Empire High Betrayal (Empire High #3) - Ivy Smoak Page 0,85

he was walking over to me said differently.

“Happy Halloween, Sanders. You make a damn fine Sandy. Leather should be your new go-to.”

“Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself.” My eyes wandered down to his exposed six pack. I’d officially seen all the Untouchables without their shirts now. It felt like I’d just accomplished some kind of weird Empire High scavenger hunt.

He smiled.

Fuck. Why was I staring at his abs? “How long did it take to put all that eye makeup on?” I tried to hide my smile.

He laughed. “You really know how to throw punches.” He lifted up his hands that were covered with boxing gloves and then lightly tapped one beneath my chin. “One of the many reasons why I love you.”

Stop it. I looked over his shoulder, but there was no sign of Matt. “I think you should focus on finding your Adrian.”

“I’m not really looking for an Adrian right now. More like a one-night admission to my boxing ring, if you get my drift.”

Well that wasn’t good. Kennedy wanted Rocky and Adrian love. Not a gross one-night stand.

“How about it?” he asked. “Just one night of you and me before you marry my brother? It’s better to get me out of your system now.”

I laughed. “Doubly hilarious. You’re not in my system. And I’m not marrying James.”

“I don’t know…Brooklyn Hunter has a better ring to it than Brooklyn Caldwell. Ugh.” He shuddered.

“James is literally standing right over there with his girlfriend.” I looked over at them. James already had a glass of something in his hand and I cringed.

“Yeah, but Rachel Hunter sounds terrible.”

I shook my head.

“Speaking of terrible things. I need those blueprints to the Pruitts’ apartment.”

“I told you that the prank was off.”

He sighed. “But it’s going to be so fun. I mean… pudding. So much pudding.”

I laughed because I couldn’t help it. I wanted to pull the prank on Isabella. I really did. But I’d promised Matt I wouldn’t be like Isabella. And that I wouldn’t hang out with the Hunters. “I know. But I can’t do it. I’m trying to be better than her.”

“Anything you do is better than her. One because you’re beautiful. Two because you think you’re as funny as me. And three because I know I’ll eventually corrupt you. Just text me when you change your mind. Make sure the blueprints are in the text.” He leaned forward and whispered in my ear. “Your ass looks amazing by the way.”

My face was bright red as he pulled away.

He groaned. “Oh and reason four. I want to rip your clothes off when you blush. Huh. I guess those were four reasons why I like you. Save me a dance?”

“You don’t like me.” God, he was just like his brother. “You’re just trying to mess with Matt. And no, I’m not going to dance with you.”

“You playing hard to get just makes me want you even more.”

I folded my arms across my chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“That makes your boobs look even better.”

I looked down. I was basically pushing up my push up bra. Damn it. I dropped my arms.

Rob laughed. “Text me those blueprints. Later, Sanders.”

I rolled my eyes as he walked away. Why was he so confident that I was going to turn to the dark side? I’m not Isabella. I bit the inside of my lip. But I kind of did understand why he thought I’d cave. Isabella kept doing terrible things to me. There were only so many times she could embarrass me before I snapped. My promise to Matt was the only reason I hadn’t retaliated. Every bone in my body wanted to just freaking slap her.

Or maybe Rob just thought I could be swayed because I was literally wearing the Sandy costume from when she embraced her wild side. But I didn’t want my wild side to be behaving like a mobster’s daughter.

My thoughts came to a stop when the only other mobster’s daughter I knew walked in through the doors. I was pretty sure my jaw dropped to the floor when I saw Isabella’s costume. Yeah, there was only so much more I could take. I felt tears pool in the corners of my eyes. Fuck my life.

Chapter 29

Saturday

“Puta mierda,” Kennedy said as she joined me by my side.

I’d only ever heard her say that once before. And she’d told me that the meaning was nothing worth repeating. Puta mierda indeed.

Isabella was dressed exactly like me. Or, Sandy, rather. And no, not exactly. Her costume was so