Текст книги "Reckless"
Автор книги: Devon Hartford
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 26 страниц)
Love.
Christos. Samantha.
Together.
As one.
Forever.
“I love you, Christos.”
“I love you, Samantha.”
His chest was hot and heavy against my electrified breasts. I felt his hardness press against the entrance to my core. I was drenched with wetness. The tip of him tingled against my folds. I shivered with expectation. He reached down and held himself in one fist while he slid his hot head up and down against my lips.
Then he eased himself into me a fraction of an inch.
My mental fog burned away instantly.
He pulled back without pulling out completely, then eased further in. He was stretching me, but I wanted it. I think I was so relaxed from the massaging, the foreplay, the love, that I felt my muscles relax, inviting him deeper inside, all the way. His hardness eased into my softness, completely and perfectly filling me up.
“Now.”
That was all he said.
That was all it took.
I felt the muscles in my core tingle and seize in a vibrating release of yet another orgasm.
I couldn’t believe it.
I was coming again. Christos was inside me.
I was coming.
“Christos,” I cried. “It’s so good…”
“I know,” he whispered.
Euphoria swept through me. It wasn’t the fiery orgasm of before. It was a consistent throbbing that just wouldn’t stop.
The amount of pleasure flowing through me was impossible. But it was real. It was the greatest pleasure I’d ever experienced.
He started to move, withdrawing with exquisite slowness, then plunging back into me.
Oh my god, I thought he had somehow finished a moment ago when he’d said “now.”
No, he was just getting started.
He thrust slowly into me, all the way. To the hilt. For a second, I’d expected it to hurt, but it didn’t. Instead, he was so gentle, so tender, so conscious, so aware of my needs and my limits, it was perfect. He paused and I felt his fullness pressing into me, deep down inside, as the jewels of his manhood rested warmly against my slick entrance.
Our heat combined.
I was so at ease, I spontaneously wrapped my legs around his waist and squeezed, allowing him even deeper access as my core consumed the most intimate part of him.
After a moment, he retracted slowly, then began sliding rhythmically in and out of me in perfect communication, the essence of one body co-mingling with the other.
His pace increased. Every thrust pushed me toward the edge of oblivion, but I remained balanced on that thin line of awareness, knowing only infinite ecstasy. I was trapped in a delight so sweet that it blotted out my consciousness of all things save the plunging of Christos’ cock into my core, over and over again, as he planted seeds of pleasure in my center that blossomed inside my pelvis and grew throughout my body. He was the root and I the flower. My wet petals spread wide as our souls were bound together with every intimate stroke.
I clasped his ass with my fingers and whispered into his ear, “harder, Christos, harder.”
He accelerated like a steam engine. Slowly, but so massive, turning and spinning and pounding into me again and again and again.
Hammering, driving, filling me to straining excess.
I floated in clouds of ecstasy as he thundered into me. I was a rainstorm of pleasure quenching his insatiable fire.
He grunted, he groaned, he moaned with his own volcanic release.
“Samantha,” his words were rugged, rocky with naked desire, “I need you, I need…”
“You have me, Christos, we have each other…”
“Oooh,” he sighed, “it’s too much, it’s too good, it’s never been like this…”
I knew exactly what he was talking about.
Thoughts ceased as my pleasure mingled with his.
His moans blended with my own, our cries combining harmoniously with our sighs.
I was dying as I awoke to overwhelming rhapsody for the first time in my life, and I never wanted it to stop. Christos kept pounding and pounding in and out, each thrust squeezing more and more pleasure into me, filling me up with an impossible amount of intense sensation. I couldn’t handle it, it was too much, I was overwhelmed but I needed more, ever more. I would do anything for more…
“Don’t stop,” I moaned breathily, “don’t ever stop…”
“Never, agapi mou…” thrust, “This is for us,” thrust, “always for us,” thrust, “only for us…” he grunted and moaned, thrusting and thrusting and thrusting.
