Secret Obsession: Chapter 8

Admittedly, I made a little mistake with my schedule.

I thought it would be better to front-load my week, and thus, my Monday starts bright and early at eight a.m., with two back-to-back classes and a third after lunch. Wednesday will be the same, and Friday will only have the third. Two classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

But after I get through the first two, I have to stop and get a second coffee from the cart that parks near the library. It wakes me up enough to enjoy my third class, one of two fun electives I was able to choose. Crime Fiction requires reading—but the syllabus contains books that are actually pleasurable.

So that one should be a mental break from the math and engineering classes.

When I picked my major, I really should’ve thought more about how many freaking math classes computer science degrees require. The answer is too many. Luckily, I’m good at math. Numbers come easily.

Doesn’t help when I’m dragging after what felt like an all-nighter, and the professor acts like we’ve already been studying this shit for weeks.

And it’s on my way to Crime Fiction that I spot a dance team girl. A freshman in her second semester. She doesn’t look at me until she’s right on top of me, and she slams her shoulder into mine. Her arm jerks, catching my wrist.

Coffee goes everywhere.

I gasp, sparing a split second to be thankful that I ordered it iced, but then it registers that my coat is soaked. Brown spots hit my boots.

She doesn’t even stop—she’s gone before I can call out her name.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

No problem. No problem at all.

Once I’m in the admin building, where my Crime Fiction class is located, I shed my coat and duck into the closest bathroom to pat it dry. I’m at the sink, my head down, when someone knocks into me from behind. I barely manage not to fall over.

“Oops,” a sugary voice says.

I meet the eyes of a girl I’ve never seen before.

“What’s your problem?” I try not to snap.

She goes to the far sink and holds her hand under the automatic dispenser. The foaming soap squirts into her hand. She waits a second, then does it again.

“If you’re the reason we don’t make the playoffs, we’ll be coming for you.”

She strides toward me.

I should see it coming, but I don’t. I guess I just didn’t think that girls would be that bitchy. But she takes her handful of soap and smears it into my hair.

Her lips curl in a smirk, while all I can do is stare at her in shock. Did she really just do that? The foamy suds run down my short hair, dripping onto my shirt. I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience, watching from the ceiling.

“That’s for hurting Knox,” she says, leaning toward me.

“What?” It doesn’t really sound like my voice.

“You toyed with him. Used him. How could you do that, when there were plenty of girls who would’ve loved to actually date him?” She wipes the remaining soap in her hand on my shirt and passes me, knocking her shoulder against mine. “You break up with a hockey player, break his heart, and there are consequences.”

The door swings shut behind her, and I choke on a disbelieving laugh.

She thinks I broke up with him?

Is that why I’ve been getting weird glares all day?

After doing some damage control that leaves me with a wet shirt and hair, I leave the bathroom. Halfway down the hall, I realize I forgot my coat. My cheeks burn as I backtrack and snatch it from the counter. I’m not going to miss a class because some girls are being assholes.

Now I’ve got a point to prove.

I make it to class on time and slip into a seat toward the back, trying to discreetly rub at the wet spots on my clothes. People give me a wide berth. Even the professor casts an odd look in my direction. But they begin class without delay, and I let out a slow breath.

An hour later, I’ve decided what I need to do.

Knox was messing with me while he dated me—but surely he’s not going to carry a grudge this long, right? He won’t feed into the madness…

Oh, wait. He’s Knox Whiteshaw.

Of course he’ll fucking feed into it. Especially since, this way, he gets some sympathy sex out of it.

I grind my teeth together, refusing to let my brain wander toward him in the bedroom with puck bunnies. One, two, multiple. Should I even put it past him to invite a few girls into his bedroom?

“Willow!”

I flinch automatically.

Violet stops in front of me, frowning at my shirt. “What on earth happened to you?”

“Oh, just your run-of-the-mill psycho bitches.” I’m trying to be cheerful. In reality, I’m ready to go home and bury my head in my pillow. Although even my apartment is tainted by what Miles did there. “They got my coat with coffee, too.”

“Jeez.” She shrugs out of hers and pushes it at me. “Put that on. Give me yours.”

She takes mine and loops it over her arm while I zip hers up to my throat. I let out a slow breath.

“Better?”

“Somewhat,” I grumble. At least no one can leer at my chest anymore.

“Okay, let’s get an early dinner, then I’ll go back with you to your apartment.” She eyes me. “What?”

“I’d just…” I shrug. “I think I’d rather just go straight home.”

“Uh-huh. Since when does Willow Reed hide from a fight?”

Oh, great. Suddenly all my pep talks when Greyson was harassing Violet come back to bite me in the ass. I suck my lip between my teeth, even as she grips my wrist and drags me toward the dining hall. I should’ve advised her to run away and hide, which is precisely what I’m wanting to do right now.

“One day and you’re ready to call it quits?”

