Chapter 13
T oday, Ever’s clones don’t seem as insufferable as they did yesterday. Probably because I finally got some sleep under my belt. I can’t help but smirk as I think about the instant potato flakes I sprinkled in Ever’s bathtub last night. I heard her running the water shortly after I walked out, then her banging on the wall between our rooms, letting me know she didn’t appreciate my present. I’m just wondering at what point did she figure it out? Did she notice right away? Or was it when she was naked, her bare legs slipping beneath the surface?
She hasn’t said a word about it, not even to bitch me out. I don’t know what she did with all the mashed potatoes because she didn’t leave her room once and she wasn’t carrying anything extra on her this morning. Probably washed it all down the drain.
Or left it for the cleaning lady to take care of. Edwin told me she’s at the manor every other day.
I sneak a glimpse over at my protectee. Face to the sky, she’s leaning back against one of the sculptures that are supposed to be American eels, and according to the plaque next to me, they are technically freshwater fish and only go out to the Atlantic to reproduce, which is news to me because I was under the impression all eels were saltwater fish. Apparently, they’re endangered, so this monstrous art piece placed in the middle of the nation’s wealthiest quad is supposed to bring awareness to their declining numbers. Pretty sure I’m the only asshole to even realize there’s a sign describing the giant metal water snakes and only because I’d rather read the same paragraph about eel migration until my eyes bleed than hear Ever’s friends discuss the merits of their families taking their yachts out before versus after the gala this weekend.
“What do you think?”
There’s a pause in the chatter and not in a comfortable way like previous ones, so I make myself glance around at Ever’s cheap knockoffs, finding them focused on me. All of them except Ever, who’s been silently raging all morning.
Only giving them my right side, I ask, “What do I think about what?”
Instantly, Ever’s head twists my way.
“For the gala?” Paris answers. “Would I look better with a tan or—”
“Why would you lower yourself to ask the help ?” Ever spits, her aversion for me clearer than her friend’s desperate need for a compliment. She’s standing now, her arms crossed over her chest. Just a second ago, she couldn’t be bothered to contribute, but now, she’s got a lot to say.
She draws naked pictures of me, “the help,” but her vapid little follower isn’t allowed to even engage me in conversation? Because I’m not worthy of having an opinion? My body’s worthy of her imagination, time, and energy though. With how much detail Ever puts into those drawings, I know she’s spent a lot of all three on me.
About me. Jesus Christ.
If she spent any of those on me…
It was hard not to pull her on me the moment she walked in her room last night. After seeing page after page of what her hands are capable of, I wanted to. She’s a really good artist, very talented, but the way she draws me…it’s as if I’m a god or something. A superhero. Someone much better than the real me.
Which is why I didn’t actually pull her to me. Because she doesn’t want me . She wants a cleaned-up version of me. She wants another clone to add to her collection.
“I’m just curious, you know, from a guy’s perspect—”
Ever cuts her off, saying, “Bradford’s a guy. Why didn’t you ask him?”
The blond glances around, his eyes glazed like he’s not really seeing anything in particular, just…above this topic, and says, “Because she knows I have to see the ensemble in person to judge it.”
“I think you’d look good no matter what,” I tell Paris honestly. As hard as she tries, she’s still got nothing on Ever, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t a pretty girl. She is. Just kind of pales in comparison. Paris is like a star. On her own, she stands out, but put her with the millions of other stars and she becomes forgettable. Ever though…she’s the sun. Once the sun enters the sky, every other star disappears from sight.
No one’s forgetting the sun.
Speaking of lethal balls of fiery energy, several shoot from Ever’s eyes as she stares me the fuck down.
I shrug. What?
She asked. I answered. What’s the big deal? Ever said it herself. I’m going to be by her side everywhere she goes. Did she honestly think I’d ignore someone speaking to me?
I save that special treatment for Ever.
My protectee’s trajectory switches from me to Paris.
