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“They’ll be there.”
“Then you’ll disappear so they won’t throw themselves on your dick instead?”
“Of course. What are bros for?”
“You got yourself a deal, Lan.” He shakes my hand.
“Seriously?” Bran asks. “You were just whining about how he’s always occupying our space, Remi.”
“I just remembered his parties are fun. My lordship inhales fun.”
“Which is why your lordship is such a good sport,” I say with a straight face, despite internally cringing at how he calls himself that.
Mum also has an aristocratic title, but you don’t see me flashing it and calling myself a lord for anyone to hear. I wouldn’t shy away from using it as a plug in front of the right people, though.
At any rate, the mission is complete. There will be another mindless party, where I can invite the scum of the scum and crown myself as their leader.
It’s one of my countless attempts to not get stuck in my head for longer than absolutely necessary. It’s good for the art but usually bad news for everyone else. Especially for those who will be the target of my anarchy and their closest circle.
Lately, that’s been a certain goth blonde Barbie that so inexplicably happens to be the only form of a muse I’ve ever had.
She’s been trying to avoid me ever since she shattered all over my fingers a week ago, but I know how to smoke a mouse out of its hideout.
I’m about to go back upstairs, not really caring about football, when Bran catches up to me and grabs my arm.
I stare at his hand and then at his face. “Something on your mind, little brother?”
“Mia.”
I pretend to be unaffected and suppress the instinct to narrow my eyes at him. I know she’s somewhat friends with my brother. That didn’t particularly bother me before and that shouldn’t change now if I’m being logical. But for some reason, I don’t like it.
“Who’s that?” I ask while tapping an index finger on my mouth.
“You know exactly who she is, considering you’ve been going after her.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“I don’t need her to tell me anything. I’ve known you all my life, and I can recognize when you’re up to no good, which is, unfortunately, more often than not lately.” He releases a long, frustrated breath. “Haven’t you done her brother enough damage already?”
“She’s not her brother, now, is she?”
“No, but he’ll kill you if he finds out you’re targeting his sister.”
“Not before I kill him.” I pat his head. “Don’t worry about me, little bro.”
“That’s the last thing on my mind,” he mutters, his face harder than usual.
Hmm. Does he really care for Mia? Maybe inthatsense?
Too bad she was soaking wet for me, not you, Bran.
“Surprise!”
Three girls with different hair colors—blonde, white, and chestnut—swarm through the front entrance, carrying what looks like takeaway boxes.
Ava, the one who announced the unbearable surprise, grins as she dumps the armful of what I assume is Indian food, judging by the smell, on the coffee table.
She’s blonde, loud, and has little to no concept of personal space. In short, a mellowed-out version of Remi but nineteen.
