The weather is warming up, and as much as I’d love to go find a nice spot in the grass to study, I can’t. Mindy is in class for another hour, and Ryder’s class isn’t out for another forty-five minutes, which means I’d be alone.
Being alone in the quad is like putting a big fat target on my head.
So I have two options: go to the library or go home.
Neither is an outdoor option.
“Hey…” A voice whispers next to me.
I turn to the kid that sits at my left, Brandon or Brendan. I can’t remember.
He holds his phone up, and a photo of Killian holding his shirt up with two women crouched down licking him is plastered on his screen. “You know this guy, right?”
I move my eyes from his phone to his face. “Yes, I used to.” Although the man I knew wouldn’t be caught dead in that kind of position with two women.
“I’ve been following him on social media; the guy is a playa’,” the kid whispers.
Yeah, well, he didn’t used to be.
“Did you see his fight the other night?”
I turn back to him and huff out an annoyed breath, hoping he gets the hint. “I did.” I’d never miss one of his fights. I learned my lesson though, and as soon as it’s over, I avert my eyes until the interview. He did the same thing he did last time, crossing his heart, and all the pain of losing him came rushing back.
Luckily, this time I was at my mom’s, watching Jack, and was able to cry and feel sorry for myself with the only audience being my three-year-old brother.
“He’s unstoppable.” Brandon, or whatever, leans back in his chair and continues to scroll through photos, getting the attention of the guys around him. I catch their whispered words, like, “Damn, she’s hot,” and “Lucky guy probably got triple-teamed,” but it wasn’t until the “She’s sucking his…” that I finally had enough.
I shove my binder in my backpack and throw it over my shoulder as I step down the lecture hall steps and to the door.
That’s the great thing about college. You can just get up and leave without excuse, without having to explain that your ex-best friend has turned into a womanizing prick. I try to close the door quietly behind me to keep from disrupting the class any more than I have, which takes some effort since my muscles are tense with frustration. It isn’t until I’m out in the fresh air that I take a calming breath then stop dead in my tracks.
There, sitting on the picnic bench that Killian used to wait for me on, is Clifford. Great, and with class still in session, there’s no one around to witness his cruelty.
I spin on a heel and speed-walk to the breezeway that leads to the parking lot and my escape. My heart beats wildly in my chest, but I don’t hear him following me, so I try to force myself to breathe. I’ll be okay. Just keep your eyes open and get to the car.
Once my shoes hit the asphalt, I risk a look and peek over my shoulder. He is behind me. Shit. He’s keeping a good distance though, slowly meandering in my wake.
Whirling my backpack to my front, I fish out my keys and peek behind me again. He’s stopped at the curb where the lot meets the sidewalk, and his eyes are boring into mine. A slow grin crawls across his face, and if this were some kind of mafia movie, it would be the last thing I’d see right before my car exploded.
Thankfully, Clifford isn’t in the mob.
I hit the key fob for my SUV, and my breath catches in my throat.
My car exploded, alright; although not in a burst of fiery flames and shrapnel. That would’ve been better.
No, my car is plastered in photos.
And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what they’re of.
The sound of students filtering from classrooms calls my eyes away from the hideous pics, and sure enough, people appear from everywhere.
“Shit.” I race to my car and scramble to remove the photos, but they’re stuck. Like really stuck. I pick at the corners with my nails, my hands shaking as the rumble of engines firing up sounds all around me. I rip one off and move to the next, but my gosh, there has to be nearly fifty of them. “Come on. Come on…” Tears sting