“Hey, Violet,” Paris says. She wraps her arms around me. “I’m so sorry for what you’re going through. God, I can’t even imagine.”
Right. Like she doesn’t have a JustFans account. But it’s different when it’s posted against your will… publicly. She has paying customers, and I just have humiliation.
A lump forms in my throat, and I gently extricate myself from her grip. I can’t quite get the image of her and Greyson out of my head. Not that anything is going on there, but obviously he had something to do with it. He filmed it. And whether he shared it or posted it himself, he’s at fault.
“Hey, Violet!” A guy waves at me. “I’ve got a twenty. Wanna suck me off in the bathroom?”
I grimace and turn away. His friends burst into laughter, and they all sweep past us into the student center.
“Ignore them,” Willow says. “It’ll blow over in a few days.”
I nod and follow her inside. We swipe in and get food, then all get a table off to the side. That bubble of quiet from earlier has indeed popped—but now I can hear the snide laughter and questioning gazes. My face gets red and stays that way.
“My parents are flying in from Atlanta next month,” Paris says. “They want to meet Greyson.”
Willow flinches.
“Why would they want to meet him?” Willow snaps at her.
Paris tosses her hair over her shoulder. “Because his father is a senator, and Dad wants to run for office next election. Plus, I have a feeling we’ll be dating by the end of the week.”
Willow’s eyes bug out of her head. I’m not sure about my own reaction, but my face gets hotter. My whole body gets warm, too. There’s a raging inferno under my skin, and I scratch at my wrist. I hope my expression remains somewhat neutral.
Everyone knows Greyson’s dad is a senator in New York. He’s been here a semester, after all. Not much stays secret on a campus this size. But still, putting that fact next to what I told Willow this morning? She’s now seeing the scope of the situation.
“Oh?” My best friend’s voice is strangled.
Paris rolls her eyes, misreading the situation. “Did you think he was a different Devereux? Everyone’s been talking about it.”
Ugh. Willow still has a sour look on her face when she stands abruptly. Her gaze falls to me, and I know what she’s thinking.
That I’m in deeper shit than she figured.
“Why are you looking at Violet?” Paris asks.
Willow can’t even answer. She shakes her head and grabs her plate, stalking away. Should I have mentioned that? Maybe. Probably. I mean, it’s just a little, messy detail.
“I’ve got to go,” I mutter. I take my plate of food to the trash and scrape off what I didn’t eat. I’m nauseated.
How many people saw me blow Jack?
I touch my lips on my way out. A dirty feeling washes over me. I’ve never let myself feel this way before. Shameful almost. I guess I never had a reason to feel it.
On my way out, I catch sight of Jack.
“Hey!” I call.
He glances at me, then away.
The tips of his ears are red.
“Jack?”
He turns to me, and his lips press together. His brows draw down. I’ve never seen him angrier, and I almost take a step back. Something holds me firm, though. Whether that be my own stubbornness or fury at this situation, which we should be in together, I couldn’t say.
“What do you want, Violet?” There’s real venom in his voice.
“I—”