“Good one, baby,” the guy beside her laughs.
I completely ignore Peyton’s pathetic gibe—and the idiot she’s fucking—and smile, which causes her to frown. “I just wanted to let you know what I thought about your silly little birthday party, or celebrating your existence in general.”
I can feel the entire room's eyes on us as I hold up the fancy invitation and rip it straight down the middle. I raise a challenging eyebrow as I tear it in half a second time. I keep going until Peyton is positively fuming, and the last piece of paper is floating in tiny little pieces down by her Louboutin-heeled feet. When I'm done, I brush my hands off and lean into her.
“You see, Peyton, the difference between you and me, is that I actually have the balls to fight my battles. Next time you have something to say to me, just say it. Grow the fuck up.”
A chorus of, damn or burn or some variation thereof, echoes throughout the dining room. While Peyton’s mouth is still hanging open, and that Lucas guy is glaring holes through me, I walk back to my table, sit down, and take a bite of my penne, as if none of that ever happened.
“Holy shit, Jazz,” Ainsley whispers. “That was epic!”
I smile victoriously, knowing Peyton’s plan backfired. Damn, that bitch really is cuckoo if she thinks the invitation thing would bother me. I’ve known about the party all along—it’s not like she’s been keeping it to herself—but I never had any intention of going. Since it’s being held at the mansion, Ainsley and I made plans to hang at her place that night.
Knowing Peyton though, she’ll probably act like that whole confrontation never happened, which is why I’ll need to take measures to reinforce my message. I chuckle under my breath as I think of the perfect solution.
Bentley pulls me into him and kisses my temple. “Jazzy Jazz, it’s good to have you back.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JAZZ
“Girl, you look amazing.” Ainsley coats her lips in a fresh layer of gloss. “But are you sure it’s okay to take the splint off?”
I lift my arm and flex my wrist experimentally. “I’m sick of that thing; it’s heavy and itchy. Besides, it doesn’t exactly go with this outfit. Wearing it two-thirds of the recommended time is totally enough, don’t you think?”
Ainsley shakes her head. “Um...I’m not a doctor, but I think they say six weeks for a reason. You know your body better than me, though. If you say your wrist feels okay without it, who am I to argue? Just promise me you’ll be careful.”
“I will.”
“Peyton’s going to be pissed when she sees you.” Ainsley gets a Cheshire Cat grin.
I laugh. “You, too.”
We both check ourselves out in the vanity mirror, pleased with our reflections. When I decided to crash Peyton's birthday party, I resigned myself to the fact that I'd have to glam myself up because that's what will annoy Peyton the most. She seems to get off on picking apart my preferred attire, and this way, she doesn't have the option. When I ducked my head out earlier and saw Peyton pre-gaming in the living room with her girls, I knew it was the right decision.
Peyton’s really working the living Barbie angle tonight in a skin-tight hot pink corset and mini skirt, sky-high heels, and an actual fucking tiara. Imogen and Whitney are wearing almost identical outfits—sans the tiara—but in different colors. Since I’m totally clueless about fashion and makeup, Ainsley came over early to help me get ready.
It helps that Ainsley and I
are the exact same size, so I can borrow her clothes. My walk-in closet is filled with designer pieces, but I needed something less demure and more vixen to have the most significant impact. My beautiful friend here has a freakishly vast array of club attire, which works perfectly for this evening.
“My brother’s going to shit when he sees you.” Ainsley laughs. “I wouldn’t put it past him to take the shirt off his own body to cover you up from wandering eyes.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because your brother’s possessiveness is misplaced.”
She gives me a wry look. “You’re still lying to yourself, I see.”
I freshen my cherry red lip stain. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Ainsley rolls her big hazel eyes. “C’mon, Jazz. You know there’s something special going on between you and Kingston. He would do anything for you. I know you have feelings for him, so why are you fighting it?”
I sigh. “Because I don’t trust my feelings for him.”
Her delicate eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean?”
I hop on the counter, careful not to flash my panties in the process. Easier said than done in this dress.
“I don’t understand how I could have feelings for him after everything he’s put me through.”