"Behave,” Trent half snaps at me as I toy with the edge of my dress. The slit in it is so high that half of my butt is hanging out as I sit beside him, but fine. If he doesn’t care how Corbyn is staring, then why should I?

We have a driver tonight, and thankfully that means that I only have to deal with Trent and Corbyn because Brixton gets to ride shotgun with a fully tinted glass divider, making it private back here.

“I’m just nervous.” I yank my hand from Trent's, where he is currently crushing my hand that he removed from my pulling at my dress.

“Brixton was supposed to go over-”

“He did,” I cut him off as his brows pull together. “I know the rules. Don’t speak to anyone unless you’re with me. Don’t leave Brixton’s side for ANY reason. Be cautious of my surroundings and tell you if something feels off because there’s no telling what, or who, will be here tonight. The rules don’t make me less nervous, I don’t know what to expect. It’s not like I get a genuine experience with ot
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