Page 80 of Prince Charmless
“Like what?”
He sways his head from side to side. He doesn’t want to say it to me. “B word. Rhymes withwitch. I told him to go fuck himself amongst, uh, other compliments. He didn’t seem to appreciate them.” He raises a shoulder. “Apparently, I’m banned from the establishment. Like he can do that.”
“He can, actually. That was Harry.”
He snorts. “Thatwas Harry. Like...of Tavern?”
Harry will go the rest of his life not knowing he punched a prince. Maybe one day he’ll catch Taylor’s coronation in the news and think ‘That dude wearing the crown looks familiar’.
“Well, he’s banned from St. Claire.”
“Canyoudo that?”
“No,” he admits.
I close my eyes. “You’re so stupid.”
He puts his hand on my waist. “I know.”
It’s only been a few hours, but it feels like he hasn’t touched me for years.
“What the hell was that!” Cassie yells from down the parking lot.
“A sloppy punch,” Taylor answers as he releases me.
“He punched you? That fucker!” She pivots toward the bar before Neil holds her back.
“Absolutely not,” he says, taking the keys from her and unlocking the jeep behind us.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” Cassie asks when she approaches. She reaches her hand up to Taylor’s face, but he playfully pushes her shoulder before she can.
“Yes, Cass. Stop worrying about me. You’ve hit me much harder when we were kids.”
She lets out a breath. That seemed to put her at ease.
When we climb into their Jeep, the car lights allow me to get a better look at Taylor’s face. I cringe at the dark bruise just below his ear.
“Fuck,” Taylor whispers, then points to his eyes.
It takes me a second to notice. He’s been unclark-kentified.
“Your glasses,” I mouth. They’re probably lying broken on the dingy bar floor. “Can you see without them?”
“Nope,” Cassie answers from the passenger seat. “Terrible eyesight runs in the family. Consequences of medieval inbreeding.”
Taylor groans into the ceiling. “I’m a fucking idiot. How does it look?”
I examine the purple mark that’s been getting purpler. “A little rough. It’s sort of like a Florida-shaped hickey. You look badass, actually.” Except when I wished Taylor had a physical flaw, I didn’t mean this.
“Great. I look badass just in time for Dartmouth.”
Damn, I forgot about tomorrow. The second day bruise is always the worst-looking, too.
“I’d offer to work my magic, but I don’t think you’d want the concealer I brought.”
His brow furrows. “You think my masculinity is that fragile? I’m on TV all the time.”
I blink. “It’s just not the right match, Taylor. You’re a bit pale.” I put the back of my hand up to his face. My skin is more sun-kissed, while his is more sickly orphaned child.
