“Just, please look.” Amanda pushes her phone under my nose.
This time I do take it and glance down. I’m not surprised that the video of Jack and I making out is playing on her screen—but I am surprised that it’s on the front page of the school’s website. And there’s now text slapped on it. Commentary.
She’s off the dance team, but she’ll still horizontal tango if you give her the time of day… Or maybe if you pay enough.
I shut it down. They’re branding me as a slut? Worse—someone who would do those things formoney. Fury and embarrassment race through me, heating my skin. I suddenly understand why I’ve been getting looks all damn day. When did Greyson post it? Andhow?
I eye the video again. I’ve lowered myself to my knees at this point, my hands gripping Jack’s waist. I don’t seem steady, and my eyes are half closed… and then Jack moves a little, giving the camera his back. I quickly close out of it and hand her phone back.
My stomach turns. Did Jack know they were there?
I’m going to be sick. “And Willow is trying to get it taken down?”
She could’ve texted me and warned me. But… nope. I’ve been going through the day ignorant. It makes sense why I’m getting stares. Everyone thinks I’m that girl now.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I need to find Jack. If he didn’t know, he’s going to be pissed. If hedidknow someone was filming… why didn’t he stop me?
How the hell am I going to ask that?
“Slut,” someone coughs, knocking into me.
I stumble sideways, and Amanda grabs my arms.
Her eyes are wide. “Who’d you piss off? I’m just asking so I can avoid them.” She forces a laugh, but it dies off quickly. “Seriously, though. Are you okay?”
I pull away and shake my head. Does that really matter? Although it’s clear that I’ve pissed off the one person who already had a vendetta against me. I grimace and check my watch. I’ve never been more relieved to take a step back and point vaguely to my wrist.
“Running late for my class. Um, we’ll talk later.”
I hurry to class and slip inside. I’m on the cusp of being late, which means most of the seats are taken—except for two. One is in the front. And as much as I try to be a good student, I’ve never been a great student. My focus has remained steadfast on ballet. Sitting in the front is practically asking to participate.
The other one is in front of Greyson Devereux.
He’s already spotted me, and his brows lift.
A silent dare?
Fuck, no.
I take a step toward the seat in the front, but I’m too slow. Someone walks around me and sinks into the chair, their head buried in their phone.
Ugh. What are the chances I can drop this class?
But I can’t do it right now.
I steel myself and walk down the row to the empty desk. I sit gingerly, expecting Greyson to say something. A barb, or gloating.
Instead, he’s silent. I feel his stare burning the back of my head.
The professor arrives and smiles at us. “If you’re not here for Environmental Economics, you’re in the wrong class.” Her gaze sweeps over us, and she nods to herself. “Okay, good. Let’s begin…”
I can barely pay attention. I flip my notebook open and jot down what she writes on the board, but it goes in one ear and out the other. I’ve never done especially well in economics. Or any of the math-focused business classes required for my degree.
But it’s more than that. It’s that I can hear Greyson behind me, and I’m hyper-aware of him. Every breath he takes, every shift. The scratch of his pencil against the paper. It grates in my ears, and I grip my pen hard enough that my knuckles turn white. Before long, my hand cramps.
She concludes her lesson, basically the broad scopes of what we’ll be covering, and opens the door. A clear dismissal.
Greyson stands. His notebook and pencil are the only things he brought with him. No backpack, no jacket. Just a tight gray sweater that flatters him way too well. He pauses beside my desk and taps my half-filled page.