Page 101 of Flirting with Trouble

I scoff. “It wasn’t me. It was these assholes.”

Leni glares at Raz, who throws his hands up and says, “Don’t look at me.”

Indi, a petite blonde, smacks Archer’s arm. “What did you do?”

“Why do you assume it was me?” Archer asks, but there’s no hiding his shit-eating grin.

“Because you’re an instigator,” Indi snaps.

I step closer, staring the guys down, and they push to their feet. “Whose brilliant idea was it to make me look like some sort of sex-obsessed serial killer?”

Brant, Archer, Grant, and Fitz point to each other saying, “His.”

“Brant, you were in on this?” Cait asks. She’s a dead ringer for the lead actress in Blindspot, tall and thin, with jet-black hair cut just below her ears and heavily inked porcelain skin.

“It was my dad’s fault,” Brant says.

Cait rolls her eyes.

“Assholes,” I mutter. “They stocked my boat with sex dolls and other kinky shit.”

“Guess she wasn’t into your kind of freakiness after all,” Grant says, and the guys laugh.

“Grant Silver, you are in big trouble,” Jules says.

“Come on, Pix. It was a joke.” Grant reaches for her, but she steps back.

“They told Victory I made a habit of taking women out on my boat and getting rid of them, and now she’s gone for good.” I eye the guys. “Way to fuck me over.”

“Shit.” Flynn scrubs a hand down his face. “My sister finally puts herself out there, and this is what she gets?”

“Calm your jets, Miles Long,” Archer says. “It was all in fun.”

“I’m sure it was,” Flynn says. “I’ve got to call Vic.”

Sutton touches his arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Seriously, you guys,” Bellamy snaps. “Wells finally gets a girl, and you have to go and screw it up?”

“Idiots.” Keira shakes her head.

“There goes my plan to invite her to the Bra Brigade bachelorette party tomorrow afternoon,” Leni snaps.

“You know who to blame,” I say, knowing full well Victory is going to jump at the chance to hang out with Leni and the girls tomorrow.

“I’m really sorry, bro,” Grant says. “We didn’t think she’d take off.”

“We were just having fun,” Fitz says.

“Want us to call her and explain?” Brant asks.

“Fuck that,” Archer says. “If she can’t take a joke, she’s not right for our boy Wells.”

“You’re going to have to do better than a few sex toys and a tale of serial killing to get rid of me,” Victory says as she comes around the side of the house carrying the box of sex toys that we decided not to keep, wearing a cheeky grin, my new guitar strapped to her back.

“Oh man, they got you guys good!” Bellamy cheers, and everyone laughs, while Scrappy barks, wriggling to get free.

“Son of a bitch,” Archer grumbles.