Ruthless Kings (Windsor Academy 2)

His eyes narrow. “Can you be serious for a minute?”

"Who says I'm not serious?"

“Christ, Jazz!” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m not the goddamn enemy! Quick picking stupid fights with me and just answer the damn question.”

Is that what I’m doing? Ah, crap.

“Fine. The stitches came out, which was a relief because they itched like crazy. My wrist is healing well. I go back in a week, and the doctor said if all goes according to plan, he'll clear me to return to school then." I cross my arms. "Anything else you'd like to say before you G-T-F-O?"

His hazel eyes narrow. “I really don’t like you staying here.”

I prop a hand on my hip. “As I’ve already told you, I have nowhere else to go. I’m not crashing at your place, Kingston.”

He releases a heavy sigh. "I'm coming back in the morning, and we are going to talk about this some more.”

“You have classes in the morning.”

He lifts an eyebrow in challenge. “I don’t give a fuck.”

“Haven’t you missed enough school lately?”

“So have you.”

I huff. “I’m not going to have your inability to graduate on my conscience.”

Kingston gives me a smug look. “I have a 4.3 GPA and got a 1560 on my SATs. I think I’ll be fine.”

I knew he was smart, but damn. Kingston smirks as he stands, and the sight of it makes my lady bits take notice. Nope, not going there.

I sigh. “Are you ready to stop hiding what you know? One hundred percent full disclosure?”

Kingston opens my bedroom door. “If that’s what you need, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“Just...give me a week. If the police don’t have a suspect by then, I’ll tell you everything.”

Hopefully, by then, I'll have the guts to tell him.

His lips thin. “Fine. A week max. Then all bets are off.”

I don’t even get the chance to reply before he’s out the door.

CHAPTER SEVEN

KINGSTON

Peyton’s waiting for me at the end of the hallway. Unless I want to shove her down the entire flight of stairs, I have to indulge whatever bullshit she’s about to spew. As tempting as pushing her is, I don’t feel like going to jail today. Or ever, for that matter.

“How’s Jasmine?”

My eyebrows raise. “Do you really care?”

Her glossy pink lips turn up in the corners. “Not really.”

“Then why’d you ask, Peyton? I don’t have time for this.”

“Just curious.” She shrugs, trying to project indifference, but I’m not buying it. “So...my birthday is in two weeks. It falls on a Saturday this year.”

“And?”