Page 3 of Chaos at Westbrook High

“Where you go, we go.” I spell it out for her, moving in to kiss the top of her head. “Get used to it, little sister. And do my ego a favor and don’t make me invite myself next time.”

“Your ego doesn’t need any favors.” She shoves my shoulder to get me to move, but I don’t miss the smile she’s failing to hide while she leads all three of us to the door.

“Kai.”

“What, Damon?”

“Don’t kiss my girl.”

I smirk at that, purposely sliding my eyes down to her ass to piss him off. She’s hot, and she’s got Damon’s written all over her, but I still look because I’m a brave fucker. Damon thumps the back of my head, and I curse, feigning a wince while I rub the spot. “Dude, that hurt,” I complain.

He ignores me and carries on walking.

He’s only eleven months older than us, but sometimes he acts like he’s fucking forty, the moody asshole.

“Yo, Wren,” I whisper, motioning for him to come closer. “I bet you fifty bucks he makes her a Kingston within the year.”

He snorts like I’m ridiculous and lifts his fist to bump mine. “You’re on.”

“Why don’t you just order room service like we do? They’ll bring you whatever you want.”

“Because I like it here.” Callie shrugs, pushing the door open to the cute little coffee shop we’re only just finding out about.

Valerie’s, the big white sign on the shop window reads. I don’t see what’s so special about it. There’s a long black counter with a dark wooden top, a few tables, and an uncomfortable looking corner couch on the back wall. The shop is surprisingly busy, and the line’s pretty long, but it’s not overly crowded, the tables spread out enough that the patrons aren’t sitting on top of each other. There are a few signs and floating shelves on the long wall to my left, and when I see the neatly placed books, I start to get why Callie likes it here so much. She loves to read. This is the perfect little reading spot.

“Because room service won’t let her pay for it,” Wren corrects Callie, chuckling to himself when she pretends not to hear him.

Damon takes her hand. She side-eyes him but doesn’t say anything as we move further along the line.

Still not impressed by the fact that Callie’s been coming here almost every day without me—without us—I glance around again. The girl behind the counter has her head lowered, her black ball cap hiding the top half of her face while she grabs a cake from the cabinet between us. Her pink lips are pretty and full, her wavy blonde hair tied into a low ponytail at the back of her neck. Working the counter all by herself, she bags the cake and places it down on the side, caps the lid on a steaming hot cup of coffee, and then turns to the customer in front of her.

“Alice?”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” the coffee girl replies with a smile, and I do a double take, quickly going from half interested to fully invested.

Damn. She’s beautiful.

Still smiling, she moves on to the customer before us. She must know this one because she talks and laughs with her while she rings her order up. I don’t take my eyes off her while she turns around to pump some syrup into a to-go cup. I catch a little glimpse of her ass as she moves, her apron tied at the back above a pair of black, skintight jean shorts, and damn it, I want her. Like, today. Right the fuck now if I can make it happen.

“Callie, do you know her?”

“Who?” she asks.

When I tip my head at the coffee girl, her eyes latch onto mine for the first time, her words dying mid-sentence, and my stepsister is forgotten. My vision tunnels, and she’s all I can see. For several moments, she stares at me like she’s seen a ghost, and I stare right back.

Fuck. She’s…

When the noise level drops, I feel the few people around us glancing at me and my family. This isn’t new. We’re the children of Elijah Kingston—the man who practically owns this town and everyone in it. I’m used to the attention, to having people look at me in awe and fear, but I’m not used to the way she’s looking at me. That easy smile from before has fallen right off her face, and I swear to God she’s glaring at me.

She’s fucking glaring at me.

I still don’t look away, and neither does she.

She seems familiar. For a moment, I think I might have fucked her already and bailed in the middle of the night or some shit. It would explain the glare. But no, that’s not it. Her face isn’t one I’d forget. There’s no way I’ve been with her before.

I cock my head at her, and she snaps herself out of it. Her cheeks heat, but I don’t think she’s embarrassed because she was staring at me. I think she’s fucking furious. Hot and feisty, she whips out a hand towel and busies herself cleaning the already clean counter.

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