Page 31

Thirty minutes later, I return from campus to the loft, finding it overrun with high-ranking members of DKS.

“You okay?” Ballsack asks the second I get off the elevator. It strikes me how much he’s let his hair grow out. Gone is the buzzcut that was given to him during pledge week last year. Now, it’s so long on top that when he looks down, the ends brush the edge of a boyish cheekbone.

“I’m fine.” I look across the room and see Kaczinski holding up the blanket Lavinia gave me. “Hands off, Doug. The Duchess gave me that.” He drops it in a heap and moves down the couch, running his fingers underneath the edge of the end table.

“What tipped you off?” Ballsack asks, tattooed fingers prising open a jar of ginger. When he checks the contents, he pulls a face at the smell, instantly re-capping it.

“Lex.” I push my hands through my hair, overwhelmed. “He knows things hecan’tknow. He knows I’ve had coffee.”

Ballsack pauses to give me a skeptical look. “That’s it?”

Shaking my head, I pluck up the bottle on the counter. “He also knows I haven’t been taking these stupid vitamins. He knows things no one but Stella should know.”

Ballsack freezes. “You think Stella told him?”

“God, no.” I wrench open the refrigerator and stare unfeelingly at the contents. I’m hungry, finally, but nothing seems appealing. “It’s far more likely those intrusive little fuckers have the place bugged.” I slam the door shut without taking out anything. “Find anything yet?”

Ballsack shrugs. “No. If there’s any surveillance in this place, then it’s professional work, that’s for sure.”

Pace. He either did it himself or got someone better than him to do it. But who? How? The Dukes have this whole block locked down tight.

“The Duchess and Remy are in your bedroom.” Ballsack jabs a thumb in that direction. “She didn’t want the guys in your personal space.”

“Thanks,” I say, giving him a little smile. But before I go find them, I assess him a little more closely, head tilting. “So, Eugene. What’s going on with you and my handmaiden?”

He fumbles the jar of ginger, spitting a soft curse as he barely catches it. “What do you mean? What did she say?” His gaze snaps up, the fear there transforming to anticipation. “Wait.Didshe say something?”

Chuckling, I shake my head. “I can’t exactly expect Stella to keep my secrets if I don’t keep hers.”

His face falls. “Oh. Right.”

I chuck him playfully on the shoulder. “Consider it a question from a curious bystander whose confidentiality works both ways.”

After a long sigh, he says, “She’s a cool chick.” I don’t miss the conflict in his expression as he idly juggles the jar. “But I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“I had that thing with Laura,” he explains. “And I know it’s not, like…cheating, considering she ghosted me and all. I guess I just feel weird about it.”

Shit. Everything in my life has been so crazy lately I hadn’t even thought about Laura. “Still no word?”

Ballsack places the jar back on the counter. “Nothing.”

“It happens sometimes,” I try. The cutsluts are a loyal group, but they’re largely impermanent fixtures in West End. For many, it’s a stepping stone into the world before adulthood. Some girls stay within our boundaries, but most leave. “People just move on, and it’s okay if you move on too.”

He nods, expression pensive. “I guess so.”

My stomach sinks at the look on his face. Here I am entirely unable to find one Prince out of three to give a shit about me, and Ballsack is stuck caring about two different women. It makes me wonder why Forsyth is like that sometimes. One extreme or another. Never anything gray.

I snatch up the jar. “Well, if it makes any difference, I’m in one hundred percent approval of you asking out my handmaiden.”

He looks up, eyebrow arching. “Yeah? You think she’d say yes?”

I snort, remembering my weekend of being pelted with unsolicited Ballsack facts. “I think the odds are in your favor.”

His mouth tips up into a small, conspiratorial grin. “Thanks, Ver.”

The sound of something breaking across the room draws our attention back to the debugging process. “Jesus Christ,” Ballsack mutters. “I have to supervise every fucking thing.” He storms over to Weasel. “I fucking told you to be careful!”