It can’t be that.
“Who does he play for?” Maybe having all the information will help fire a synapse lurking in the back of my brain.
“Wisconsin.”
“The Wolves.”
The twins answer at the same time, but nothing new comes to mind. I shrug, dabbing the sticky goop on my head, but it’s clear I need something more industrious than these napkins. “I think she loves me.” I flash them a grin. “It’s her love language.”
Scott groans into his palms.
Artemis snorts.
And Apollo points an index finger at me. “Amigo, I don’t think that means what you think it means.”
It’s time to leave. I’m not staying to endure the Dominican inquisition. Those twins can be unrelenting when they want to be. So I make my excuses, rinse my hair in the bathroom so I don’t head home with chocolate sludge sliding down my face, and head back to the dorms.
When I get there, there’s a box of donuts sitting on the edge of my bed. My roommate looks up from his Xbox. “They were at the door when I got back.” He’s got donuts dancing in his eyes, so when I open the box, I let him take one. He places it next to him and goes back to his game.
There’s a notecard on the box, all it says is “Truce? – P”
You’re shitting me? My face lights up with a deep sense of satisfaction.
I knew she loved me.
I honestly have no idea why I’m still interested in this woman. She ghosted me after the party last year, and for the last month she’s been downright rude. I guess rudeness is my kink, because I can’t get her out of my damn mind.
I pull out one of the donuts, there’s no indication of what’s inside, but it's a filled one as opposed to one with a hole in the middle. I lick off some of the powdered sugar and hum, the disappointment of not getting my skillet cookie abating with every fleck of sweetness melting on my tongue.
Biting into the donut is a spiritual moment. I can’t believe she treated me to half a dozen of the best donuts in town.
After a couple of chews, it’s clear something is horribly wrong.
Callum has taken a bite of his, and his face is making the same traumatized expression that mine probably is. What the fuck is wrong with this donut?
Taking a closer look, the filling that’s oozing out of it is a dark yellow, picking it up closer to my face, I take a whiff.
What is that smell?
A deep burning starts on my tongue, and I slowly put two and two together.
That wicked bitch next door filled the fucking donuts with mustard.
CHAPTER 8
Penelope
It’s been two days since Operation Gag-fest took place, and the boys next door have been suspiciously quiet ever since. The amount of swearing those two did when they realized their donuts were contaminated with English mustard was enough to make a sailor blush.
I haven’t seen Tate since. I’m pretty sure he tossed the donuts though, which is a shame. Some of them were still good. I gave him a choose-your-own-adventure box of treats. He had a fifty percent chance of having delicious, mouthwatering Boston Creams, and the other half split between mustard and hot sauce. Guess he just wasn’t taking the risk.
I pat myself on the back. I’ve never been one to prank someone, so I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, but the thrill that shot through my body as I left the box of Cedar-Rapids-famous baked goodies at their door was energizing.
My cousin Karlya is waiting for me at the bar when I get to Heartland Hops. I can’t wait to have a girl’s night with one of my most favorite cousins. She was in town from Wisconsin, with Oli, for the games last weekend, and she stayed for a catch-up-slash-vacation. With all my classes and assignments, I haven’t seen her as much as I would have liked, but for the next two days it’sjust her, me, crappy food, an on-demand streaming service, and hanging out.
She grins at me, tipping her chin when she spies me approaching. She whistles, drawing the attention of a couple of people sitting nearby. “Hey, Hot Stuff.” She swirls her finger at me to indicate I should turn around for her. When I do a three-sixty, I finish with a curtsey, flashing my new, chunky, wide heeled black ankle boots.
“You look hot as fuck.” She launches herself off the stool and throws her arms around me. When she pulls back, she slides a glass of whiskey across the bar to me. “You’re already behind. I’m on my second.”
