Page 142 of Brutal Prince

I stare at her a moment. “Uh…?”

“Does it curl, frizz, what?”

“It curls. Like…a lot.”

“Good, because there won’t be time to straighten it.”

“I don’t think there’s any time for—”

“Shut up so I can drive.”

I sink back in my seat, grinning like an idiot.

I’m going to a party. It almost feels like it’s too soon, but fuck it…

I’m going to a party, and I’ll be fucked if I don’t try and enjoy it even a little.

* * *

The insideof Addy’s house is as neat and contemporary as the exterior. Since I wouldn’t dare tell her that I was sucking face with Briar in her backyard, I do my best to ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’ most convincingly when we pull up outside her duplex.

“Come on,” Addy says, hopping out of her car. “Lots to do, not nearly enough time to do it in.”

I follow her inside, but I stall in the living room.

There are boxes everywhere. The furniture’s been wrapped in plastic. The walls have faint outlines where framed photos or portraits used to hang, the bare nails jutting out like a child’s desiccated fingers.

“Addy?”

But she waves at me and trots up a pair of carpeted stairs without answering.

The house feels empty — where are her parents? But as soon as I step inside her room, the question doesn’t seem that important anymore. Most of the room is taken up by a bare mattress, the rest by furniture that looks ready to be loaded into the back of a loading van.

She’s busy packing out her makeup right over the sheet of plastic covering her dressing table, almost as if she doesn’t see it.

“Addy.”

She points to a door leading off her bedroom. “Shower, shave, shampoo. Then get your ass back here. I’m giving you five minutes.”

My head’s the human equivalent of a hard drive that’s in serious need of defragging. And since I can’t argue, I obey.

When I emerge from Addy’s shower, squeaky clean and smelling like strawberries, she gives me a once over like she can see right through the towel wrapped around my body, and sniffs.

“I don’t know if this is gonna work,” she says, holding up the dress I shoved into my backpack earlier. “It’s…like…really old fashioned.”

I couldn’t give a fuck if it’s more suitable to Neanderthal man — the instant my eyes land on the shimmering silver dress, I’m incapable of looking at anything else.

“It’s fucking beautiful,” I murmur, walking closer like I’m in some kind of trance.

“Whatev,” Addy mutters, and tosses the dress at me. “Don’t you even try wearing underwear with that. It’ll show.” Then she struts over to me with a joint in one hand, and a mascara wand in the other. “Now sit, and let me work my magic.”

I hold up a finger, but I don’t waste any time grabbing the joint. She lights it for me, her green eyes twinkling as I hit it hard.

“Don’t make me look like a whore,” I say, wiggling my finger in her face. I extend another finger. “And don’t tell me what I can and can’t wear with this dress.”

Addy cocks her head, but doesn’t argue. I sink onto her dressing table’s stool and tip my head back so she can apply makeup on my face. Meanwhile, I’m puffing away at her joint and hoping like fuck Marigold went straight to bed without checking my room again.

* * *

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