I was being consumed by love and pleasure in equal measure. While his words healed my heart, his heavy thrusts destroyed my core with sweet fire. I burned with need for more, for all…
For us…
I sobbed, barely able to speak. “I…I’m coming… again… Christos…” Lightning shattered my body with release. Yet another orgasm boomed through my soul as Christos’ body crashed into mine. My tears flowed freely.
I circled my arms around his neck. He leaned down and kissed me passionately, locking us together as he thrust and thrust and thrust. My legs gripped his waist more tightly as my core locked onto him, my entire body begging him not to retreat. My heart didn’t want to let go.
My heart would never let go…
“Ahhh!!!!” he shouted. “Fuck! It’s too much! I can’t stop!”
I didn’t want him to.
My mind spun out of control as another electrical storm took my body into the stratosphere. I had lost all control of my world and I didn’t care.
Christos had taken me. Taken me to a place no one had ever been.
To us…
I was lost inside…
Trapped in a hot, wet, maze of pleasure. A maze I never wanted to leave. My mind was confused at every turn, uncertain which way to go other than inward. So I went deeper into the moment, leaving the world around me behind, seeking the center, seeking the freedom of imprisoning myself inside the infinite pleasure of…
Us…
…for what I prayed would be eternity…
I lost all track of time. I spiraled down into my core, to my center. I found Christos waiting there for me, his eyes ablaze with lust and love and desire for…
Us.
Agápi mou…
I found freedom.
Christos was now bound to me for eternity.
His manhood thrust relentlessly into my soaking womanhood, his arms columned around my head as his eyes drilled into my soul and my legs knotted around his waist. We left the universe behind.
Together.
“I love you, Samantha, I love you!” He cried with total vulnerability, as if he had bared his most precious secrets to me and only me.
“Christos,” I sighed breathlessly, then began mumbling nearly unintelligibly as he pounded himself into me, “oh, Christos, I’m yours, my love is yours, for you, only for you…” I could barely form the words. But I knew he needed them, needed my reassurance and love in that moment. He needed me.
He needed us.
My heart swelled with love and empowerment. I held this man’s heart in my hands and I was determined to protect it forever, and heal all his wounds.
“Oh god,” Christos whispered, “I’m going to come, agápi mou, I’m going to come!!!!”
“Do it, Christos, come inside me. Now. Do it.”
Violent, building, mounting. Growing, swollen, expanding. Contracting, tight, wet ecstasy took us both.
I was afraid he was going to break something, but then he sunk himself into me all the way to the bottom and roared. But he didn’t stop. His body rocked and shook traumatically even though he was all the way in. He was trying to drill deeper and deeper, as if his entire being was rocketing into mine through his manhood.
That sense of completion finally shattered me over the edge and quaked my world.
I screamed release.
I was falling from an infinite height, every cell in my body crying out as the acceleration overtook my mind for the last time, blinding my senses, blanking out my awareness of all things beyond the boundaries of his body and mine.
My soul ignited, and I was gone.
Christos went with me.
We went together.
To us.
Chapter 9
SAMANTHA
We laid together on my bed, cradled in each other’s arms.
“I think I lost my virginity,” I snickered.
“Yep. After that, no one’s ever going to find it,” he chuckled. “So, was your pageant a success?”
“You mean my V-Card pageant?”
“Yeah.”
“The Queen of England has never attended such a sensational soirée.”
As I laid in Christos’ arms, basking in the afterglow of our love-making, my wonderful mood sank into dark waters. Was it a hormonal thing? I didn’t know. Maybe it was normal to worry about losing something great after it came into your life. Either way, I couldn’t explain it. But the feelings were there.
Slowly, my amorphous worry solidified into tangible panic. I knew the sensation well.
Bitch. Slut. Whore…
Not that again.
Emo. Goth. Suicide Watch…
Where was all this coming from? Wasn’t all that crap behind me now? I’d finally come clean to the whole world about Taylor Lamberth. Why was it still bothering me? Was it residual guilt, or something more ominous?
