❝ And that's Marlowe - better known as Mar...❞
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𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐞. You rarely catch her without sand-covered skin and dark locks winded up from saltwater. Born and raised on the island, with a house that radiates...
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"𝐍o effing way!"
Marlowe's eyes track Kiara as she paces across the glass-enclosed porch of the Château. The brunette's casually leaning against the railing, arms crossed. A navy-tinted top hugs her upper body, and a pair of wide-legged, beige linen pants covers her legs.
She peeks over at the blonde newcomer on the couch, licking her teeth.
"You brought her here?" Kiara berates. "So what? She's in on this now?"
John B winces, looking over at his remaining friends for any kind of assistance.
JJ claps his hands together, Marlowe raises both eyebrows, and Pope mutters a reserved "I dunno."
"Look," the blond vocalizes. "All I care about is her cut comes out of your share."
Marlowe snaps her fingers in his direction, wordlessly defending his words.
"You know, I don't remember taking a vote," the curly-haired girl continues. "This is our thing. A Pogue thing."
"I gotta say, I'm just a tad uncomfortable with all of this," Pope adds.
The girl throws her hands. "Thank you!"
"When are you not uncomfortable?" John B retorts.
"I dunno," he responds. "I rode here on the back of JJ's bike pretty comfortably."
The mentioned nods sharply. "It's true. Most relaxed I've ever seen him."
John B turns his head, expressionless yet full of sarcasm. "That's cute, guys."
"You know, we were all extremely comfortable until you brought her."
Sarah finally speaks up. "Stop talking about me like I'm not here," she demands.
"Then leave," Kiara deadpans.
The blonde scoffs, turning to John B. "I told you."
