” His full lips curve. “But save that thought for later.”
“Uh-huh.” I pat his cheek condescendingly to cover up the fact that I want to climb him like a tree. “I’ll be counting the seconds until I can get you naked.”
“Smartass.” Kingston smacks me on the butt. Hard.
“Huh,” I muse. “I think I can see the appeal.”
He laughs. “What?”
My lips twitch. “Nothing.”
He stares at me for a moment like he’s trying to read my mind. “We should get going.”
“Yep.” I grab the little clutch purse—also borrowed—from Kingston’s nightstand, shoving my lip gloss and phone inside. “Let’s do this.”
***
