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Shit, I thought, looking down the now silent and darkened street. The massive brick mansions were totally still, the only light that of the streetlights that illuminated the falling snow. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath and check my watch, but then there was the sound of a door slamming shut and muffled voices lifted in argument.
“You’re a fucking dickhead,” came a female voice, shrill and full of emotion. I stepped back into the shadows as a female figure dressed in nothing but a short-sleeved T-shirt came out of one of the houses and started running across the street. She stumbled in her heels, yelping as she slipped and fell to her knees.
“I swear, Nicole, if you say anything—”
“Shut up, Christian!” she sneered, cutting off the man who’d just come outside the same house she’d fled from. Christian Brockford stepped out of the house, shirtless, his hair sticking up at all angles.
“At least give me my shirt back—”
She flipped him off the second she got back on her feet and slipped and stumbled her way back to a house down the street. I could hear her cursing under her breath from where I stood, the vacuum of snowy silence making every word she said sound like it came over a speaker.
Nicole. I knew that name. She was one of the women I occasionally saw hanging out with Whtiney around campus. They were part of the same sorority. I stiffened, a feeling of dread washing over me.
Christian grunted from the porch of the house directly across the street from where I stood in the shadows. He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair before turning back to the house.
I started back up in a jog, having no choice but to cross Greek Row to get back to the campus trail systems.
Christian heard me coming and turned just as I passed the house, his eyes focused on my face. I narrowed my eyes at him as if to say, Yeah, I saw that.
I wonder if Whitney knew what he was up to.
He glared at me and stormed back into the house. I crossed into the trees and made my way back down the bike trail toward the faculty houses, reminding myself over and over again that it wasn’t my business.
But Whitney didn’t deserve this. She had to know that.
Chapter 13
Whitney
I NORMALLY DIDN’T SLEEP in. I liked the quiet stillness of early mornings on campus. Normally, I’d wake up and go for a jog to the campus gym, but last night, I’d walked home from the library around three in the morning after doing a complete review of my lecture notes for my art history class. Now I lounged in bed, forcing myself to stay warm and cozy in the darkness and give my body the rest it desperately needed, even though I’d essentially trained myself to be up and out the door by 7:30.
I fumbled for my phone in the covers and checked the time. 7:35.
“Why can’t I sleep in? Just once?” I grumbled, dropping my phone next to me on the bed and rubbing my eyes.
Beyond my room, the sorority house was quiet, everyone else sleeping off their hangovers or simply taking the day to sleep in, like I should be doing.
But sleep had eluded me yet again. I sat up and stretched, promising myself I wouldn’t study today, just rest. Maybe I’d go to town or read fiction for what felt like the first time in years. The idea of a day off to do whatever I wanted had me up and out of bed within a few seconds, feeling fresh and sharp despite the fact I’d only gotten four hours of sleep the night before. But before I could even change out of my pajamas, someone banged on my door so hard the pictures on the walls rattled.
“Whitney!” Nicole sobbed from the other side of the door.
My heart raced as I leapt toward the door, unlocked it, and threw it open. Nicole stepped inside, dressed in a huge T-shirt with what looked like the dress she’d worn to the party last night underneath. Her feet were bare, and her face was smudged with makeup. She looked like hell.
“Are you okay?” I asked, taking her by the shoulders as I examined her for injuries. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen Nicole like this. She was a hard partier—always had been, and likely always would be—but this was different.
Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, but her cheeks were dry. In fact, there wasn’t a sliver of despair in her eyes right now. No, she looked angry. Furious, actually, as she turned a glare on me and stepped out of my grasp.
“Everyone says you’re so smart,” she drawled, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She smelled like cheap tequila and had copious amounts of glitter in her hair as she started to pace the room, running her fingertips over my things. “You’re so popular. So witty. So good at everything you do.”
“Nicole,” I said slowly. “I think you need to lie down. Have you slept yet?”
She ignored and continued, “But you’re actually really dumb, aren’t you, Whitney?”
“Excuse me?” I went rigid, my eyes narrowing on hers as she picked up a picture of me and my parents and smirked at it.
“Do they know Christian proposed to you this summer? With his family’s six-carat engagement ring? And you said no?” When I didn’t answer, she smirked, chuckling to herself as she set the picture down and continued to pace the room. “I couldn’t believe it. It’s all anyone can talk about right now. You, once the queen of campus, and Christian, who can do so much better—”
“You’re drunk,” I ground out.