I shivered with sadness and uncertainty.
“Is something wrong, agápi mou?” Christos asked softly.
“I don’t know…” I cried.
Go, you dumb broad…
Christos kissed the top of my head and pulled me more tightly against his warm body. “I’m here, Samantha. You’re safe. Nothing can hurt you. I love you,” he murmured.
“I love you too. But I have this bad feeling like, like nothing has changed since I left D.C. Like I’m still the same lonely girl with no place to turn for love and support.”
You made me miss the light, stupid bitch…
Christos smiled. “I’m right here, agápi mou. I am your love and support.”
“But, I’m afraid it’s all going to come crashing down around my head. Like college is going to somehow go away, and I’m going to lose Madison, Romeo, and Kamiko. Worst of all, I feel like I’m going to lose you.”
Get off the road, slut…
Christos shook his head. “That’s crazy, agápi mou. I would never let that happen. I love you more than anything in life.”
“I know, but…I don’t know. I just feel worried.” Silent tears were flowing now. I sniffled and smeared them from my face. I began sobbing softly.
Don’t back talk me, whore…
Christos stroked my temple, gently smoothing my hair while kissing the crown of my head. “Shhh, agápi mou. I’m right here.”
“Promise me you’re not going anywhere?” I pleaded.
Move it, skank…
“I promise,” Christos said solemnly.
I eased further into his loving embrace, my back warmed by his solid front. Enfolded against him like this, I felt shielded from all the terrible things the world might throw at both of us, like his powerful arms would defend me from all forces that might try to tear us apart. Nothing could come between us.
So why was I still worried?
I’m talking to you, pinhead…
No answer came as I drifted off into deep, dreamless sleep.
CHRISTOS
THREE MONTHS EARLIER…
In the morning, a couple of deputies led me out of the crowded inmate dorms at the downtown jail and shackled me in the hallway while I leaned my face against the cold cement wall. When I was chained, the deputies walked me through a bunch of security doors and hallways that slowly transformed from bulletproof and cement to painted sheetrock and carpeting.
At the end of a new hallway, a third deputy opened a door into the side of a dark, oak-paneled court room.
Russell Merriweather stood ramrod straight, waiting for me behind the defendant’s table. He was a dark-skinned African-American man in his mid-40s wearing a perfectly fitted athletic-cut suit. He was even taller than I was, although not quite as built. He struck an imposing figure anywhere he went.
The deputies hovered on either side of me like I was Public Enemy Number One.
“Give the young man some breathing room, if you please, deputies,” Russell commanded.
Both deputies stood stoically behind me. Neither of them moved an inch.
Ignoring them ignoring him, Russell reached forward and pulled me into his chest. He embraced me affectionately and clapped me on the back. Whispering in my ear, he said, “What kind of trouble you got your ass in this time, boy?”
I couldn’t stop a huge grin from drawing out my dimples.
Russell pulled away and looked me in the eye. “Stow it,” he murmured. “Game face from here on out. Got it?”
I nodded solemnly, and reeled my smile back in.
“Keep your mouth shut, and I’ll do the talking, feel me?” he ordered quietly.
Russell pulled out a chair for me. I would’ve done it myself, but it was embarrassingly awkward with my wrists chained to the belt around my waist.
I leaned toward him and said quietly, “Such a gentleman.”
“I know how to treat a bitch,” he whispered in my ear before sitting down next to me. His face remained blank and rock calm. Only his words belied his good humor and confidence. “If you’re lucky, I’ll buy you dessert. Now shut the fuck up.”
The judge had not yet entered the courtroom, but the judge’s assistant was already sitting at one of the tiered sub-desks surrounding the judge’s palatial bench.
A moment later, a door opened at the back of the courtroom.
“The Court will now come to order,” the uniformed bailiff said. “All rise for the Honorable Geraldine Moody, presiding.”