Paris smooths her hair with her palms, her attention suddenly required on the ground between her feet as they begin shifting restlessly.
“I’ll see you later,” Ever announces, then storms away without another word to her clones.
I escort her to class, giving her professor a nod when she greets me with a warm smile.
At the sound of my name on Mrs. Flemming’s tongue, Ever’s gait slows significantly. She doesn’t stop or acknowledge either of us, just sort of lingers.
“Good morning, Mrs. Flemming,” I reply with a nod I don’t rush to lift all the way.
Yesterday, I took the liberty of going around and introducing myself to all of Ever’s professors.
“Oh, please, everybody calls me Johanna. Besides, Flemming is my ex’s last name and I’m counting down the days until I go back to my maiden name.”
“I just figured with the Mrs.…”
“I’ll change to Ms. once I drop the last name. And the emotional baggage.” She laughs.
“Okay,” I say, having no idea what else to say. “Well, then, good morning, Johanna.”
Even with my head bowed, I catch Ever surreptitiously shake hers. I knew she was listening.
“Any news regarding Mr. Munreaux’s stalker?” Johanna whispers to me.
I also let Ever’s professors know about Arthur’s “stalker.” Along with giving each of them my number, I stressed the importance of being informed immediately if Ever were to suddenly go missing. After all, it’s a matter of life and death.
“I’m afraid not. With the perp still at large, all efforts to keep the family safe are to remain in place,” I say, trying to sound as official as possible.
Ever’s scoff tickles my ears but she’s the one that led with that lie. I’m only going along with it.
And using it to my advantage.
Now if she tries ducking out again, I’ll be right on her ass.
“Would you feel more comfortable sitting in on today’s lecture? I don’t typically allow just anyone in, but I’m willing to make an exception.”
Momentarily forgetting about my scar, I scan the auditorium. Attending a real college class? I gave up on that dream years ago.
I guess I could, just to see what it’s like.
Or maybe I shouldn’t. It might be better to not know what I’m missing.
The professor leans very close to add, “In the name of safety, of course.”
“Right…”
My eyes land on Ever, now sitting front row, innocently chewing on a pen tip as she not-so-innocently spreads her knees a few inches apart, not enough for me to make out what’s under there, but enough to drive me fucking crazy imagining what could be. If she’s wet again… For me…
I shake my head and clear my throat. I won’t be able to focus on anything but Ever.
“No. That’s not necessary. I should be, uh…” I jerk a thumb behind me. “I’ll be fine out here.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod way too hard, my throat feeling like it’s clogging up all over again. I hate Ever—fucking hate her—so why does she affect me like this? Not only do I hate her, but as her personal protection agent, I shouldn’t be so goddamned turned on by the thought of her soaking her panties again. And yet all I want to do is bend her over that table and stuff my cock in her right this fucking second. With or without the rest of the class watching, I don’t care, I just want to feel Ever’s tight cunt squeeze the fucking life out of me until I fill her with so much cum that even if she did manage to sneak out again—which she won’t—no other man would even consider putting his dick in her.
“Oh, okay. Well, it’s an open invitation. Feel free to stop by…anytime really.”
I drag my gaze away from Ever to her professor, finding her cheeks turning pink. She spring a leak for me, too?
Why doesn’t that knowledge affect me the same way? I don’t feel any deep desire to fuck Johanna here and now. I would. I totally would. But it’s not a need . It’s more of a mild want. A curiosity. Like Paris, she’s also attractive. I’d guess she’s about a decade older than me and with that, comes experience. She’s divorced, or about to be, so she’s looking for something new, something fun. Hopefully nothing serious. She’d be the perfect fuck for me.
I can’t bring anyone back to the manor. And I don’t have any time off to meet with someone elsewhere. My only shot at getting laid in the next three years might just be during Ever’s classes, especially if the person’s already on campus. Even better if they have their own private office…
“I will,” I tell her with my own implication.
