Bentley belts out this creepy evil laugh as he yanks the guy out of his chair and throws him to the floor. "Are you hard of hearing, or just a dumbass? He said, clean that shit up.”
Christian’s jaw tics. “What am I supposed to use? Do you see a mop and broom anywhere?”
Reed’s eyes scan the room until they land on a teacher. I think that guy teaches history, but I’m not in any of his classes. “You! Find this asshole a mop and broom.”
What the hell? He can’t talk to a teacher like that! My jaw drops as history guy scurries off, presumably to raid the utility closet.
“Holy shit.”
Reed looks down on Christian. “Use your blazer until he gets back.”
“What are you doing?!” Peyton practically sprints back into the room, Lucas hot on her tail. “Kingston, what do you think you’re doing?”
“Ooh, this is gonna be good.” Ainsley channels her inner Mr. Burns, tapping her fingertips together.
I’m just as enthralled by this shit show as the rest of the room.
Kingston ignores Peyton and addresses Lucas instead. “Help him. Now!”
Lucas looks down on his friend, who’s now splattered in marinara. “Fuck you. You clean it up.”
My eyes widen. “Oh, snap.”
Kingston’s eyes fill with rage. Before any of us know what’s happening, Kingston has Lucas by the back of the neck, his face pinned to the table. Half the room winces in sympathy, the other half laughs.
“Kingston! Stop it!” Peyton screams. “Tell me what to do to make this stop!”
“Now you get to do it in your underwear, and use your uniform to mop it up," Kingston grits out, still talking to our star QB. When Lucas stubbornly refuses to acknowledge him, Kingston turns to Peyton. "You wanna help me out here, Peyton? For old time's sake? Either this fucker strips down and helps clean up the mess, or you strip down and do it for him. What’s it gonna be?”
“Lucas, you heard him. Strip down to your fucking underwear and clean up this mess!” Peyton looks like she’s on the verge of tears. I’d feel sorry for her, you know, if she wasn’t a colossal cunt. “Your king and queen have spoken.”
Kingston steps back, allowing Lucas to stand. Lucas glares at Peyton the entire time he’s undressing until he’s left in nothing but a pair of tighty whities.
“What am I supposed to wear after this?” Lucas whines.
Kingston brushes imaginary lint off his sleeve. “Not my problem.”
"Cute undies, bro," Bentley remarks, holding up a pinky. "Although they don't do much to conceal your little problem.”
From what I can see, Bentley’s not wrong. Lucas is a big guy. He’s tall and has a great body with stacked muscles, but the obvious dick print beneath the white cotton is less than impressive. Laughter and micro dick jokes are all around as Lucas gets on his hands and knees, attempting to mop up the spilled red sauce using his stark white shirt.
“Maybe he’s a grower.” Ainsley giggles.
I chuckle. “I certainly hope so for Peyton’s sake.”
“Listen up,” Kingston’s voice booms across the room, but he’s staring Peyton down. “Starting tomorrow, the queens and their little lackeys will be sitting at that table.” He points to the back corner of the room. “That nice one right next to the kitchen.”
Peyton gasps. “Kingston, no. Please, don’t do this.”
His eyes turn away from her to address the room. "The kings are reclaiming their rightful place in this dining hall, and any person we see fit to join us is at our discretion, and our discretion only."
Peyton tugs on Kingston’s hand. “Please, I’ll do anything.”
Kingston pulls his arm back like it’s been burned. “Don’t fucking touch me. For any reason. The only woman’s hands I want on me is sitting right across from my sister. Starting tomorrow...” He pats the chair Peyton usually occupies. “Jazz will sit here, right next to me. Any questions?”
Peyton’s face is doing its best impression of a tomato. “No.”
Kingston cups his hand over his ear, acting like he didn’t hear her. “I’m sorry; I didn’t catch that. What’d you say?”