The judge walked in, her black robes billowing around her like a dark ghost. She was not what I expected. Normally, when it came to judges, I imagined some kind of stern, cranky Judge Judy grandmother-type, or an aging tough guy who fancies himself the law of the land, Old West style with six guns holstered beneath his robes. The woman in front of me was a graceful beauty. Older, but still radiant. Long blonde hair fell to her shoulders and careful makeup enhanced her features. She sat down primly on the edge of her chair, scooting up to the desk, looking like the fucking Pope on high.
Had this been any other situation, I would’ve flirted things to my advantage. One look at Mizz Moody, and I decided to hold my charm in check.
She surveyed me with a single top-to-bottom glance. A savage scowl flashed across her features, but was quickly quashed by her professionalism. Somehow, I felt like I was the guy who’d run out on her after cheating on her, leaving her with a hefty mortgage and stranding her children high-and-dry without a father. Not that I knew the first thing about Geraldine’s personal life. But her expression told the story.
I wished my prison jumpsuit had long sleeves to cover my ink. My confrontational tats were incriminating me without me opening my mouth.
“The State of California versus Christos Manos, felony arraignment,” the judge’s assistant read from the paperwork in front of her.
“Mr. Manos,” Judge Moody intoned, “There’s been a complaint filed in case SD-2013-K-071183A against you that alleges count one, charging the defendant with felony Aggravated Assault, which occurred on September 22nd, on or around 8:30 a.m., in violation of section 240 of the penal code, Christos Manos did willfully and unlawfully attempt, coupled with a present ability to commit, a violent injury on the person of Horst Grossman.”
Horst Grossman? You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. That was the name of that fat fuck who’d tried to bite Samantha’s face off on her way to SDU yesterday? It suited him well.
“Count two,” Geraldine continued formally, “Christos Manos did willfully and unlawfully use force and violence on the person of Horst Grossman. An enhancement is alleged, in violation of section 243 D of the penal code, Christos Manos did willfully and unlawfully use force resulting in the infliction of Serious Bodily Injury on Horst Grossman.”
In other words, I punched that fucking lunatic when he tried to jump me because I was helping out Samantha, and he got hurt.
“How does your client plead?” Geraldine asked Russell without once looking me in the eye. Business as usual for her, I’m sure. If she had any kids, she probably never looked them in the eye either, unless she was sending them to bedroom lock-up for leaving dishes in the sink.
“We are entering a plea of not guilty, your honor, on all counts,” Russell said smoothly.
“Shall we discuss the matter of bail, Mr. Schlosser?” Geraldine asked the Deputy District Attorney.
“Due to the seriousness of the charges, the State asks that bail for the defendant be set in the amount of $25,000.”
“Your honor,” Russell said calmly, “Christos Manos has significant ties to the community. His family is here, and he is a graduate student at San Diego University. He’s not at risk of flight. If it pleases the court, we ask that he is released on his own recognizance, your honor.”
Judge Moody flicked her eyes at me, then flipped through the paperwork on her desk. “Due to the defendant’s prior record of ongoing offenses for reckless driving, numerous speed contests and exhibition of speed, multiple counts of misdemeanor assault and multiple counts of misdemeanor battery,” she paused to jot down a note, “bail will be set in the amount of $150,000.”
“If your honor would please note,” Russell said gently, “my client has not committed any crimes in the past two years. I would ask for bail to be set to a more reasonable amount.”
The judge lowered her head and glared at Russell from beneath her brows. “I can set bail at $175,000 if you would prefer, counselor.”
“No thank you, your honor,” Russell said confidently, showing no sign of reproach.
“$150,000 it is,” Judge Moody said flatly. “The defendant is not to have any contact with the victim and shall be restricted to the state of California until trial.” She consulted her calendar. “At this time, I will set a trial date of February 14th, 2014, at 10:00 a.m., and a pre-trial date of February 12th, 2014.”
A trial on Valentine’s Day? The universe was having a laugh at my expense on that one.
“Anything further from the State, Mr. Schlosser?” Judge Moody asked.