I send one last look at Ever, her thighs pressed together as tightly as her lips. She pulls down her turtleneck, revealing a dark hickey, then smirks.
Bitch got a new one when she was out.
I force myself to exit the auditorium.
Yeah, it’d probably feel like heaven sinking into Johanna.
But thrusting into Ever? My money’s on it feeling more like the unquenchable flames of hell—hot, dangerous, stupid to even consider, and…
Irresistible as all fuck.
Before Ever’s even settled into the passenger seat, I get to work removing her high heels.
“What are you doing?” she yelps, but I don’t respond. She attends one of the most prestigious schools in the country but can’t figure out when someone’s taking her shoes off for her?
Her nasty green drink in hand is untouched, and she gapes at me as I round the front-end, climb in my own seat, then carefully set her heels on the floor of the backseat. She lost the privilege of wielding sharp objects around me.
And because I’m still upset about the toe gouging, slap, hickey, and…everything else this woman’s put me through, I pick up my pumpkin-flavored cinnamon roll in a cup and take a long drink, almost draining the entire thing in one continuous pull…all while maintaining eye contact with Ever.
I even sigh audibly when I finally release the straw. Tasty.
The next time she speaks, I’m already on the road, and all she says is, “I need to go to the store.”
“For what?” Chef Ryan does all the shopping.
“Cheer.”
“I thought cheer was on Saturday.”
“Our performance is on Saturday. Tonight’s a potluck to celebrate.”
“You’re trying to take a dish?”
“Why? Do you have more of those disgusting dehydrated potatoes you need to get rid of?”
I fight a laugh. “How do you know they’re disgusting? Did you eat them?”
“No, but my vagina did and now I have a yeast infection.”
The laugh slips out. So she didn’t notice until it was too late.
“It’s not funny. Yeast infections are the worst.”
“What’s a yeast infection?”
“You don’t know?”
“No, I’ve never had one.”
“Of course not. You’re a guy. Guys can stick their dick in a bee’s nest and be fine.”
My cock shudders. “First of all, that’s not true. Second, what’s a yeast infection?”
“It’s where your vagina itches so bad you consider sticking a bottle brush up it just to get a few seconds of relief.”
“Potatoes gave you that?” Shit. “Is there medicine you can take?”
“Yeah. I need you to buy it for me.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because you’re the one that caused it.”
“That’s…” Fair. I didn’t know it’d affect her like that. I sigh. “Where do I get it?”
“There should be some at the grocery store.”
“Why didn’t you just ask your chef to make you something?”
“Because lemongrass-fed beef and truffle-oil pressed potatoes aren’t really potluck food.”
I eye Ever, the road, then Ever again. “Lemongrass? It’s grass-fed.” I wasn’t raised on that shit, but even I know it’s just regular grass the cows eat. What I don’t know is what the hell lemongrass is. Or what a pressed potato is. If it’s anything like the smashed potato I had the other night, then it’s delicious, which potluck food typically isn’t.
“You actually listen to those long-winded descriptions?”
“Yeah, I do. It’s called common fucking courtesy. I know Ryan’s ‘the help,’ but he is a person, just like me and just like you.”
“He’s obnoxious,” she argues, the reference to her earlier insult going right over her head.
“The man’s proud of his work.”
“Chef Ryan’s absolutely full of pride…among other things.” She whispers the last bit as she turns to peer out the window.
“Like what?”
Still looking between Ever and the road, I see her posture change.
“What else is Ryan full of?” I prompt when she doesn’t answer because I’d really love to hear this.
“Oh, you know.”
“No. I don’t. Spell it out.”
She better not say anything even remotely sexual, I swear to fuck.
Glancing my way again, she smiles a hair too pleasantly, and says, “Shit, like every other person at Munreaux Manor.”
“Including you.” I don’t pose it as a question because I don’t need to. It was very much a statement. Ever is full of shit. All she fucking does is lie.
