Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 111676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Cassie stopped pouring, then shrugged a shoulder before dumping in the rest. “That should do it.” That would do an elephant.
She grabbed a wooden spoon from the utensil caddy, smiling like she’d just won the lottery as she stirred the laxative-spiked juice. Those guys were about to have a bad, bad day.
Floorboards creaked in the living room. “Something smells good.” That was a male voice I didn’t recognize. I snatched the MiraLAX off the counter and quickly chucked it into the garbage can, covering it with used paper towels.
The lid slammed closed just as a tall, redheaded guy wearing an Omega Dicksolon T-shirt appeared in the kitchen doorway. I’d seen him hanging around Wolf, from a distance, of course.
Cassie flashed him a smile. The one he returned told me he knew her but definitely not well. Because if he did, he’d be scared of that smile.
“Oh, you’re in for a treat, Petey,” she said, scraping her semi-burned eggs onto a plate.
Petey’s attention drifted to me. “Jason Voorhees…” He moved to the knife block and picked it up, cradling it against his side like a football.
“Funny,” I said, as if this entire shit show wasn’t bad enough. “And so original.”
Ten minutes later, the food was ready and Wolf, Rogue, Bellamy, and Petey were sitting at the dining room table. Waiting to be served.
With a smirk, Cassie picked up two plates. “What is it you say, Jade? Karma is not in your action, it’s in your volition…”
“And you said affirmations were stupid.”
“Not that one. I’ve got all the volition.”
I grabbed the other two plates and followed her into the dining room.
The hum of the guy’s conversation fell silent. Cassie placed food in front of Rogue and Bellamy. When I put a plate in front of Wolf, he looked at it with a furrowed brow.
“I’m good.”
He had evidently learned his lesson back in high school when I’d attempted to cook him dinner. I figured chicken casserole wouldn’t be that hard. How wrong I was. It was disgusting, and I’d refused to eat it. Wolf had choked it down, lying through his teeth about how good it was. He’d looked green by the time he was done.
“Suit yourself,” I said.
“Give me that shit, then.” Rogue snatched Wolf’s plate and put it beside his own.
Cassie brought out the jug of orange juice. As soon as she placed it on the table, Rogue helped himself to a glass. The minute he lifted it to his lips, Cassie shot me a smirk.
“So, we need to lay down some ground rules,” Rogue said, then took another large gulp. Rules? Like we were errant children. I hoped he was chained to the toilet for days. “Your curfew is eleven.”
“Curfew?” I glanced at Cassie, knowing that wasn’t going to work. “Last time I checked, you weren’t our dad. And sometimes we work late.”
“Roller Burger closes at nine,” Bellamy said.
Rogue topped off his drink. “And I’m not your dad; I’m your warden.”
Wolf and Bellamy snorted a laugh. Petey was too busy scarfing down food to join in the conversation.
“Not that you’d know a single thing about working.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “But we do inventory every week. It can take hours.” It was bullshit. No one ever did the inventory. “As for being warden…whatever power trip you need, Rogue.”
His fork clattered to the plate, his gaze swinging to Wolf. That seemed to be his default, turning to Wolf, even though he was supposed to be the president.
“Like he said. Curfew is eleven,” Wolf backed up Rogue. “There’s a list of daily chores on the fridge.” The legs of Wolf’s chair scratched the hardwoods when he pushed to his feet, his hardened gaze meeting mine when he rounded the table.
So, that was how it was going to be.
I glared at the back of his head as he passed through the living room. Let that be a lesson not to bother trying to make any kind of amends with Wolf.
Nine
Wolf
Instead of focusing on the lecture, I was focused on Jade’s piss-poor offer of condolences. She couldn’t be bothered to offer them when I’d needed them, so why the hell had she felt the need to offer them that morning? I would have rather she’d just ignored it.
Dr. Howard pulled last week’s algebra exam from his briefcase. “You kids need to make sure you’re completing all the homework assignments.”
Students packed their books as he moved around the class, handing out the papers.
“By your grades, I can tell some of you don’t see the point in it.” He dropped my test onto my desk.
Of course I’d failed like a sack of shit being dropped onto hot pavement from seventy-three floors. Two out of twenty correct. My gut knotted at the real prospect of getting suspended. Everything I’d busted my ass for, all the early morning workouts, the concussions, was about to be gone. All because I couldn’t figure out what the hell X and Y were equal to.