“I—That was—” I cleared my throat, mentally cursing myself for broadcasting that I wanted his dick. “It’s nothing. He’s just trying to get under my skin, right?”
“Um…sure. If you say so.” She chuckled and glanced around us. “Uh-oh, don’t look now, but I might not be the only one who noticed.”
I searched around for what she meant, and Vivian’s ice-blue gaze glared at me from her door.
Well, she was too far away to tell for sure.
I just assumed, rolling my eyes and averting my gaze because I had no interest in dealing with her today.
As the girls gathered by the entrance to Camelot Courtyard, Izzy and I got up to join them. Vivian must not have budged from her doorway because Max suddenly heaved a sigh and stalked in her direction.
I narrowed my eyes on his back as he approached her, wondering whereI’ll leave your asses herewent and why it didn’t apply to her.
But I forced that thought from my head.
I refused to let what happened with Kingston infect my brain that way and bleed doubt into my relationships with Max or Landon, especially since I still wasn’t entirely sure I couldn’t trust Kingston.
A thought that meant I’d probably need to get the answers he wanted to share with me, sooner rather than later.
However, trusting Max did not mean I unglued my eyes from their heated, whispered argument. An argument that ended with her storming over with?—
Yep. It had definitely been a glare.
I expected her to say something bitchy, bring up my dead parents or something completely predictable, but she kept her mouth shut as she stood behind me.
Staring straight ahead, she didn’t even look at me, and my brow furrowed as I shifted my gaze to Max. His equally pissed off energy only heightened my confusion.
But he rolled his eyes when he caught my stare to express his frustration with his former Maiden.
My answering smile couldn’t be helped, and when he led us from the room, I slowed my pace to fall to the back of the line.
No need to give her incentive to stick a knife in my back.
Chapter Twenty-One
Threehourslater, I was primped, polished, and pissed the fuck off.
Why Camelot Court believed the only way for girls to bond involved makeovers was beyond me. But the nice man who’d done my hair, while another woman painted my nails, assured me I’d be pleased when he finished.
He was a goddamned liar.
Izzy tried to smother her laugh, but it burst out of her sealed lips, which were painted with a horrifying shade of orange. I tore my eyes from the mirror, and the wreck formerly known as my hair, to inspect hers.
I laughed despite myself. “Oh my god, your hair.”
Her normally perfect curls had beencrimpedof all things.
“This has to be a joke.” She blinked about a dozen times, squinting and scrunching her features as if trying to battle the weight of her fake eyelashes. When she finally stopped, she spotted my makeup and burst out laughing again. Tears filled her eyes, bleeding her mascara. She wiped at the makeup and winced as it stung her eyeball. “Oh, shit.”
I searched for a makeup wipe. Or bleach. Anything that might get the caked-on foundation and lacquer off my face.
A loud laugh came from the entrance of the salon, followed by the most outrageous wolf-whistle I’d ever heard.
I pivoted to glare at Max, and he had tears in his eyes. Actual tears. I glared harder.
“So worth it,” he wheezed through his laughter.
“Oh, you think this is funny, do you?” I stomped over. “I take it this was your idea, then.”