“No, your honor,” the Deputy Distract Attorney answered.
“Anything further from the defendant, Mr. Merriweather?”
“No, thank you, your honor,” Russell smiled curtly.
The deputies led me out of the courtroom. Russell followed.
In the carpeted hallway, Russell asked one of the deputies, “May I speak with my client in private for a moment, gentlemen?”
“I’ll give you two minutes,” the guy with the buzz-cut replied.
“Thank you, deputy.” Turning our backs to the officers, Russell walked me several paces away. “You need me to call your grandfather for bail money?”
“Yeah,” I sighed. “I don’t have any choice.”
“You could call your dad.”
“No way.”
“Thought I’d ask,” Russell smiled. “You really oughta cut the man some slack, Christos. He is your father.”
I ground my jaw.
“Anyway, I’ll call Spiridon and have you out by this afternoon. You heard what the judge said. Keep your ass in town. And don’t get in any trouble. In other words, keep it under the speed limit and keep your hands to yourself. I advise you to garage that crotch rocket of yours and take the bus. If I find out you get in any more fights? I’ll bust your ass myself. Feel me?”
“Like a sandpaper massage,” I said.
“Don’t get smart with me, young man.” Russell squeezed my neck with one large hand and shook me affectionately. “This is the last time I save your ass. Hear me? I don’t want to do this again. You’re better than this, Christos.”
“I promise you, Russell, this was self-defense.”
“You got any witnesses?”
I thought about Samantha. She’d seen the whole thing up close and personal. Maybe too personal. That scumbag Horst Grossman had put her through enough already. Did I want to drag her into my mess too? Make her take the stand while Horst fucking Grossman gave her dirty looks and the whole courtroom stared her down? Hell no. I’d known her for all of one day. She deserved better. Besides, I didn’t want her to see how much of a fuck up I really was underneath my carefully constructed yet fragile facade. I wanted her to believe I was the man I wanted to become, not the punk I’d been for most of the last six years.
“No witnesses,” I said.
“None?”
I shook my head.
Russell’s lips pursed in a flat smirk. He slapped my shoulder vigorously. “Don’t worry. I’m glue. I’ll make the self-defense claim stick. They’ll have that guy brought up on battery charges for hitting your fist with his face by the time I’m through.” He grinned wide.
“I hope so.”
Agápi mou…
What have I done?
Chapter 10
SAMANTHA
PRESENT DAY
In the morning, I awoke feeling rejuvenated and excited for the first day of Winter Quarter classes, and with the pleasantly certain conviction that my year was off to a great start. Losing my virginity to Christos the night before had swept away any remaining ill feelings I’d had after Tiffany’s bitchery on her yacht.
With any luck, my entire 2014 would be as fabulous as the last twelve hours.
Christos and I had a quick breakfast of toast, eggs, and orange juice at my apartment, before heading out the door.
Christos drove his Camaro home. He said he had some work to do in his studio, but he might drop by campus later.
I imagined us carpooling to SDU together, like a happy and contented married couple. I was so looking forward to that day when our matching cups of coffee sat in the cup-holders as we held hands the entire drive. My mental image was so sweet, I wondered if I might induce my own diabetic coma thinking about it.
I snickered to myself as I drove along the Pacific Coast Highway and gazed out at the Pacific Ocean.
My commute this morning was a brilliant contrast compared to my first day of classes three months prior. I knew to get an early start to avoid traffic. No spilling my coffee causing the screaming fat guy to chew me out afterward. Parking was a snap, no shoehorn necessary, and I made it to class with time to spare.
My first class was Sociology 2, another one of my General Ed classes. The professor was ancient and looked ready for the grave, or else she was back from the grave. Either way, she had a distinctly mummified appearance that matched the tone of her lecture delivery.
I think every sentence she uttered slowly suffocated my will to live. I pictured each one of her drowsy utterances fluttering out of her mouth like mummy bandaging that wrapped me up from toe to top, slowly mummifying me as she droned on and on and on. And on.
