Page 14 of Sticks and Stones (Shadow Valley U)

What’s stopping her from bringing more drugs into this house? Who knows what she’s gotten into since I last saw her. Drug dealing would be the least surprising thing about her, especially knowing her family history.

The sooner she leaves, the better.

There’s just one problem, and his name is Evan fucking Mitchell. My best friend loves her like a sister. A treacherous snake of a sister, but a sister nonetheless. Which means I can’t just kick her out like I want to. For all intents and purposes, I need to play nice.

Nice-ish.

I push off from the door. Her stuff is everywhere. It’s really, actually awful. In the closet, I spot a plastic bin. It has a line of tape and some other last name written on it, so it’s clearly a relic of a past housemate.

Easy enough to reuse.

I swipe all her makeup and clothes into the bin. It’s a little depressing howeverythingfits. The stuff hanging in the closet, in the drawers. My bags are still stacked along the wall, waiting for…

Who the fuck knows.

Me to man up, I guess.

I snap the bin’s lid closed and kick it under my bed. Then I promptly strip her blankets and sheets to replace them with ones I brought from home, and something hot pink falls out. My eyes widen.

I snatch it up with two fingers, glaring at it.

It’s a sex toy.

The idea of her getting herself off on that bed is oddly erotic. AndnowI’m picturing my arch-nemesis naked, her legs spread, the toy—

Fuck off, Foster.

I remake the bed and stuff the sex toy under my pillow for future humiliation. Then I unpack. I take up every single drawer and hanger.

Inhaling deeply, I look around and smirk to myself.

There’s no trace of Wren, except under my bed and under the pillow.

I only hope she cleaned that thing after using it.

I flop on the bed with a book in one hand, earbuds firmly in my ears, and my other arm stretched over my head. And then I wait.

Finally, the door cracks open, and Wren slips in. It takes her a minute to close the door and turn back around, her shoulders rising like she’s working up her defense. My gaze flicks from the book to her, then back again.

Her mouth drops. “What the hell, Stone?”

I ignore her.

I can hear her—my music isn’t even playing—but she doesn’t know that. Maybe I should actually switch on the music and drown her out. But part of me is curious. I’ve never had anyone to needle like this. No one who grinds my gears enough to try to destroy.

It’s kind of gratifying.

“Where are my things?”

She comes over and whacks my leg.

I look up at her, taking in her furious expression. The poor foster kid doesn’t like her stuff messed with, evidently.

“Are you intentionally being a bag of dicks, or does it come naturally?”

I barely suppress my snort. I yank out one of the earbuds and drop it on my chest. “Excuse me, what was that?”

Her face is turning red. In a moment, steam might pour out of her ears.God, I hope so. It would have a featured place in my mental gallery of her.