Page 100 of Devils' Day Party
We didn't hate each other then.
Or … anything else for that matter.
I'm not sure what, exactly, Calix did to get sent to Crescent, especially since he seems so fucking concerned with what everyone around him thinks—much to his own detriment. He's a cruel asshole, but he's also subtle. I'm surprised that he was ever caught playing his devil's tricks.
“I've seen it. Poor girl fucks her way into a rich guy's heart. What's so interesting about that?”
With a scoff of my own, I chuck my wet clothes into the back seat, and kick off my skirt … and my panties. “Jesus.” The word is barely there, more like a surprised exhale than anything else, but I hear it. My lips twist into a wry smile.
The clock on the dashboard screen reads 9:17 am.
I am officially living September 26th—the day after Devils' Day.
My heart swells with excitement, even as I slip my red panties over my toes, my bare ass heated by the seat warmer. Don't get too excited, Karma. This might not be it. And why would you want it to be? Pearl is dead.
I glance over at Calix and, after a moment of consideration, slip my panties over his head. Not enough to obscure his vision, but more like a racy red hairnet. He narrows his eyes, but he doesn't bother to remove them.
“These better be clean,” he says, but he doesn't sound entirely convinced by his own statement.
“They're not,” I retort defiantly, yanking the sweatpants up my bare legs. They smell like him, the sweatshirt and the pants. My cheeks heat even further as I settle back into the seat. “And also, screw you.”
“Screw me?” he asks, driving a luxury car—that I ruined with my yellow hunk of junk—with panties over his perfect ebony hair. “Screw me, how? You uploaded a sex tape of us. The repercussions of that will follow us forever.”
“Aww, you can't be president now? What a shame.” I make a moue of disappointment before rolling my eyes. “Also, if forty-five could grab women by the pussy and still be president, I'm sure you'll be just fine. I'll even vote for you, how does that sound?”
Calix says nothing, but what he has done is rile up some of my long-buried fury toward him. It's mixing with a new and righteous anger as I realize that I have no clue what this man's true motivations are, what's actually real and what's bullshit.
“If you really think I'd upload that, after everything, then you're an idiot, by the way.” His mouth tightens, and his fingers curl even more tightly around the steering wheel as we slow even further, entering the historic downtown area of Eureka Springs. Nobody will know us here, so Calix and I can eat together without him freaking the fuck out about his reputation.
“If you didn't upload it, then why weren't you surprised? I thought you'd burst an artery.”
“Well, maybe you don't know me too well then.” I cross my arms over my breasts in challenge, turning another glare his way. He shouldn't be so pretty, sitting there with wet panties on his tousled hair, his eye makeup dried in black lines down his face. But he is. It's effortless for him, to look like he owns the world. “I don't regret what we did that night, and neither should you. There are worse things in the world than some stupid video of us having consensual sex. Pearl is dead. She killed herself.”
The car suddenly lurches forward as Calix whips the wheel to the side, taking us over the curb and throwing the Aston Martin into a parking space ahead of a car that had been waiting patiently for the previous occupant to pull out. They lay on the horn, but Calix pays them no mind, turning the engine off and then taking the panties off his head. He looks right at me as he sticks them in the pocket of the white velvet doublet he's wearing, unbuttoned and showing off his smooth chest and abs.
“Did the Knight Crew have anything to do with her death?” I ask, trying to keep my voice soft. The way Calix scowls at me, I know I've pressed some serious buttons.
“Stop calling my friends the Knight Crew. It's fucking stupid. They aren't my crew; we just like to hang out together.” He opens the door, and I search around for my shoes, realizing that I wasn't wearing any when I climbed in with him. Crap.
I watch out the window as Calix takes off around the corner, to where the entrance to the café lies. As I sit there trying to figure out what to do—there's no way the café is letting me in without shoes—Calix comes back and yanks my door open. He thrusts a pair of flip-flops in at me, and then leans down, his forearm resting on the roof of the car.