And on.
Groan.
I imagined by the end of class, I too would be completely mummified. Perhaps the entire class would be similarly swaddled. And you wouldn’t even hear crickets chirping in the tomb-silent room because the crickets would be mummified as well, laid to rest for eternity inside their little cricket sarcophagi.
Sigh.
Last quarter, I’d sort of enjoyed Sociology 1. I don’t know what had changed. This time around I could barely keep my eyes open for the entire hour, and I’d gotten plenty of sleep, and other wonderful things, the night before.
Maybe I couldn’t focus because images from last night with Christos kept flashing through my mind. The tingling between my legs wasn’t helping either.
I willed my memories to take a breather while I tried to concentrate. But Professor Tutan-yawn-yawn’s droning delivery was putting me to sleep.
I did the only thing I could think of. I pulled out my sketchbook and started doodling. The next thing I knew, I had drawn a picture of Christos in a sexy pose, wearing a Pharaoh hat and mummy bandages for pants, showing off his awesome eight-pack. That wasn’t helping any.
Determined to pay attention to the lecture, I closed my sketchbook and put it away like a good girl…and realized class was over. Not only that, the text document on my laptop intended for note-taking was blank. Great. But I did have a great drawing of Christos the Pharaoh in my sketchbook. Why did I feel like I was in the wrong class?
Groan!
I swear, I’d tried hard to listen to the lecture about the structure of society and how it impacts the people who are a part of it, but it wasn’t doing it for me anymore. I scooped up my laptop and my bag and headed to my next class.
Hopefully, Managerial Accounting would be better.
I cringed at the thought.
Oh, joy.
At least Madison was in accounting with me.
SAMANTHA
The lecture hall for Accounting was on the other side of campus from my Sociology 2. I had to hoof it not to be late, but I knew exactly where I was going. The perks of experience! I would be on time to class so I wouldn’t have to miss a single riveting Accounting fact!
Can I get a fist pump?!
Yeah!!!
Sigh.
At least I was getting better at this college thing and didn’t feel like a newbie anymore. That was something, right?
Yeah.
:-(
I opened one of the double doors at the back of the hall and was greeted by a packed theater-style room with plunging rows of seats that brimmed over with chatty coeds. You’d think from the energy in the room that it was a nightclub before some hot new band hit the stage.
Was I missing something?
I was in Managerial Accounting, right?
I scanned the room for Madison. I’m sure she’d saved me a seat. There was no sign of her that I could see. I texted her.
I’m here. Where r u?
A minute later I spotted Madison waving at me. She sat in the middle of the room, amongst a crowded row of students.
I trotted down the stairs and squeezed into her row. I nearly tripped on a half-dozen people as I made my way toward her. At one point I stepped on some girl wearing a purple hoodie and Converses.
“Hey!” she snarled.
“Sorry,” I mumbled as I stumbled to avoid landing in her lap. This move caused me to sway back toward the row below, but I righted myself by flailing my arms. I swung forward and almost landed palms-first in the lap of the guy next to Purple Hoodie.
He of course smirked and nodded. “My lap is free,” he said suggestively, “if you need a place to put your hands.”
I scowled at him. “Uh, no?” I blundered past and scrunched my way through more knees and backpacks until I plopped down next to Madison. “What up, Mads,” I sighed, sinking into my seat. “Do I have, like, huge flipper feet or elephant ankles? I barely made it through that gauntlet,” I said sarcastically, nodding back the way I’d come.
“No, Sam,” Madison smiled. “Your feet and ankles are normal. Sorry about the crowd. It was totally empty when I got here.”
“Fundamentals wasn’t nearly this packed. What’s the rage with Managerial Accounting?”
“Easy A? I have no idea,” Madison confessed. “So, have you recovered yet from our New Year’s cruise?”
“You mean from Tiffany bombarding me with her all-night Bitchkrieg?” I rolled my eyes, then thought about last night with Christos, and smiled. “Pretty much.”
