Page 126 of Brutal Prince

A hand falls on my shoulder, and I twitch as I’m hauled out of idle speculation.

Marcus sits, and taps his phone against his thigh for a few seconds before putting it away. He opens his mouth, but I don’t let him speak.

“I’ll call my dad tonight,” I say. “If I can get hold of him, then—”

The bartender brings us our beers, and I wait for him to be out of earshot before I continue. “We’ve got like six months before the end of term. You can stay with me.”

Marcus swings his head to look at me, frowning hard. “I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can,” I say through a laugh. “I told you, my dad probably wouldn’t even notice. But I’d rather ask, then he doesn’t think I’m suddenly drinking twice the amount of beer as usual.”

Marcus’s lips lift into a phantom smile. “He won’t mind?”

“Fuck no!” I lift my beer bottle and tap it against his. “And long as you don’t hog the X-Box, then I don’t give a fuck either.”

Marcus lets out a laugh, but it sounds stiff and uncomfortable.

I clap a hand on his back, and lean in. “Now, wanna hear what I got up to in detention?”

* * *

Indi

You could have usedmy brain as the marshmallow bit for a Smore. I have a book open in front of me, but apparently it’s all in pig Latin. No surprise here — I keep daydreaming about what Briar did to me in detention. Every time that happens, it’s like I’m right back there. And trying to study while this fucking horny?

Impossible.

I’d been considering taking a long bath for almost fifteen minutes already when the house phone rings.

I turn a page in my textbook and do my best to read the words instead of replaying the sensation of Briar’s thumb on my clit.

There’s a knock on my bedroom door.

I twist on my bed and scowl at the wooden paneling, but that doesn’t stop Marigold from coming inside.

Her mouth is pursed, and her eyes sweep across the room as if she’s purposefully trying to find something wrong with this scenario so she can ground me for another month.

“There’s a phone call for you,” she says when her inspection is complete.

“Who?”

Her eyes narrow a little. “The insurance company.”

I frown and scramble off the bed, trailing her to the phone in the hallway. She stands so close to me when I take the call that I can smell stale cigarette smoke mingling with lavender perfume wafting from her. I turn my back and cringe around the phone, feeling like I’m in a prison trying to have phone sex with my beau.

“Hello?”

“May I please speak with Indigo Virgo?”

“Her speaking.” I take a quick peek over my shoulder and give my grandmother a glare that she ignores.

“Ms. Virgo, this is Mr. Fallow from the claims department. It regards your insurance claim on the property on 12 Northenden Drive, Lakeview?”

“Yes?” A thick wave of uneasiness washes over me. This is the first time since I called them about my rental car that I’ve heard back from the insurance company.

“Our claims investigator has submitted his report on the household contents section of your claim. Am I correct in believing that you were denied entry to the premises after the fire?”

“Yes.”

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