My question is answered when I see Peyton and Kingston having a heated discussion. Her face is pinched and her arms are flailing. I turn back around when she jumps out of her chair and marches directly toward me.
Ainsley smiles sweetly when Peyton arrives at our table. “Oh, hey, Peyton. What’s up?”
Peyton parks a hand on her hip and glares at me. “Stay out of this, Ainsley. My problem is with that bitch.”
Did Kingston tell her about what happened last night?
I fold my arms, trying to appear disinterested. “Watch who you’re calling a bitch, bitch.”
I don’t mean to, but I look back at Kingston. He’s watching our interaction carefully but making no move to interfere.
She mimics my pose. “Stop staring at my boyfriend. It’s pathetic.”
“Pathetic?” I scoff. “What’s pathetic is the fact you’re so delusional you can’t see I’m not the one with a staring problem. You should be having this discussion with your so-called boyfriend.”
Her blue eyes flash with ire as her face reddens. “Kingston is mine, you whore. Stay away from him.”
I smirk. “I have no interest in being anywhere near Kingston. You should be telling him to stay away from me.”
“Yeah, right. Like that’s necessary.” Peyton cocks her head and twirls her finger in my direction. “Trash isn’t his type.”
I lift my eyebrows, ignoring her jab. “You sure about that?”
I can see the doubt set in right before a huge grin stretches across her face. “You know what? You’re right. Why are we even having this conversation? You’re my sister. The last thing we should be doing is fighting over a stupid boy.”
I scrub a hand over my face. Is this chick mental? Does she not remember warning me to stay away from her boyfriend within the first few minutes of meeting me?
“Jazz, look o—” Ainsley tries to warn me, but it’s too late.
I lift my head just in time to feel ice cold water raining down on me. Laughter echoes throughout the room, growing so loud it’s almost deafening. Peyton is grinning with my now empty glass in her hand. Okay, that’s it; I’ve officially had enough.
I bolt out of my chair and punch Peyton right in the face. My lips curl at the satisfying crunch my fist makes. Screams break out as blood sprays from Peyton’s nose, little spatters landing on both of our stark white shirts.
“I just got this nose, you skank!” She launches herself at me but my reflexes are on point so I dodge her move.
The floor is slippery from the spilled drink and we both fall down. Peyton and I grapple until I manage to climb over her and straddle her chest. I couldn’t care less that my skirt is riding up as I do. Chants of “Girl fight!” ring out amongst our gathered audience, but I do my best to focus on the target at hand. I deliver a swift bitch slap right across Peyton’s cheek before clenching her shirt in my hand.
Her eyes widen in panic as I put pressure on her chest, getting right in her face. “I fucking warned you, bitch, but you didn’t listen. I was happy to leave you alone but if you want to fuck with me, I’m going to fight back and I’m going to fight dirty.”
A set of strong arms loop under my armpits, hauling me off of her.
“That’s enough!” a deep voice growls.
I shrug out of Kingston’s hold and pin him with a glare. “Don’t fucking touch me!”
“You’ll pay for this!” Peyton screams as she stands. “You’re fucking dead, you stupid cunt!”
I lunge for her again, but I’m held back by a different set of arms. “Whoa there, kitten. Retract the claws.”
I look over my shoulder and find Bentley, his brown eyes twinkling in amusement. “Let. Me. Go.”
He tightens his grip. “Nah, I’m good.”
I jab my heel into his shin repeatedly, eliciting a few “Oofs!” but the bastard doesn’t relinquish his hold.
Peyton is trying to get to me as well while Kingston restrains her. She’s tossing out all kinds of threats but I tune her out.
“Enough!” a loud, authoritative voice booms. “Somebody escort Miss Devereux to the infirmary.” The fifty-something balding man walks up to me, scowling in disapproval. “As for you, Miss Callahan, get cleaned up and report directly to my office.”