Ruthless Kings (Windsor Academy 2)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

JAZZ

“Is this going to be weird? Did he ever reply to your text?”

Kingston takes my bag for me as we walk to my locker. “Yeah. He said he smoked a little too much last night and slept through his alarm. Didn’t get here until right before third period. He seemed okay. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Kingston and I haven't seen Bentley since our little party of three the other night. He must've been sleeping when we left yesterday morning, and we spent most of the day at the zoo with my sister and Ainsley. I expected to run into Bent in the parking lot this morning before school like we usually do, but he was suspiciously absent. Now, we're heading to lunch, where Bentley should be.

“Has this happened before? The sleeping in late? I know he smokes a lot of weed—more so lately—but it doesn’t seem like it gets in the way of everyday life. He seems pretty responsible.”

“He is.” Kingston glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “This has happened before, but it's been a long time, and his head wasn't in a good place. Back then, it was several times a week. I don't think we need to worry about him sleeping in one time."

“Do you think he’s avoiding us?” I chew on the tip of my thumb. “Do you think he regrets what happened? Do you think it’s—”

Kingston presses me into a locker and slams his mouth down on mine. My lips part in surprise, and when his tongue dives inside, I forget what I was saying. I’m instantly on fire, reaching up on my toes, chasing his retreating lips.

“What was that for?”

His lips kick up in the corners. “It shut you up, didn’t it?”

I shoot him a glare then fist his hair with both hands, pulling him back to me until our teeth clash. Kingston growls into my mouth as our tongues tangle and twist. We're desperate for one another, almost violently so. He moves his body, so one of his muscular thighs is wedged between mine. I shamelessly grind my core into his leg, trying to relieve the ache building inside of me.

Kingston's hand wraps around my throat, putting slight pressure on it. It's not painful, more like possessive. Claiming. So are the fingers on his other hand as they duck beneath my plaid skirt, feathering over my inner thighs. I widen my legs, silently begging him to go higher, to—

“Whoa there, kiddos. This is crazy hot and all, but you’re about to corrupt all these impressionable youths.”

Kingston rips his mouth away from mine at the sound of Bentley’s voice. Bent’s standing next to us, with a devious grin on his face. He takes a step back, gesturing to the dozen or so students gathered in the hall, watching us, shock and amusement evident on their faces. Kingston and I instantly break apart, fixing our skewed uniforms.

Bentley swings one arm around each of us and starts leading us into the dining room. “How goes it, boys and girls? What are you in the mood to eat? I’m starving, so everything sounds fucking fantastic.”

Bentley’s arms drop from our shoulders when he reaches for a tray in the food line. That’s when I get my first good look at him. His eyes aren’t bloodshot, but they are droopy, and he's sporting a perma smirk. The boy is definitely rocking a decent high, and I'd bet every last penny I have, he has a vial of Visine in his pocket.

Bentley grabs a slice of pizza and an artisan cheeseburger with fries before looking back at me. “What’s up, Jazzy Jazz? How’s your day going so far?”

“Uh...fine, I guess.”

“After what I just witnessed, it seems a lot better than fine. You know, before you came around, Davenport had a pretty strict anti-PDA policy. Nowadays...not so much.”

“Watch it, asshole,” Kingston mutters.

Bentley elbows Kingston playfully. “It’s all good, dawg. I’m just fuckin’ with you. I can’t blame you; if Jazz were my girl, I’d definitely have trouble keeping my hands off her. You’re a lucky fucker, fo’ sho’.”

Kingston and I share a quick look behind Bentley’s back as we walk toward our table. He’s acting like the same old Bentley—a little antagonistic, a lot flirty, but at the same time, there’s something different, like he’s drawn a clear line in the sand.

“Fo’ sho’?” I repeat. “When did you become Snoop D-O-double G?”

“Ha! I wish. If I could be that successful while smoking weed by the truckload, I’d be one happy camper.” Bentley winks.

Kingston laughs and bumps fists with his bestie. The awkwardness I’ve been worried about all morning is nonexistent. In fact, the animosity that's been building between these two men seems to be missing entirely. I'm sure it helps that Bentley's definitely not behaving like someone who ate me out in front of my boyfriend two days ago.

Wait a second...

I lean over to whisper into Kingston’s ear. “Are you my boyfriend?”

Kingston’s eyes—more amber than emerald today—twinkle in amusement. “You’re shitting me, right?”

I shrug. “I dunno. I mean, I know we talked about having a relationship, but we kinda skipped over the label part.”