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“Tell Brandon to come along,” she signs. “He’s obviously the nice twin.”
“She’s inviting you to eat with us.” I motion at Brandon, and he surprisingly nods and walks toward us.
Good. I can ask him questions about his difficult sister who’s still not answering me.
I swear to fuck, I’m going to put a tracker on her phone next time I see her.
“You have seven days to cut ties with Glyndon or we’ll do it my way,” Landon announces, accentuating his words with one last scratch to my car before he stalks in the other direction.
“Let me go get him, Kill,” Mia signs. “I’ll bite his head off.”
“What the fuck? You’re not a dog.” I laugh, then say more seriously, “Stay out of this. I mean it. This is my fight and I don’t want you in the middle.”
She pouts, but then she releases a sigh and nods.
Brandon rubs the back of his head. “You should probably take his threat seriously.”
“Nah, he doesn’t scare me.”
“He should. Don’t underestimate him.”
“Oh, I won’t. I also won’t let him put his nose where it doesn’t fucking belong.” I smile. “Now, who wants some pancakes?”
The little rabbit can ghost me all she wants. She refuses to talk to me? Fine.
But I’ll make sure she’s the one who comes running, not the other way around.
26
GLYNDON
Today is just not my day.
Not only did the girls grill me about all the Killian drama, but I also got an earful from Professor Skies due to being late. The icing on the cake was bumping into a glass door after class.
In my defense, the last one happened because of all the people who kept watching me as if I were an exotic animal.
Attention isn’t my scene, but that wanker went ahead and put me at the forefront of everyone’s mind.
They wouldn’t stop talking about me behind my back, whispering, and murmuring, and making my anxiety shoot up.
I contemplated hiding in the bathroom for a bit, but then I thought that I don’t really owe people anything and shouldn’t be feeling ashamed about that kiss.
Yes, the bastard is at the top of my shit list, but that doesn’t mean I have to feel any form of shame.
So I held my head high, barely, finished my classes, and then went to the art studio.
We were supposed to paint a nude today, with one model for about fifteen students, but I realized halfway through that the features and the body lines on my canvas weren’t the model’s.
Far from it.
My sense of eroticism drove me to the nightmare I’ve been trying, and failing, to escape every time.
It made me put rough strokes around intense eyes and recreate every cut in his abdomen, hauntingly broken crows, and even the slight freckles on the top of his shoulders.
I need help.
When my colleagues take a break to smoke, I use the chance to check my phone.
