Page 20 of Cruel Elite (Princes of Ravenlake Academy 3)

I feel like I’m going to catch flame.

“God, Noah. Fine! Fine, okay. Whatever you want, all right?”

I swerve back into the right lane in front of the Oldsmobile, though they are far behind me now, and I feel my blood pressure returning to normal.

J.C. lets out a sigh of relief. “Goddamn, Noah. What the fuck?”

I don’t bother answering.

8

Noah

By the time we pull up in front of the diner, J.C. seems to have let my outburst go.

Out of all of the Golden Boys, he is by far the most laid back. He doesn’t take offense to much, and he lives in the moment.

Must be nice.

Caleb is already sitting at a booth, black circles under his eyes and his hair mussed.

J.C. ruffles it as we sit down, earning a punch in the arm from Caleb.

“You couldn’t at least brush down your sex hair?” he asks, snickering as he grabs the coffee carafe on the table and pours himself a mug.

“I ordered you coffee. Show me some respect.”

J.C. gives a small bow of gratitude and promptly dumps four packets of sweetener into his cup.

Then he launches into the details of what he can remember of his escapades with Jennifer—even though no one asked.

If J.C. is to be believed, Jennifer all but hung upside down from a branch and sucked him off. Obviously, he’s exaggerating, but so long as he is satisfied, I’ll let him have it. I’m still cooling off after my outburst in the car.

When he finally runs out of steam, he flips the conversation to Caleb. “What about you? How was your night, big fella?”

“Nuh-uh,” Caleb grunts, shaking his head. “Not gonna happen.”

J.C. pushes, but Caleb once again refuses to say anything about his night with Haley.

“The two of you claw at each other like animals in heat in front of us all the time, but you aren’t going to give any details? That’s low, man.”

Caleb wags a finger at him. “After what you said last night about having a foursome with her, you’re lucky I’m talking to you at all.”

J.C. presses folded hands to his chest, his lower lip pouted out dramatically. “And I do feel oh-so lucky, Caleb. You know how I treasure our talks.”

It’s obvious Caleb is annoyed with him, but that’s the magic of J.C. No matter how much of an idiot he is or how many times he pisses you off, he can always make you laugh.

Right on cue, Caleb cracks a smile and chucks his menu at J.C.’s head.

The waitress, a middle-aged woman with pink curly hair and a smoker’s voice, takes our orders. They both get giant stacks of pancakes, but I opt for toast and eggs.

My stomach is uneasy this morning. I can’t imagine adding sugar to the mix.

When the food arrives, we eat in silence for a few minutes, letting the food soak up the leftover alcohol from the night before.

Finally, J.C. slaps his hand on the table. “Best pancakes ever. These are the bomb.”

“They’re burnt and taste like sausage,” Caleb says. “But I’m hungover enough that I don’t care.”

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