Page 75 of Detention with Daddies

Although if we don’t return to the ballroom soon, more rumors will start to spread. And they’ll move faster than any of the others, fueled by the alcohol and relaxed atmosphere of this party.

“Listen. I’m expecting that none of us want to lose her. And the one-in-three odds don’t sit well with me. So, here’s my thought: If you guys can curb your jealousy and possessiveness…just amongst the three of us…” I make a circular gesture between us.

Are they catching my meaning, or will they force me to say it outright?

“Fuck, this is some wild shit,” Waylen comments, knowing where I’m going with this, rubbing a hand down his face and holding his hand over his mouth. His gaze darts high on the wall past me.

Is he imagining it? I am. I’m trying not to. Not in detail, but it’s filling up my head anyway. Would she be able to handle all three of us at once?

The burning of jealousy and fear slowly starts to transform into something more. Something darker and sexier.

“Do you want her badly enough or not?” I ask.

Matteo says, “I do. I want her badly enough. Do you think she’ll go for it though?”

I grin. “I think she’s kinky enough to try it. What do we have to lose?”

You know, besides her? But that’s true even without this option.

“Fuck it, let’s try,” Waylen says.

Matteo nods, grim mouth frowning more than usual.

“We’d better get back out there and act normal.” I nod toward the doors, the gala on the other side of the hall bustling with people, with donors.

I make the first move, leaving them to wallow for another minute, and I grab a drink from the bar, settling back against it to watch the people still bidding for the grand prize. I bet the university has made a shitload of money tonight.

No one has any idea that three of its professors are contemplating sharing one of their students. The one who has wooed a good portion of the donors throwing money at them right now.

In my perusal of the room, taking stock of who’s left and how long I have to wait until I can leave, I catch the trio watching me. Specifically, Britney is looking me up and down like I’m a piece of meat.

Her blonde hair is piled high on her head with a tiny tiara holding it in place, and her dark red dress matches her bloody mouth. She looks like she’s stepped out of some twisted princess porno.

The way her hips sway as she saunters over to me is comical. Does she really think that’s going to work? Especially when everything she’s tried up to now hasn’t.

I catch a whiff of her cloying floral perfume and cover it with another sip of my rum and coke.

I sigh as she strikes a pose in front of me, hip cocked with a hand on it. “I thought you were going to disappear for the whole night and I’d miss my opportunity for a dance.”

The way she lifts her hand and holds it out to me, like she’s expecting me to take it, renews my disgust with her.

She likes the way I look, but she hasn’t learned a damn thing about me. Shallow. Entitled. Not at all what I want. Not again.

I watch her hand as it hovers there, but I don’t take it, sipping my drink again.

“I don’t plan on dancing with you, Britney.” Because, truly, I’ve made myself clear on more than one occasion that there will never be anything between us.

But maybe, I’ve been too nice about it.

Her hand wobbles and slowly lowers, a small frown making her look like a petulant child instead of the thirty-something professional she’s supposed to be. “Why not? You danced with Olivia.”

She turns and mumbles something under her breath, and I swear that I hear the wordwhalecome out of her mouth.

I stand straighter. Britney clocks the move, crossing her arms and trying not to fold under the way I’m able to tower over her like this.

“If I hear that word from your mouth again, I vow to make your work life miserable. You may think of yourself as some prize, Britney, but let me tell you, your fatphobic remarks make you real ugly.” I take another step closer because we’ll be making a scene if I’m not careful.

Fuck, she might make a scene regardless.

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