Page 67 of Knox Academy Omnibus
“I can’t do this!” I panic.
“Here, drink this.” Elsie thrusts a drink from her well-stocked mini fridge into my hands and I don’t question it; I down it. The alcohol burns all the way down but does warm me a little. “I can’t walk across campus like this,” I remind her.
“Relax, I have a mac you can borrow. It’ll look amazing with that outfit!”
“You know what’ll look amazing with this outfit? A blanket! Staying at home under mine and watching scary films!”
“Ah but then you won’t get the satisfaction of seeing Kalen in his costume. You donotwant to miss that!”
She’s right. I sigh.
“Besides,” she continues. “I bet within ten minutes of being there, Kalen will seriously regret the costume he chose for you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because every male student in this school is going to be on you like white on rice and he will hate that.” She laughs. “Come, it is time to go.”
She throws me a light coat - what did she call it? A Mac? - which I pull on over my non-existent outfit. It’s pale pink translucent pvc, a short belted trench style that falls to mid-thigh, with a tulle underskirt that makes it flare out in a flirty swish as I walk. It’s the sexiest goddamn coat I’ve ever worn. Sure, it doesn’t hide what I’m wearing underneath, but it fills me with so much confidence I strut across campus like I own it. Although, it could just be the drink kicking in.
To my surprise, Elsie leads us to her car and tells me the party tonight is off campus a little way. I shrug and let her drive me. It doesn’t take long but panic builds as my surroundings become more and more familiar - even in the dark. When we pull up and park I remain frozen in my seat.
“What’s wrong, Amelie?” Elsie asks with a frown.
“The party is at Sawyer’s house?” I whisper.
“Shit! How did you know this was where Mr Knox lives?” I give her a hard look and she blushes. “Whoa, really?” I nod. “I can’t go in there, Elsie, take me home.”
“Hey, relax! Kalen said his brother is out all night and gave him the go ahead to have a few friends over for a movie marathon.”
“I thought it was a party?”
“Duh, but he couldn’t tell Mr Knox that now could he!”
“Please stop calling him that,” I groan, my head in my hands.
“Did you call him Sir? Was it kinky? Did he spank you?”
“Not talking about this,” I murmur.
“The only way to stop my questions is to get your ass out of the car and into that house,” she grins and for the first time I can see how evil she is. She’s loving every minute of my pain.
“I hate you.”
“Who has the biggest di-” she starts to ask but I cut her off by scrambling from the car and slamming the car door.
On the doorstep I take a deep breath and let myself in. There’s no point knocking, the music is far too loud for anyone to hear me. Memories wash over me in a wave as I walk the familiar hallway and turn left into Sawyer’s lounge. The place is rammed; I think the whole school is here.
“Amelie!” I spin at the soft sound of Slate’s voice. He’s dressed as a zombie jock, wearing American Football gear, and he looks mighty fine despite the gruesome face paint. “You look...wow…” he scans me up and down, his gaze heating to send the message his words cannot. Ok, maybe Kalen did good with the outfit choice.
“Amelie! Sis! That coat wasnotpart of our agreement!” Kalen crows from across the room. He battles through the throng like a salmon swimming upriver to get to me. When he reaches me, he too gives me the full body scan. “But hell if it wasn’t a great addition,” he says, eyes wide.
I take a step back so that I can take in Kalen’s costume in its entirety. His long, usually messy hair is slicked back neatly and only a black bow tie graces his neck, the rest of his torso deliciously golden and bare, though gleaming. His wrists are encased in white satin shirt cuffs. On his bottom half he’s wearing a tiny apron, which I know is covering a black satin thong. A giggle escapes my lips as I indicate for him to spin for me. He does, and sure enough, he wore the thong. Fair play to him, he’s braver than me!
“Why are you so shiny?” I ask after wolf whistling him.
“Baby oil,” he tells me. “Adds a certain appeal doesn’t it?”
“You look flammable,” I grumble.