She’s probably lying right now. A potluck to celebrate first place? Shouldn’t the school host something special for them? In wrestling, we had a banquet at the end of every season, where there was an entire buffet for both the team and their families, a full bar for the parents, and individual awards handed out to the athletes.
That was high school though. I don’t know how things work at the collegiate level. Or for cheerleading. Just because Ever considers it a sport doesn’t mean everyone else does.
I don’t.
Enough time passes I think the topic is dropped until Ever mutters, “Including me,” surprising me even more, and possibly making those two words the first truth she’s told me so far.
First and probably last. I’ll never make the mistake of trusting her again. Never.
I’m pretty sure I just figured out why Arthur calls her that.
Thankfully, Ever helps me find which yeast infection treatment she needs but makes me carry the package through the store. Examining the box gets confusing, specifically the picture of the applicator.
“You gotta put more stuff up there? I thought that was what made you…sick in the first place.”
Ever snorts. “I’m not sick. My vagina is.”
An old lady walking by gasps and clutches her chest.
Neither of us acknowledges the possible heart attack in process.
“Um… Don’t you think that seems counterproductive though?” I ask.
“I don’t know. You can ask my gynecologist at my next appointment,” she says while beelining it over to the pickle section. “I’m sure he can do a much better job explain—”
“Wait. What’s a gynecologist do? Your…” I gesture at her lower region, not all that familiar with the word she’s using. I’ve used a lot of terms for a pussy, none of them technical.
“My vagina? Yeah. He’s a vagina doctor basically.”
“You have a male…” More gesturing. “Doctor?”
“Dr. Robbins.”
“He goes…in there?”
“Goes? Like it’s space exploration? And ‘in there’? It’s my vagina. Literally.”
“He touches your…”
“Not really touches but he does probe me for the pap smear.”
Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ.
“What the fuck does he probe you with?”
“With the…probe thingy. I can’t remember what it’s called, but it’s a tool he inserts in my vagina that spreads my walls so he can inspect and swab my cervix.”
What kind of fucking job is that? He gets paid to do that to women on a daily basis?
“Then what does he do?”
“Then he takes it out and… Oh, I guess there is touching. I forgot at the end he puts in two fingers and presses down on my stomach to—”
“No.” I shake my head. I’ve heard enough. Two fingers? In her pussy?
“No what?”
“None of that sounds right. He shouldn’t be fingering you.”
“He’s not. He’s checking my organs for changes.”
“I don’t care. Your organ doctor can do that.”
“The vagina is an organ.”
I knew that.
Kind of.
“Just… You need a female gyna…whatever.”
“Gynecologist. And I can’t.” She returns her attention to the pickled cucumbers. “My father won’t let me go to another one. He knew Dr. Robbins from school. Says he’s the best.”
“That’s…” Twisted as fuck. “Also, no.” A bigger no. A huge no. I don’t like any of what she just said. Or the sweat gathering on my back. What the fuck is happening to me? Am I having an allergic reaction or something?
It’s just this applicator is going to be inside her pussy but right now it’s in my hands and—
“Fuck.” The box slips from my slick grasp as I struggle to keep hold of it.
Why did I put those instant potatoes in her bath?
Ever half-twists to face me, deadpanning, “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I grit through clenched teeth, finally getting a good grip on the now damaged package.
After picking out an obnoxious-sized jar of pickles, along with a strawberry rhubarb pie, we head to a park along the Connecticut River. Both times we exit the car, I put Ever’s shoes back on for her. I don’t look anywhere near her plaid skirt either time though, focusing all my energy on the task at hand.
Twice, I catch my eyes wandering up to her ankles but stop myself from going any higher because I know if those toned thighs come into view, I won’t be able to stop at all.
She’s sick right now. Or her…pussy is.
My hand’s no bottle brush but I’d let her use it like one.
What the fuck? What’s wrong with me thinking that kind of shit? She’s my protectee.
I drop her leg without warning and she lets it fall, no effort to catch her weight whatsoever, so her heel lands on the ground between my feet, nearly impaling me again.
