❝If you wanted to get into my pants so bad, I'm sure you could've come up with a more creative way of doing it.❞
Working part-time at a country club isn't Declan Grey's idea of summer fun. When he gets ousted as one of the guys who stole Bulldog Bax...
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SHINING THE FLASHLIGHT in Warszawski's face, I revel in the fact that I'm pissing him off. It's a good thing he's responding well. He's had his head shoved so far up his ass lately, I was worried that he wasn't seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Maybe if he had used his ears like God intended him to, then he would've listened to my suggestion about the flashlights; we wouldn't be stuck in a pitch-black hall, standing in the exact same spot we were ten minutes ago. But no. Let's feel up the walls of the girls' dormitory like the Three Perverted, Blind Mice—really grope our way out of here.
Originally, I didn't bring the flashlight to induce myself into a coma. Since I don't have any real purpose for it now, I might as well whack myself in the head for having to put up with Warszawski. "Gonna take back your words?" I ask him. "Because I was ready to leave five centuries ago but you can't see a goddamn thing in here."
He squints his eyes. "That's the point, dumbass," Warszawski hisses. "Knock it off."
Fucking hissing like the snake he is. Oh, he's practically beggingfor me to throw down. I've never heeded to any of the shit that's come out of his mouth, but in this case, I'm more than happy to oblige. If he wants a fight, I'll give it to him. I can take Warszawski. We're almost the same height and I'll hold my ground if not guarantee a knock-out altogether. Punch his lights out. "You're going to drop Baxter, you idiot."
He snatches the flashlight, turning it off. "I'm not going to drop the dog. I know what I'm doing."
"That's what you say every single time you bring a girl up to you room and guess what? I'm always the one left consoling her the morning after. I don't think you ever mean it when you say you know what you're doing."
By some miracle, he jabs me in the chest. "Why you-"
I shove him back. "Got a problem?"
"Both of you. Shut up," Kit cuts in.
I turn toward the direction of his voice, ready at a moment's notice. As our quarterback, he has that sort of effect: being the glue of the team. The only job more important that Kit is burdened with, is playing mediator between Warszawski and I. We would've torn each other apart already. I'd sooner slit my throat than give that jackass Warszawski a peace offering.
"I'm the one making the decisions around here," Warszawski says. "We're doing this my way or we're ditching the entire thing."
Who the hell does he think he is? Listening to him is exactly why we lost the championships last year. Right. I don't know who chose Warszawski as leader but it sure as hell wasn't me. He deluded himself into thinking that he has some sort of messiah complex. I did too. Then I recognized him for the shithead that he is. See, I voted Kit as captain and I'm willing to bet that everyone else did too. But democracy doesn't work like that in our team, so consider my input null and void. I flick him in the head. "Get your priorities straight, Captain. We'll get caught at the rate we're going."
