Expel by Addison Moore Page B

bare waist of Carson Armistead, her hips sway seductively in rhythm to the music.
    Jealousy rips through me like a fire line.
    How the hell am I ever going to cut Logan Oliver out of my heart if my heart keeps breaking at the thought of him with someone else?
     

Chapter 17
    Strike Three    
     
     
    Chloe stops me cold on my way to push Logan into the pool. “I bet it guts you like a rusted knife knowing that Logan has recovered from his severe case of Skyla fever,” she hacks out each word with glee.
    I choose to ignore her, a tactic I should employ more often when dealing with Chloe in general.
    Heated or not, he needs to log some serious time away from the push up bra brigade storming in his direction. Obviously his brain is in malfunction mode. That blue toxin Ezrina dipped him in eroded all of his good character, his sound judgment, and, yes, his slight obsession for me seems to have dissipated as well.
    Logan jumps up on an ice chest and cups his hands around his mouth. “The line starts here!” He jumps down and twirls the next recipient of his attention like a ballerina.
    My mouth falls open as he gyrates his hips over hers inspiring her to do the same. An entire row of girls magically crop up to have their clothes peeled from their bodies by Logan himself. It’s sickening.
    “This isn’t Logan. This isn’t what he’s about.” I say, trying to push my way around Chloe. It’s high time someone remind him he doesn’t need to assert himself as the head of the stripping committee.
    “Face it,” she seethes, “the green eyed monster has you by the balls Messenger. You can’t stand the fact he’s moved on—that the Skyla-shaped scales have fallen from his eyes, and he can see you for the loser you really are.”
    “I’ve got a license to thrill,” Logan pushes into a scantily clad Carson, and holy freaking shit—they are totally rutting. Logan’s douchebag jeans are about ready to slide right off his person. I can’t stand to look so I bury my face in Gage’s chest.  
      “Some people’s kids,” he says, not even flinching at Logan’s poor impersonation of an officer of the law , which is proof positive he’s boarded a train for imbecile-ville.
    “He’s gone insane,” I say, shaking. “Do something.”
    “This is exactly what he was like before you came to Paragon. Nothing’s changed.” Gage assures me.
    “He’s over you,” Chloe laughs. “Hurt much?”
    I look past her shoulder as he gets on his knees and unbuckles Carson’s pants. He pulls them down with one swift tug and bites into the panties riding high on her hip.
    “That’s it.” I push past Chloe, muddle my way through a throng of overeager girls filling the interim and finally break through the crowd.
    I yank him off his knees by the back of his shirt.
    “Whoa,” Logan throws his hands in the air, “looks like Skyla, here, wants her turn right now.”
    He reaches for my waist and peels off my sweater quick as a magician. Before I know it, I’m standing there in my black lace bra in front of East and West, a gloating Chloe, and a very pissed off Gage.
    “Stop,” I scream like a siren before snatching back my top.
    Gage knocks him backwards a few good feet. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
    I like this side of Gage—kick some ass first, ask questions later.
    “You trying to start a war, dude?” Logan glares at him, gone is the spirited playboy who’s been arousing girls poolside for the past half hour.
    “I’m trying to figure out what the hell to do with you,” Gage counters.
    Logan steps into Gage, digs a finger in his chest. “You can start by getting the fuck out of my way.”
    “You know,” Gage winces into his annoyance, “you haven’t even bothered with a hello since you’ve been back.”
    “Oh, I haven’t?” Logan makes light of the fact. “You poor, fragile thing. Have you been spurned by my lack of attention? Please, allow me to give you a physical token of my undying