Make My Move (Hannaford Prep #5) - J. Bree Page 0,12
of Joey’s unconscious form. Avery appears in the doorframe, her robe tucked tight around her body and looking queasy, and she stalks over to scrub at Blaise’s face with a clean washcloth. “If Blaise wasn’t here Joey would have gotten in. Lips would have had to stab the asshole.”
Lips crosses her arms with a frown, muttering under her breath, “I fucking would’ve, too.”
Fucking Joey.
I don’t know how the fuck to get rid of him without having Ash and Avery pitching a fucking fit at me, but we’re almost at a breaking point. He needs to be dealt with.
I give Avery a quick hug and then I grab Joey’s legs to drag him back to the boys’ dorm. I make sure Joey’s head slams into every bump and chair leg on the way because I’m almost fucking jealous of Morrison for getting to beat the shit out of him.
I’m also fucking seething with jealousy over all of the soft touches he was getting from Lips but if I start shit with him now, Ash will pitch a fucking fit and make a big deal out of it. Lips is too fucking… jumpy. Every time I think I have a handle on her she throws something new at me and I’m back at square one.
I need to figure out how the hell to get her attention, but the fact I’m even thinking this is pissing me off.
I’ve never had to work for a girl’s attention before. I’m not being an arrogant dick by saying that, there’s never been a shortage of girls wanting to chase after me and I’ve never found one that I wanted enough to go after before so, naturally, I find the most fucking difficult option possible to lose my head over.
Fucking typical.
I make it out of the girls’ dorm and down the hall toward the junior boys’ rooms before Ash catches up to me, seething and spitting in anger.
“We need to get a fucking camera on their door, an alarm, fucking something.”
I turn another corner and smirk at the loud thump noise of Joey’s head hitting the stone wall. “Floss will smother you in your sleep if you try to pull that shit on her. They were lucky Morrison was in there.”
The sarcasm is dripping from my words and if Ash wasn’t so fucking livid about Joey, he’d be giving me shit about it, but the very real danger that Avery is in trumps our petty arguments.
We’d never fucking forgive ourselves if something happened to her again.
“Fuck this, I’m going back there to her. I’ll stay there tonight and we can work out a roster so there’s always one of us with her.”
I give him a look. “She’s with the Mounty, who took on a football player to keep her safe, and even fucking wasted Morrison had her back. She’s as safe as she’ll ever be while Joey is around.”
Ash scoffs, “She’s a Mounty, not a fucking killer. There’s no way she could go up against Joey and survive; if she’s as genuine as you think she is, then she’s also a naive little girl who’s going to get herself fucking butchered.”
I’m not going to let that happen.
I already watch Avery’s every fucking move, it wasn’t that hard to keep Lips on my radar, and this little foiled attack by Joey only makes me more convinced. Lips is not the enemy here.
I just need to get that through Ash’s stubborn fucking head.
I’m about to start the same fucking argument we’ve been having for months when we finally get back to Joey’s room only to find half of his dumbass friends waiting there for us.
I fucking hate these poser elitist dickheads and this stupid pretentious fucking hellhole.
Devon looks me up and down and sneers, “He’s going to fucking kill you for this. The second he wakes up, you’re fucked.”
I drop Joey’s legs to the ground and enjoy the drunken grunt that falls out of him. He still doesn’t wake up though. “He knows where to find me, unlike you ass-licking dickheads I’m not afraid of him. Drunk, high, or sober—I can take him.”
Ash stares them all down like he’s planning their deaths out in the most detailed way and some of the newer flunkies start shaking in their fucking loafers. They might like the infamy of hanging around Joey and having access to his supply of narcotics but one look at the deadly ice in Ash’s eyes is enough to have them running.