Page 18 of Spin the Damn Bottle

I slap his hand away. "She means something tome. She means getting your nuts off is more important to you than me. And I should have known as much all along."

I don't know how long I glare at him for. I should kick him in the balls. He isn't expecting it this time; I'd hit my target.

"I wouldn't touch her if she were the last woman on earth."

"You did. I distinctly remember you touching her at lunch."

He shakes his head and laughs low. "So jealous."

I kick his shin.

“Ouch,” he says lightly, visibly not even a little bit hurt. “She destroyed your work when I specifically told the school to leave you alone." He's still murmuring against my skin. I wish I didn’t tingle all over. "I need to know who made her do that. And more importantly, I need to know what they'll ask her to do next, so we have the upper hand."

Oh.

Oh.

That makes a lot of sense, actually. And part of me is unsurprised, as though I expected him to have a reason all along. As though I trusted him.

Except… "And you need to fuck her to find out?"

"I already told you I'm not going there. But pretending I could doesn't hurt. She’s more malleable that way.” I hate his infuriating grin so much. "I mean, if I had a girlfriend, I wouldn't pimp myself out for the greater good, but apparently I don't, so letting her think she can get her hands on me isn't hurting anyone. Right?"

I hate him so fucking much. "Whatever, asshole. Where's my room?"

CHAPTER TWELVE

My room is ridiculous.

Five times larger than my old dorm room, and twice as large as my place at home, it's open-floorplan suite, in shades of lilac and silver. I remember Maverik asking for my favorite color. Was it to set up this space? But it was weeks ago. Jason only made me move today. It must just be a coincidence. I love it though.

My bed could comfortably host an orgy.The curtains at every corner of the see-through walls fall to the floor, black as night, luxuriant and soft-looking.

In one corner of the room, there's a desk set up over a plush circular rug, with an expensive computer perched on top. On the other end of the room, ensconced atop an elevated platform, there's a freestanding lion-claw-footed tub.

I’ve seen that kind of arrangement in multimillion-dollar house listings.

The metal chandelier on the high ceiling flickers between blue and green light when we walk in.

“You can control the lighting with a remote in your bedside table,” Jason says, opting to turn the light off with a flick of the switch next to my door.

“This is your bathroom,” he says, pointing to one of the two silver doors behind the tub. He opens the second.

“And your wardrobe.”

Wardrobe is a serious understatement: it’s a walk-in closet.

The contents of my suitcase are already unpacked, folded, and hung. Along with all my stuff, I note the presence of several new things.

There are at least half a dozen more uniforms than the ones I own—and I know the Cross uniform runs five hundred bucks each—but also several pairs of shoes that appear to be in my size. I note a silky red dress, and a sparkly blue one that I definitely didn’t bring with me.

I wrinkle my nose. "I don't need new clothes, Jason."

“I’m aware. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m inherently selfish, Nadia. I got you new clothes because it pleased me to do so, not because I thought you needed them.”

Of all the things he might have said, that might be the only answer that can make me accept his inappropriate presents.

His hands reaches out to indicate velvety, white fabric. “I want to see you wear that soon.”