Page 89 of Pawn

I smirk. “Not anymore.”

“Didn’t you hear? King sold off daddy’s company to the Carsons.”

“No way!” Vicky seems awestruck in a dress way too tight and short for prom. “Why?”

“I have other plans.”

Isaac whispers something into her ear and when I glance back towards the entrance, Jo’s gone.

Their words muffle as I make my way through bodies crowding and greeting each other, looking for my queen in that sexy outfit. When I don’t spot her, I make my way for one of the tables.

I’ll wait.

Pulling out a chair, I check my watch. T-minus three hours, Medusa.

* * *

This has got to be one of the longest three hours of my life.

Especially since she keeps glancing at me from her table.

The chair I’m sitting in probably has a permanent mould of my ass since I’ve been pushing into it trying not to go over there. Trying not to kiss her. Trying not to take her on that floor and show everyone once again, Jo is mine.

She looks so damn good tonight and I’ll admit I’m jealous that I’m not the one on her arm. Every time she looks at me she reaches for that water bottle that most likely contains vodka.

As time goes on, the reach for that bottle gets more frequent. Especially when she’s sitting alone at that table. Every guy that approaches her backs the fuck off when she glances my way, coming to apologize to me moments later. By twenty to eleven Christian is on the dance floor drunkenly grinding with his date while Isaac’s fucked off to god knows where. In the meantime, my girl checks her phone before rising from her seat.

Walking out the door, she doesn’t glance my way when she leaves and I’m only able to sit there for five minutes longer before I’m following her out. She’s not in the hall when I get there and every step towards the library feels like I’m walking on a plank. It’s dark when I get inside but I had all the little green lamps left on at a table near the back, telling Jo where to go. The copy of The Great Gatsby still sits on the table but she’s not there. That gives me time to set the mood, a little Hendrix blaring from my phone, a couple of tealights lit. Sitting at the desk, I unbutton my blazer, kicking my feet up on the chair beside me.

My foot wiggles when I get settled, my eyes towards the entrance.

Fuck, am I nervous?

What if she doesn’t show?

I’m prepared for this, at least I think I am. I just need to relax.

Eleven o’clock hits and I rise up off my seat so I can see the door.

Nothing.

At eleven-eleven. Still nothing.

At eleven-fifteen, my leg shakes again and if this is my fate, I’m heading right for Isaac when this is over.

At eleven-thirty that gut-punch hits my stomach, a lump in my throat but crying is for weak men. Weak men that can’t accept a loss.

“King?”

My heart jumps out of my chest when I hear my name before I register that voice wasn’t hers at all.

Peeking around the corner, Lea’s coming into the library in a dress like a fucking swan. Putting my hand into my blazer, I pull out the key and the joint I’ve been hiding in case. This counts as “in case”.

As far as I know. Nothing matters anymore.

“Are you doing your villainous brooding thing again?” she asks, in front of where I’m sitting. “Or can we talk?”

I pause, pulling the joint back from the flame of the small candle. “What is it? And did you bring punch?” This will have to wait.

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