Havoc at Prescott High (The Havoc Boys #1) - C.M. Stunich Page 0,67

draped over ceramic pots, flowers blooming and filling the air with sweet perfume.

The table itself is set with a silver tea set, a coffee pot, and various platters with cut fruit, pastries, and breakfast meats.

“Have a seat,” she says, and her smile is downright poisonous. There’s a special sort of gleam in her eye that infuriates me from moment one. Or maybe it’s just her son, crawling under my skin, making me bleed emotionally?

“Mother,” Vic says, leaning down to press a cold, clinical sort of kiss to his mom’s cheek. What did he call her? The egg donor? I feel like that better encapsulates the scope of their relationship. She’s jealous of us. When Vic first said that, it didn’t quite make sense to me. Seeing Ophelia sitting there in her floral skirt, hair perfectly coiffed, her face painted on … I start to get it. Maybe she feels as numb as I do most days, but there’s no pain in her life to temper it, just ruthless greed. “How long has it been since we had breakfast together? When I was in the womb? Or just before that?”

“Funny,” Ophelia says, but I’m damn near positive her son is telling the truth.

Victor pulls out a chair and indicates for me to sit in it. I’m loath to get that close to him right now, but I sit, if only because I know that losing out to Victor will kill Ophelia. And I really don’t like her. We spent one lunch together, and I know that for a fact.

I reach out for a croissant as Vic sits beside me, pulling his chair so close that our knees touch. Heat travels through me, this violent surge that takes over my entire body and makes it hard to breathe. I shouldn’t be having such strong reactions to him over so little. Clearly, I’ve gone mental.

Ophelia notes our closeness, and her carefully crafted smile slips a fraction of an inch.

“What’s this I hear about you getting expelled?” she asks, lifting her coffee to red-painted lips. Her dark hair is smoothed back into an intricate up-do, one that most girls and women only wear to proms or homecomings or even weddings, not to a casual breakfast with their kid.

That’s the first sign that she’s afraid of Victor.

She wouldn’t bother to put on her armor if she weren’t.

“Not expelled, Mother,” Vic says, resting a big hand on my naked thigh. His fingers slide back and forth, stroking me and making it extremely difficult for me to focus on the conversation at hand. His flint-like eyes are locked on hers in challenge, his purple-black hair slicked back, one tattooed hand resting on the table. “Suspended. And only for two days. Don’t worry: I’m right on track to graduate.”

“That’s not exactly how your principal described things to me on the phone,” she insists as Victor’s fingers trail just a bit higher up on my thigh than appropriate. Shit. I’m trembling again, and my hands shake as I polish off my croissant and reach for some coffee instead. If I were a smart girl, I’d push Vic off with a giggle. You know, play the part but show him I’m not a slave to the tension between us either.

Instead, I sit there with my back ramrod straight, my heart thumping so loud I can barely hear the stiff back and forth of their conversation, and I do my best not to actively groan when those hot fingers brush against the front of my panties.

I sip the coffee, hot bitter liquid splashing against my tongue as I try to tell my body to ignore the sweeping surge of pleasure from my core. Already, I can feel liquid pooling between my thighs, and find myself shifting in my seat.

“Principal Vaughn?” Vic asks with a hoarse laugh, his full lips twisting into a smirk. “You’ll have to forgive him. Sometimes he gets a bit busy running that child sex-ring of his, and gets confused. You know, like how he thought I had drugs in my locker last week.”

Ophelia’s nostrils flare, but whatever retort she was about to spit out is cut short by the appearance of an older man, his salt and pepper stubble well-groomed, his eyes wandering a bit too much for my taste. He stares at the low-cut shape of my top, eyes tracing the tattoos there with interest before he actually remembers that his girlfriend is in the room with us.

“Ophelia,” he purrs, sinking down to give her a

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