“I can’t get over that she slapped you.”
I’d almost forgotten. “Yeah, Tiffany is over the top. She should be locked up in a padded cell. With any luck, we’ll never see her again. At least she’s not in any of our classes.”
Madison laughed sarcastically, “Probably because she’s a Cosmetology major.”
I grinned, “Does SDU even have a Cosmetology major?”
“If they don’t, maybe Tiffany’s dad can donate a Mani-Pedi Building or a Salon Wing to the university.”
“Would they call it the Kingston-Whitehouse Whore College for Women?” I said snidely. Something suddenly smashed into the side of my head. I whipped around. “Hey!”
Tiffany Kingston-Whitehouse’s book bag had just clipped me in the back of the skull, nearly beheading me.
“WTF!” I growled while ducking in case of another sneak attack. “Watch where you’re going, Tiffany!”
“You got it wrong, Scumantha,” Tiffany sneered, “they’d call it the Poor House College for Campus Pumps like you, and I’m not talking about shoes, you cum-dumpster.”
Madison rolled her eyes. “Shut your barking vagina, Tiffany, I can smell your dog breath from here.”
I giggled.
“Twat did you say?” Tiffany snarled at Madison.
Madison stood up in her seat. “I said, how would you like me to shove your designer book bag up your ass, buckles and all?”
Had Tiffany just called me “Scumantha?” Wow, that meant Tiffany theoretically remembered my name. Not that I was flattered, just surprised.
Tiffany scowled. “I don’t know what Christos was thinking when he invited you ho’s on my yacht,” she hissed. “I had to have it fumigated after your skanky asses left.” She flipped me and Madison off before turning and walking away.
“Shouldn’t you be in Intro to Arithmetic or something?” I growled at Tiffany’s back.
She stopped in her tracks and turned around. “Just because I’m richer and prettier than you doesn’t mean I’m stupid, you butt plug,” she spat, then continued toward the far side of the lecture hall. She must have made a special trip behind our row just to whack me on the head.
“Wow, I didn’t think she had it in her,” Madison said gravely.
“What, to be such a terrific bitch?” I said, rubbing my head.
“No, to be clever. That means she’s a dangerous bitch.”
Tiffany sat down and flipped up the collapsible desktop hinged to her chair and slammed her book bag on top of it.
Boy, she really didn’t like me, did she? I don’t know how I’d gotten so far under her skin without even trying. Served her right for blindsiding me like that.
Madison shook her head, “That girl is trippin’ monkey nuts. I thought she’d gone over the edge on her yacht, but now I’m worried we’ve only seen her at stage-one crazy.”
I didn’t want to consider the morbid lengths to which Tiffany might go when pushed to her limits. She’d demonstrated her penchant for violence toward me twice already. For all I knew, she was planning on making me the first tragic victim in her very own true-crime documentary about girl murderers gone wild. “What’s she doing here anyway?” I sneered. “She wasn’t in Accounting last term, was she?”
“I don’t remember,” Madison said thoughtfully. “You think we would’ve noticed her throne and her attending hobots parading in and out of class every time.”
“She’s such an amaze-douche.” I rubbed the back of my head again. A knotty lump was already forming. “Maybe we can have her assassinated after class.”
“Let me know if you need to hire a hit man,” Madison said cagily.
“Why, do you know one?” I asked skeptically.
“No, I’ll do it for you.” Madison smacked her little fist into the palm of her hand. “Just give me a reason.” She glared at Tiffany.
“Are you mad-dogging her?”
“Yeah,” Madison smiled. “That’s why they call me Mads.”
I giggled, glad to have Madison on my side. Not that Tiffany seemed worried. Now that she was settled into her desk, she wasn’t paying any attention to us at all. Probably for the best.
“If push comes to shove, I will cut a bitch,” Madison said.
“Well, she pretty much pushed and shoved me with her book bag a minute ago,” I suggested.
