Victory at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #5) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,117

me feel better, Mrs. Channing,” he murmurs, nuzzling against the side of my head before climbing to his feet and leaving me feeling cold and needy and irritated all at once. How is it fair that I have to conquer a whole new school today when I just became queen of my last one? How is it fair that I can’t spend all day in bed with these boys when that’s the only thing in the world I feel like doing right now? “Come on, wife. I’ll help you clean the cum off, so you don’t have it running down your legs on the first day of class.”

“I seriously fucking hate you sometimes,” I grumble as I push myself up into a standing position and find myself facing down Victor Channing the way I did in the hall that first day of school, when he called me a ballsy bitch, and I snapped right back at him. He captures my chin in his fingers and stares me down with such a genuine look of love and affection that it’s impossible for me to say anything snarky or cranky or distinctly south Prescott in nature.

“Well, I seriously fucking love you all of the time,” he tells me, and I groan, letting my lids fall closed because I just know that I’m not getting out of this room without saying it back.

“I love you, too, you fucking asshole,” I grumble, and he chuckles, planting one last kiss on my overheated mouth before sending me off to face an entire school full of spoiled rotten prep school brats.

Because I’m just that much of a south Prescott ho, I decide to slip a tampon in instead of showering down, so I can carry a little piece of Victor Channing around with me all goddamn day long.

Alright, let’s do this.

I push open the doors to my first class of the day and I swear to you, there isn’t a student in that room who doesn’t turn to look at me. First contact. Earth has finally been visited by aliens.

Trinity’s expression doesn’t change as she takes in the ring that’s now sitting pretty back on my finger. Take a good, long look bitch, I think, wondering if she ever really wanted to fuck my man or if it was just her brother she was into. For all I know, she’s just an extremely talented actress.

Good thing I’m more than familiar with those. Oscar is a master thespian, of course.

I move down the steps toward where her majesty sits, pausing beside her and planting my hands on my hips. I’ve rolled the waistband of my skirt up the way the Prescott High cheerleaders do before they kick the Fuller girls’ asses and tear out their extensions with nails that could make Michelangelo cry. That shit is art.

“Mind if I sit here?” I ask as the teacher—this uptight man in a gray suit—stares at me like I’ve just taken a shit on his classroom floor. I smack my gum, content to wait in silence as Trinity takes me in from my feet to my bloodred hair to my eyes, half-lidded and lazy. I’m not afraid of her, and I’m certainly not afraid of any asshole in this school.

“If you must,” is Trinity’s only response as I slide onto the bench seat beside her. The room is tiered, like an auditorium or a gymnasium or something. The teacher stands up front like he’s on a stage, shaking his head as he goes back to his lesson plan. He doesn’t bother to introduce me to the class, doesn’t even acknowledge me. Glad to see that classism runs thick in this place.

I smack my gum again and Trinity cringes.

“Could you not do that?” she asks finally, after I do it three or four more times. I glance her direction, noticing the way her hand shakes as she attempts to answer some questions on her iPad, tapping the stylus against the screen as the teacher’s voice drones by like so much background noise.

I’m not here for the education, y’all.

“I’m surprised you’re not in mourning for poor James,” I say, and just the sound of his name makes Trinity’s skin prickle with goose bumps. She hates me so much that I can see her repulsion in her skin, written there the way the story of my life is written in ink across my own body. I lean back in the seat and my pleated skirt rides up dangerously high, exposing the tail of