Fuck, that was close.
“You should be more careful, Major,” she tsks while getting out.
Holding the door tightly so I don’t “accidentally” let it shut on her, I glance around at the other people heading toward a gazebo with a banner on it.
“That’s your squad?” I ask without looking away. I was half-expecting everyone to be in their cheerleader uniforms, but they all look like they just rolled out of bed. Everyone’s in sweats and has messy hair. There’s not an ounce of makeup to be seen.
Until Ever steps forward.
“Team, yeah,” she says, her tone holding a healthy dose of pride.
“Hey, Zero.” A girl breezes by and knocks Ever’s shoulder, causing her to teeter on her high heels in the grass.
Automatically, I reach out to steady Ever. She doesn’t need it though as she’s already diving into some drawn-out handshake that isn’t limited to just hands with the girl. They’re kissing cheeks, bumping hips, tapping the sides of their feet. At the end, they even hug each other.
“Missed you, Scoops,” Ever tells her.
I watch the interaction with the same amount of fascination. This is not how Ever acts with the clones. This is not how she acts with anyone. For a split second, she’s not the trainwreck of a human I fucking despise, but a cute girl I’d enjoy having under me for a night.
Or two.
Just one. They’re all just one.
“Missed you, too.” Her friend pulls away to pin her with a serious expression. “It’s been hell since I got back.”
“That’s right. The new stepfather moved in.”
“And stepbrother.” The friend trembles dramatically.
“Oh, yeah. What’s his name again?”
“Khaos.”
Ever giggles. “It sounds more like a warning than a name.”
“Consider me warned. I plan on staying as far away from him as possible.” Another shiver.
“Uh-huh…” Ever exaggerates the last part of that, not sounding the least bit convinced.
The girl’s cheeks turn a shade of pink that makes everything she just said that much harder to believe. “Anyway, did you get the pickles?”
“The biggest jar I could find.”
“Good.” The blonde eyes me but asks Ever, “Did you get a new stepbrother as well?”
“No. Ugh.” The sound she makes sounds like a gag. A gag I’d find pretty fucking offensive if I didn’t already know what she keeps under her bed. “After carrying this team on my back all season, I had to hire someone to do all my heavy lifting.”
“Oh, God.”
They both break into laughter.
“Putting the ol’ family fortune to good use, I see.”
Ever drawls, “I try,” then sticks her hands behind her back, her fingers tangling together.
“Who is he really?”
As Ever regurgitates the stalker story, I lock eyes with a hot brunette. She’s a bit more put-together than the others, but not to the degree Ever is. I’m convinced Ever and her clones are the only people on earth who walk around looking like actual models. She is still imitating Ever by wearing a shirt similar to the one she was wearing the day I met her. While not a crop top, it does say “I got wet” across the chest in the same exact font Ever’s did.
“That’s so scary. Are you okay?”
“It’s fine. I’m just looking forward to not having a chaperone every waking moment.”
I ignore that jab, too. I’m busy anyway. The brunette’s doing some serious eye-fucking that I’m having a hard time not returning. I am on the job but that job is starting to give me blue balls. I’m only human.
“As far as chaperones go, yours is hot—”
“He can hear you,” Ever says as if that’s ever stopped her from talking about me in front of my face. It does make me tear my eyes away from the brunette though. Eye-fucking isn’t gonna make my balls any less blue.
There’s an awkward pause where both girls peek back at me and I have to pretend not to notice, lowering my gaze to the ground, the bill of my hat blocking my face from view.
Do they both think I’m hot? Or just blondie?
Ever’s friend asks, “Well, did they say how long it’ll be?”
I’m about to answer for her with some vague answer that three years could easily fall under but Ever beats me to it, saying, “Less than a month.”
Her friend saves me from voicing my thoughts by parroting, “A month?”
How did she come up with that answer? And why? Won’t that make my presence harder to explain when this next month comes and goes and I’m still by her side?
“That’s so long.”