“Easy for you to say,” I mutter. “I’ve been getting weird vibes from pretty much everyone on campus. And it’s not like the dance team is supportive—seems like the lower classmen on the team have been the ones following Amanda’s orders to be shitty to me.”

“Is this Knox?” Violet squeezes my wrist. “Or… Miles?”

“Hell if I know. Both, maybe. They think I broke up with him. Broke his heart or something.” I sigh. “Ridiculous.”

We swipe into the dining hall and claim a small table in the back. Not our usual seats with the hockey and dance teams, front and center, and I’m grateful for that. Their table is empty anyway. No one eats dinner at four o’clock.

Except us and a few other smaller tables, everyone minding their own business. Just the way I like it. I get food and make it back in relative peace to our table.

But my bag is gone.

Violet’s is still across from mine.

I hunt around, brows furrowed, but there’s no sign of it.

When she returns, I tell her that someone took my backpack.

“No fucking way. Was your phone in your bag?”

I pat my back pocket, feeling the lump of my phone, and blow out an exhale.

“Nope. But my keys and laptop are in it.” I sink into the chair and cover my face. “Who’s doing this shit? I didn’t see any of the hockey guys in here, did you? I mean, would Greyson even play that game?”

You’d think he would be a neutral party, since Violet’s my best friend. She could withhold sex if he misbehaved… Wait, never mind, I don’t want to think about them having sex.

Violet shakes her head. “No idea.”

I toss my phone onto the table beside my food, and the screen lights up with a just-missed text.

I’m starting to hate texts from him. Especially pictures.

It’s a photo of my bag, and it’s being held out over the edge of a rooftop…

“Which building is this?” I ask, sliding my phone to Violet.

Her eyes go wide. “Looks like Admin is in the background, so I’d guess… this one.”

I grit my teeth. “Be right back.”

“Be careful,” she says.

Careful, my ass. I tell the dining attendant that I’ll be back in a minute and take the stairs to the third floor, where they abruptly end with no roof access. I go down the hall, to another set of stairs. Up and up, until I’m shoving open the roof door.

Miles sits on the ledge, my bag beside him.

He smiles when he sees me, then flashes his phone. There’s a countdown, the seconds running out. Less than a minute left. “Just in time.”

“What is that? You were timing how fast I got here?”

He rises. “I want you to learn how I operate. That I have certain expectations that must be met. And yes, Willow, one of them is timeliness.”

Wow. “That’s ridiculous.” I stomp toward my bag—and him. “I don’t want to play your games, Miles. In fact, I’m quite done with Whiteshaws altogether. Thought I made that clear.”

But the closer I get, the wider his smirk. Until I’m close enough to reach him, and he snatches my bag and holds it out over the ledge again.

I skid to a halt. “Why are you doing this?”

He lifts one shoulder. “Because you had your chance to choose, and you’ve proven to make stupid decisions. So now… that option doesn’t exist anymore.”

My stomach flips, and I look at him in a new light. I should’ve already seen him this way, but for the first time I’m noticing how his hair curls down over his forehead, how his light-blue eyes seem to dig right through my chest and into my soul. He’s taller than me by a good bit. Not more so than Knox, who I can’t help but compare him to, but I think he just carries himself differently.

“Done staring, baby?”

I snap out of it and glower at him. “You like calling me the same pet name your brother did? He called me babe and baby all the time, but especially when I was riding his—”

He drops my bag, luckily just to the floor, and moves toward me with speed I don’t anticipate. But suddenly he’s got one hand around my throat and the other sliding through the short hair at the nape of my neck. He drags me against him, tipping my head back until we’re nose-to-nose.

“If you ever mention my brother’s cock again,” he says, his breath fanning against my lips, “I’ll bring you back up here and dangle you off this rooftop.”

“Don’t call me baby and I won’t bring it up.” It comes out a little more hoarse than I’d like, but my glare makes up for it.

His eyebrows raise. And then a smirk takes over, some part of him enjoying my fight. I’m all tapped out on fighting spirit, though—this is just me standing up for myself.

“Why does the school suddenly think I broke up with him anyway?”

I swallow, and I know he feels it. Because his fingers flex against my throat, his palm absorbing the motion. Damn if it doesn’t do something to me. I inhale slightly, my nostrils flaring. Being this close to him in general is a little rush. I have the insane urge to run my fingers through his hair, to push it off his forehead. Like he does before he puts on his helmet for games, throwing his head back to get it out of his face.

I shouldn’t know he does that.

I shouldn’t like the way he’s pulling me in.

My body is just… I’m just…

He releases me and steps back, so suddenly that my knees almost give out.

“This is just the first day,” he says. “And I’m just getting started.”

He grabs my bag and throws it at me. It hits my chest, and I barely manage to catch it before it drops. Too late, he’s strolling past me and out the door. His footsteps echo back to me before the door has a chance to slam shut.

I sink to my knees and scour through my backpack. If he didn’t take anything, it would be a miracle.

And low and behold…

My keys are missing.