I catch a glimpse of the text as he opens it, and it's a short message accompanied by a picture of some girl's boobs.
I nod to his cell. “Perfect timing. According to that, Morgan Whoever-she-is is D-T-F.”
He shakes his head as his thumbs fly over the screen. “Nah, just not feelin’ it.”
“Why not?” I ask. “She has a stellar rack.”
His lips curve slightly. “Which matches the rest of her, but still not feelin’ it.”
Kingston and I share a look. Most people would probably be worried that Bentley’s become even more enamored with me after that night in his house, but Kingston and I know that’s not the case. Bent and I seem to have this newfound respect and appreciation for one another, but the anticipation that fueled our attraction before is no longer there. I do think we’ve grown closer, but not in a physical sense.
“But why?” I press.
“Dunno. Just don’t.” Bentley shrugs.
Oh, my poor, sad clown. This boy is holding onto so much grief, which I definitely understand, but the guilt he feels is unfounded. One of these days, I hope to convince him of that.
Bentley sets his phone down and fixes his eyes back on the computer screen. “Hold up, I think we’ve got something.”
Kingston and I both lean over to get a closer look. Some leggy brunette wearing a knee-length coat is storming into Preston Davenport’s corporate office, looking ready to raise hell.
“Rewind thirty seconds and turn the volume up,” Kingston demands.
Bentley complies, and we all watch the woman enter the office for a second time.
“It didn’t work!” She throws her hands in the air. “Again!”
Kingston’s dad couldn’t possibly look more bored as he reclines in his chair, twirling a pen between his fingers.
“Who is that?” Bentley asks. “She sounds familiar.”
We haven’t gotten a glimpse of the woman’s face yet, but she definitely sounds familiar.
“Preston!” the woman shouts. “Did you hear me?”
Kingston’s body goes rigid beside me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask him.
His eyes don’t dare to move away from the screen. “I know who that is.”
“Wh—”
“Shh!” he says. “Watch.”
Preston’s eyes finally lift to the woman in front of him. “That’s what you get for sending a boy to do a man’s job, Peyton.”
“What?!” Bentley and I shout at the same time.
“But...her hair.” I wave my hand at the screen. “It’s brown.”
“Look at the length.” Kingston pauses the video and points to the screen. “It’s a wig.”
Bentley and I study the monitor carefully. Kingston's right. After Peyton's most recent haircut, her blonde hair now ends around her bra strap. This hair is not only dark brown, like mine, but it nearly hits her waist.
“What the hell is going on?” I whisper.
“Let’s find out.” Kingston’s jaw clenches as he presses play.