All-American Princess - Maggie Dallen Page 0,18

have let them do it if I’d known you’d only come with… that.” She cast a hand toward my clothes as though they were rags. She couldn’t possibly know that those clothes she and her friends had drowned cost more than their freakin’ junkyard trucks.

She cast those big brown cow eyes toward Jack and Brandon. Jack muttered something about how it wasn’t her fault, and Brandon actually wrapped an arm around her shoulders in comfort.

What the… they were comforting her?

I drew in a deep steady breath. I would not blow up at her. That would only make her even more pathetic and pitiable, and the last thing I needed was to help her look like Snow White and me the evil witch.

That was exactly what she wanted, the conniving little—

“I thought you’d have brought a change of clothes,” she continued, her lower lip trembling with emotion. Her eyes moved up to meet mine. Damn, she was good. “I mean, these aren’t really practical, are they?” She cast a quick look to the guys, and she did a piss poor job of trying to hide a flicker of amusement. “I’ve never seen anyone wear clothes like that to a bonfire.”

They both had the audacity to give her a little smile in return. Like she’d just said something so very clever.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I looked to Jack. “Bonfire?”

He arched his brows. “Did I forget to mention that?”

“I would have brought something else to change into if I’d known this was going to be an evening event.”

“Evening event,” Amber repeated with a giggle. She bit her lip when I shot her a look. “Sorry.”

And there I went, looking like the big bad witch again. I turned back to Jack. “I would have brought something else if I’d known.”

He smirked. “Trust me, Princess, you wouldn’t want any of your designer clothes getting smoky.”

Ugh, this guy was annoying. So smug. So cocky. Fine, so he knew me. Although, how he knew about my father’s nickname for me was anyone’s guess. All I knew was every time he called me Princess, I wanted to punch him in the throat.

I narrowed my eyes, but Brandon stepped in before I could reply. “Look, why don’t I take you home, and you can get changed.”

Yes. A ride home. Alone. With Brandon. A smug smile crept across my lips. “That sounds—”

“Unnecessary,” Jack finished. He gestured toward the clothes that Brandon had handed me. Giant sweats that would have been better suited to a prison yard than a high school party. Dark amusement had his eyes dancing as they met mine.

This was a challenge. He was challenging me.

Or maybe he was trying to be helpful in his own smug, superior way. I glanced from him to Brandon to Amber—all of whom seemed to be waiting to see what I’d do. Would I stay, be a good sport and weather the embarrassment of wearing ugly sweats, or would I be a diva and demand to be taken home so I could look good?

I stifled a sigh as I met Jack’s knowing gaze.

Dammit. There was only one solution, wasn’t there?

“No, that’s fine,” I said, turning to Brandon with a smile that rivaled Amber’s for sweetness.

Take that, Snow White.

I reached for his hand and tugged him away from the others. “Brandon, will you help me find a place to change?”

I looked back and flashed Amber an entirely different sort of smile. One no one in her right mind would call sweet. She and her friends might have won the battle, but I planned to win the war.

And Brandon? I squeezed his arm and let him help me over a fallen tree trunk like I was some helpless female.

Yup, when it came to winning Brandon, make no mistake about it.

This was war.

Seven

Jack

To think, for a second there, I’d actually felt sorry for the girl.

Amber and I watched now from the opposite side of the bonfire as Lila laughed and flirted with Brandon.

“She’s relentless,” I muttered. We’d watched them for hours now. First, as Brandon led her back to the group—the perfect Prince Charming to her helpless princess routine. Then, as he’d made her a hot dog, and she’d managed to make hot-dog eating an event that will now feature prominently in my wet dreams. And now… this.

“Has she seriously never roasted marshmallows before?” Amber’s tone was a mix of amusement, sadness, and maybe a little awe.

I shook my head. “If she has, then she’s a damn good actress.”

While she