Ever scoffs. “No, it’s not. It’s nothing .”
I don’t understand. She been acting like every second I’m in her presence is a colossal inconvenience. She didn’t even want me under her roof for a single night. She tried sending my ass to jail just so I couldn’t. But now she’s saying a month with me around is nothing ?
It’s not nothing, not even for me. I’ve only spent a few days with Ever and I’m already sick of her.
Out of nowhere, she releases a laugh unlike any previous ones, so much throat in it, that has my attention snapping up to see some motherfucker hugging her from behind, whispering something into her neck.
One of Ever’s hands appears on the back of his head, holding him to her.
The entire scene before me—sky, trees, people, every single fucking blade of grass—becomes red, a filter just dropped over my vision in an instant.
Get.
The fuck.
Off.
“Excuse me, miss, that’s no longer allowed,” I say as I approach the two.
They both ignore me, allowing me to pick up a bit of what the dude’s saying. Something about pickles.
What the fuck is the deal with the pickles?
“They’re in the car,” Ever’s telling him just as I rip her out of his embrace.
This time I do steady her, but I don’t bother removing my arms after she’s balanced, caging her in against me.
Dude eyes me harder than the brunette just did. “Who are you?”
Squirming, Ever digs her elbows into my ribs.
Through the sharp pain, I say, “Crue Brantley, Miss Munreaux’s personal protection agent, as well as the only one here with clearance to touch her. Until we identify Mr. Munreaux’s stalker, everyone is a suspect.”
Ever stills, but spins in my hold, the top of her head skimming my chin. As usual, she’s anything but calm as a whole-ass storm rages in her gaze.
“Nathen’s not dangerous,” she argues.
Him holding her so intimately felt pretty goddamn dangerous to me.
“Can’t be too careful,” I deadpan.
“Umm…that’s gonna be a problem, Zero,” Nathen says…I guess to Ever. Not sure why the fuck they keep calling her Zero though. The only thing zero about Ever Munreaux is my tolerance level for her bullshit.
Over Ever’s head, I tell Nathen, “It’s only a problem for those that lay a finger on my protectee without prior authorization.”
My threat hovers around us, making every muscle in the small group tense. Or maybe it’s just my muscles. I want to fight. I want to fight him .
“Right! Well!” her friend—Scoops?—says with a clap and a strained laugh. “Ever, we’ll meet you over there.”
“That’s not true,” Ever argues as soon as her friends are out of earshot, and I finally release her.
“The fuck it isn’t.”
“Since when?”
Since I saw a man embracing her and had the urge to gut him on the spot. Contrary to what Ever said, I’m not a murderer, and obviously, the best way to stop those urges is to stop the embraces. All embraces.
“Since my talk with your father this morning,” I lie. Between our run this morning and Ever’s school, I didn’t have time to speak with Arthur. I probably could’ve during breakfast but no one talks during that. No one talks during dinner either. Every meal with Arthur so far has been silent and tense.
Eyes hard, Ever opens her mouth, then closes it.
Finally, she whispers, “There is no stalker.”
“Then go tell your friends that. Let your clones in on that little secret, too. Oh, and every Littoral employee while you’re at it.” I didn’t get around to talking to every Littoral employee yet, but just about.
Crossing her arms under her chest and pushing those tiny titties up, she says, “Nathen is my base. He has to touch me. Lots of people on the team have to touch me.”
“During cheerleading…sure,” I allow…barely.
Her arms drop by her sides, some of her fight leaving her. “You sound so stupid every time you say cheerleading. It’s cheer. You can just say cheer.”
“Your friends sound stupid every time they call you Zero. Your name’s Ever. They can just call you Ever,” I argue, earning myself a roll of those hard eyes.
When she retrieves the pickles from the backseat, I immediately take them from her, telling her, “You can carry the pie.” The pie doesn’t have a glass jar that can shatter and hurt her. Or me, because I could easily see her taking a swing at my head with it.
