“What time are you going to Violet’s house?” I bite back a smirk when she swallows thickly. “Eight.” Liar. She usually leaves at ten, but she pushed it up by two hours because my dad’s still standing in front of us and going to a friend’s house to study at ten on a school night sounds suspect as fuck. “I’ll drive you.” She looks like a mouse hovering near a trap. She’s starving and wants the cheese so badly she can already taste it… But she also knows one little bite might kill her.
