Page 83 of Vicious Saint
My bad Stevenson.
Saint’s face is an unreadable mask as he, along with the rest of our friends—minus Bex—who’s already hightailing over to us, watches from the bar.
“Fat bitches stay ratchet, even at their momma’s wedding.”
I’m pulling my hoop earrings out one at a time as I say, “You know what else we stay doing?” Heels go next. “Eating basic bitches like you for breakfast.”
Annalie rolls her eyes as Stevenson holds me back from maiming her, then she turns to sashay like the hoe she is to Saint’s feet. She doesn’t get far before Bex shoulder checks her, making the fat shamer stumble to the side.
“Fuck you too,Rebecca,” Annalie sneers.
“No thanks.” Bex breezes behind her. “Save your nasty twat for Saint.”
My gaze connects with the man in question, his unreadable mask gone and in its place is irrefutable triumph.
He thinks he’s won.
As if reading my thoughts his eyes slice to Stevenson, then back to me, telling me without words that this is what I get for challenging him at his own game.
Bex stops at my side with a huff. “If you didn’t already kick her ass before, I’d tell you to right now.”
“You can just tell me to kick her ass squared.”
She chuckles, and so do I, then I turn my attention to Stevenson. “I’m sorry about the roses.”
He shakes his head, impressed as always by my ability to put the bitch in her place. “Shit. Don’t be. If anything I would’ve suggested throwing one of those pointy heels.”
The three of us share a laugh at Annalie’s expense, and when we make our way over to the bar I notice Saint already taking off with his shrew.
Probably to exchange STD’s.
“So what’re we celebrating love with, mofos?!” Riggs pushes a hand into his pocket, revealing a tiny bag filled with powder. “How about a little tequila and some sweet stuff?”
I don’t know what it is about drugs and rich kids, but you’ll rarely find one without the other.
Especially Riggs.
“I’m sticking with alcohol.” I reach over the bar top and call the bartender I paid off for favors, asking for six shots of his best tequila.
Yes. I may be one of those rich kids I mentioned earlier, but I don’t mistake cocaine for candy like the rest of them.
Partake, sometimes maybe. Overdo it,nay-be.
After our round of shots someone over the mic announces for everyone to take their seats, which sucks because I haven’t even gotten buzzed yet.
“God I hope we aren’t sitting close to them,” Archer whispers through the corner of his mouth as we begin the migration to the tables.
Rebecca wraps her hand around Archer’s. “Don’t hold your breath, Arch. I already checked the table cards, we’re right next to theirs.”
“Oh, c’mon bestie.” Riggs slings an arm over Archer's shoulder. “Don’t you want some quality time together?”
This time when Archer shoves him, Leviathan doesn’t bother trying to stop it.
In my defense, I had zero intentions of doing what I’m about to do. Well,who.
“What’s your name again?” I ask through a string of messy kisses, the alcohol playing its part to fog my memory.
Doesn’t help I spent five minutes on the dancefloor with the guy before going back to his castlesuite.
