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“I found this feather under my pillow—”
“And, therefore you need new pillows?” I goaded, grinning.
“—and I know it has something to do with Cygnus Dei,” she corrected.
“I’m not sure what that has to do with me, but okay, I’ll bite. How do you know it has something to do with Cygnus Dei? ‘Cos from where I’m sitting, it just looks like a feather.”
“Yes and no. You see this tiny bit of gold it’s dipped in at the quill? Well, that tells me it’s not just any old feather. I mean that and the fact that it’s impossible for a big-ass feather like this to legitimately find its way under my pillow. Not only is it no ordinary feather, but it’s most definitely connected to Cygnus Dei. It’s exactly the same as the one that served as the invitation to their initiation ceremony last term.”
I worked hard to keep some semblance of neutrality to my features.
“Interesting. And again, I’m not an expert, but I’m wondering how you know all this? Strikes me, as someone who recently spent some very enjoyable time between your legs, that you don’t have the right equipment below the belt to join what I understood to be an all-male organization. Or did I get that wrong?” I knew the statement coupled with the shit-eating grin I graced her with would push her over the edge.
She blinked slowly several times, clearly trying to get a handle on her rage before responding. “Did you get which part wrong? My anatomy, or the membership requirements for Cygnus Dei?”
“Both. Either.”
“Well, you were right about both, as I know you’re already aware. But to answer the first part of the question, I’m a journalist. I have sources. I don’t reveal them. Just know that I’m certain about the information I have.”
“Okay, well I’m glad for you. Still, I don’t know what any of this has to do with me, so...?” I made the gesture of looking at my watch, suggesting that it was high time she left.
“I know that you and your asshole cronies had something to do with this.” She waved the feather again.
“You clearly have lots of suspicions and a whole bunch of hokey theories, but judging by the way you’re fishing for information right now, I’m going to go ahead and assume that you don’t know shit. You see what I did there? I acknowledged that I’d made an assumption, rather than presenting that assumption as fact. As a ’journalist’,” I air-quoted, knowing that it would enrage her, “you should probably learn the difference sooner rather than later. Otherwise you could find yourself on the nasty end of some ugly litigation for libel and, or slander.”
Boom! I was on fucking fire. Talk about channeling Xavier Cross. That was exactly the kind of move he’d pull, for sure. The look on Honey’s face was priceless.
“Fuck you.”
“I was hoping you might. I definitely wouldn’t say no to a repeat performance of what went down earlier; no pun intended.” Honey scowled harder. “I’ll take that as a no. And, as much as I’m enjoying this verbal sparring, I prefer my foreplay to involve mouths on genitals, and preferably both. So if you’re not going to come right out and say whatever it is you’re hinting at, and you’re not going to go down on me or let me go down on you, we’re done here. You can show yourself out.” I rested my feet on the coffee table, crossed my legs at the ankles, then grabbed the remote and flicked on the TV.
She was out of her seat before I’d finished the sentence, but not to walk herself to the door—as I’d assumed she would after being told pretty blatantly to leave.
Instead she stepped across the room and stood over me as I lounged on the couch.
“You want accusations? You got it. Someone or someones entered my room today while we were out hiking. That someone left their calling card under my pillow. A Cygnus Dei calling card. Cygnus Dei is headed up by your friend Xavier Cross. I know that it was no coincidence that this all occurred while I was indisposed with you up a mountain. Turns out you screwed me in more ways than one today.”
Our plan had worked exactly as we had intended, and from what the guys had said, their part of the process had gone flawlessly too—they’d gotten the laptop to Dillon to do his thing, and returned it, well before Honey had gotten back to her room. The only flaw in the whole operation being that now I was saddled with dealing with Honey’s suspicions. That and the little matter of me burying my dick inside her when the guys had expressly barred me from doing so. Fucking hypocritical—Xavier and Drew, at least—cockblockers.
Even worse—I didn’t regret it, and I’d do it all again if the opportunity presented itself, which I really fucking hoped it would. Of course the guys didn’t know about that part, and I had every intention of keeping it that way.
“Well this little story time has been fun—about as much fun as having my pubes singed off with a lighter—but you need to either get naked, or get out. Oh, and if you really think a crime has been committed, you should contact Campus Police, rather than throwing random accusations around. Like I said before, you could get yourself in some real trouble messing with the wrong kind of people if you’re not careful.” I reached for the remote and turned the TV up louder. With all the planning for the day, I’d forgotten there was even a game on.
“Is that a threat?” Her voice was sharp.
“Hmm...?” I looked at her with mild indifference, laboring the pretense that she wasn’t worth raising my blood pressure for. “Why would it be a threat? I can’t issue threats about something I’m not involved in, can I? But even if I could, I wouldn’t. Threats are nothing but empty promises, and I don’t make promises I can’t keep.” I turned back to the TV again, not bothering to formally dismiss her a third time. I was sure she knew the score.
Finally admitting defeat—for now, at least, though I was certain it wasn’t the last I was going to hear about the matter—Honey spun on her heel and stomped toward the exit.
Chapter 16
Honey
“Wait!” His voice rang out close behind me as I reached for the door handle. I spun around sharply, not anticipating just how close he was to me. Too close for comfort. “You need to put this on.” What? In my rage, I’d forgotten again that I was wearing just my teeny tiny PJs. Not that it was any of his business how I dressed.
“What’s it to you?” I didn’t reach for the huge hoodie he’d just taken off and was holding out toward me.
“Nothing. Everything.” What the fuck was that supposed to mean?