Several of Ever’s teammates call out to her on our walk to the gazebo, each one using that nickname.
“Why do they call you Zero?”
“Because I’ve hit the most zeroes.”
I replay the sentence in my head, concluding it’s gotta be another language because what in the fuck.
“What the hell does hitting a zero mean?”
“Hitting a zero means getting zero deductions in a performance,” she explains while setting down the pie I’m ninety-nine percent sure she won’t be eating on a table with five other untouched desserts.
“So, it’s a good thing? Hitting zeroes?”
She rearranges dishes so there’s space for more food.
“A very good thing,” someone else answers.
I wait for them to pass before telling Ever, “It doesn’t sound good.”
“Neither does banning your protectee from being touched,” Ever counters.
“I’m your protector.”
She stops to blink up at me.
“It’s my job.”
Her shoulders twitch with something, a scoff maybe, then, “Exactly,” ghosts past her lips, barely moving them.
A head of brown hair breaks the connection as the girl from earlier adds her own dish to the table.
Those fuck-me eyes locked on mine again, she asks Ever, “Who’s your friend?” She glances at my scar but only briefly.
“He’s—”
“Crue,” I tell her myself, making sure to shake hands with her since these people don’t appear to care about social status. Students of the elite Littoral, too, they gotta have some kind of money, but Ever and her clones must have the most, a fact they’re happy to shove in everyone’s faces with their fresh-off-the-runway outfits and their uber-healthy green drinks.
“Nice to meet you, Crue. Are you a fellow redbreast?”
At the mention of breasts, my eyes fall to hers. Bigger than Ever’s. Fuller, rounder, but not as natural. There’s definitely some padding going on. Still interesting though, especially when they start bouncing.
I glance up to see her holding back laughter.
Shit. She caught me.
“Redbreast,” she says again, then points above our heads at the banner, reminding me that the redbreast—known to some as Connecticut’s state bird and to most as the robin—is the university’s mascot.
“No, I’m—”
“Eighmey?” Ever’s voice cuts me off. “Weren’t the ass-eaters in charge of bringing lawn games?”
With Ever behind her, Eighmey’s eyes widen at me conspiratorially.
I mouth “Ass-eater?” to her and she shakes her head, trying to keep in another laugh.
“I had Larkin bring them all in her truck since my car’s too small,” she tells Ever without facing her.
“I could help you,” I offer while shooting a scan over my shoulder for a truck. If it buys me more time with this girl, then I’m all—
The pickle jar is torn from my grasp, causing me to whip my head back around. Ever Munreaux’s unpleasant face stares back at me. Or more accurately, her glowering face.
“I also talked to my father this morning,” she says, spewing what I know for a fucking fact is another lie, “and he said since attackers are less likely to try anything in a public setting, you can watch today’s activity from afar.”
I hold my tongue because that’s exactly what I was hoping to do anyway. I only brought the pickles over as a safety precaution. And I was only talking to Eighmey…for a different safety reason. My balls feel like they’re about to explode. I’m getting concerned.
Using those pickles, Ever gestures toward the parking lot, repeating, “From afar.”
She’s such an asshole. Strawberry rhubarb would look good smeared all over her perfect face.
A lot of things would look good smeared all over her perfect face. It’s a very jizzable face.
“Make sure to load up on anything with garlic,” I tell her. “You know, for your…” I glance down so she knows what I’m referring to. “…problem.”
While we were waiting in line at the grocery store, I looked up yeast infection remedies that didn’t require more insertion. Greek yogurt and garlic were foods that came up, along with several topical recommendations. Coconut oil was the only one that sounded like fun.
“ Pleasure meeting you,” I say to Eighmey, my voice bursting—better that than my balls—with innuendo. “See you around.”
As I’m walking away, I hear Eighmey ask Ever, “Vampire problem?” and smirk to myself.
Not anymore. I’m the only garlic she needs for that particular problem. No one’s going near that neck anytime soon.