Forbidden Heat (Firework Girls #1) (19 page)

He laughs. “Everyone has their own prejudices, I guess.”

I smile. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“So if we were able to be together, we would make stuff like that work.”

“By living as far away from family as possible,” I say.

He laughs again. “Sounds like a plan.”

It does sound like a plan.

But then I remember we’re playing the “what if” game, and none of that’s going to happen. My smile slowly fades until I’m lying there holding Shane remembering that our days are numbered. Three months from now, it’ll all be over.

Maybe he’s thinking the same thing, because we just lie there holding each other for a very long time, and neither one of us says a word.

All during the following week, the conversations at the apartment revolve around Chloe and Brad’s upcoming nuptials. The girls and I spend hours combing through Pinterest and pinning ideas onto boards for dresses, decorations, food, and honeymoon ideas.

When I’m with them and participating, it’s fun.

I’m happy for Chloe and happy to see the glow on her face. She and Brad have been together for a long time and she was starting to really stress about it. Now she’s happy, and that makes me happy.

It’s when I’m on my way to Shane’s that it all catches up to me. Chloe gets to not only have her relationship with Brad out in the open, but she gets to keep him forever. School is over in six weeks and my lease is up in ten.

I can’t even bring myself to look for new apartments online. I’ll do that next week.

Which is what I said last week, but still.

All I want right now is to get to Shane’s and be in his arms and pretend none of this is happening.

When I pull into the drive, he’s leaning against the garage waiting for me, as he sometimes does. His arms are folded over his chest and he’s giving me the most heart-stopping sexy look.

I smile broadly at the sight of him. Oh, I needed this greeting today. Like magic, my stress and worry melts away.

As I get out of the car, he saunters over to me.

“Hey, sexy,” I say with a grin. “Did you miss me?”

“Hm-hmmm,” he says. “It’s been too long.”

It’s only been sixteen hours, but I feel the same way.

As he brings his hands to my upper arms, looking ready to give me a kiss, his eyes dart to the road behind me.

“What the hell?” he says.

I spin around. Just before Shane grabs me and pulls me out of sight, I see Justin Kirby in his red Charger, his arm extended out the open window, and a phone in his hand like he’s taking pictures.

As I’m yanked to the side and out of view of the street, I catch myself against Shane’s chest. We look at each other with horrified eyes as we hear the car speeding away, tires squealing.

I don’t stay.

When I get back to the apartment, the only ones still there are Chloe and Ashley. I immediately tell them what happened.

We’re gathered in the living room; they’re both on the couch, but I’m sitting cross legged on the floor, my arms and chin resting on the coffee table. I don’t have the energy to get into a regular seat.

“I’m telling you, that guy’s been stalking you,” Ashley says.

“Or he started to after he saw the two of you at the pool before break,” Chloe says.

I bury my head in my arms. “It doesn’t matter. What’s he going to do with those pictures? This is driving me crazy.”

“That rat bastard better not try to blackmail you,” Chloe says, “or I’m gonna kick his ass.”

I’m still terrified, but I appreciate Chloe’s fervor, since Sam’s not here to provide it.

But as I think about it, I realize Chloe may be on to something. That bastard could want something. I can think of only two things Justin Kirby might want from me: sex or money. Or maybe both.

I groan.

“Maybe nothing will happen,” Ashley says. “Maybe he just wants to be able to torment you more?”

We all know she’s grasping at straws, but no one seems to want to say so.

Sam and Jack walk through the door with sober expressions. Their eyes land on me and they exchange ominous glances.

I straighten as Jack quietly closes the door and Sam comes up to me. She kneels down.

“I’m so sorry about the pictures,” she says.

My skin starts pricking horribly. “How do you know about the pictures?” I ask.

Her eyes widen, then she looks to Chloe and Ashley.

Jack steps away from the door. “You didn’t see?”

“Oh god, what?” I ask. “See what?”

Sam pulls out her phone and hands it to me. Chloe and Ashley scramble off the couch to look over my shoulders.

“Oh my god,” Chloe says.

There on the Hartman College Student page—the biggest, most active social media group of Hartman students in existence—is an album of pictures. There’s four in all.

The first is Shane walking toward me with that sexy look on his face. I’m in the photo too, but my back is to the camera and not really identifiable. The second is Shane’s hands on my arms, looking like he’s ready to kiss me. The third is a little blurry. It’s when he was starting to turn away, but you can make out the shocked expression on his face just fine. The last is just me, facing the camera now and looking caught as well.

The post above the album reads: “Sex Scandal at Hartman?? (Thanks to an anonymous source for these photos.)”

There are 290 likes and 157 comments.

The blood rushes out of my head. I give Sam her phone before lying all the way back on the floor. “Oh my god.”

No one says anything for a moment. What is there to say?

I stare at the ceiling, noticing the dust on the air conditioning vent placed high on the wall. I vaguely think how strange it is that I would notice a thing like that at a time like this, but I can’t take my eyes off it.

“Look,” Ashley says. “Justin Kirby isn’t even the one who posted them. Bartholomew Russell did.”

“Justin Kirby?” Sam says heatedly. “What’s that asshole got to do with it?”

“He’s the one who took the pictures,” Ashley says.

“God I
hate
that guy,” Sam says, then the room falls quiet for a moment. “Bart? Isn’t that his frat buddy?” Sam asks.

“Yeah,” Jack says quietly.

I glance at Chloe and Ashley, huddled around Sam’s phone, and can tell they’re reading the comments.

“What are people saying?” I ask, going back to the vent near the ceiling.

There’s a pause.

“That good, huh?”

Jack disappears into the kitchen. How can he eat at a time like this?

“You don’t need to listen to a bunch of ass hats,” Sam says.

“Uh huh.”

“These pictures don’t even really
prove
anything,” she continues. “I mean, yeah, it looks kinda bad, but it’s not like they got a shot with his wanger inside you or something.”

“Nice, Sam,” Jack says, coming back out of the kitchen with a glass of what looks like whiskey. “Come on, honey,” he says to me. “It’ll help you feel better.”

“I don’t want to feel better,” I say, not moving. “And you’re blocking my view of the vent.”

He furrows his brows and looks up behind him.

I close my eyes.

“Some chocolate?” he asks. “Ice cream?”

“Jack,” Sam says softly.

“Well if you’re dolling out favors,” Chloe says, “how about kicking Justin Kirby’s ass for us?”

“Done!” Jack says and I hear him set the glass down on the table hard.

“Jack, stop,” I say, still looking at the ceiling.

Silence fills the room again. I pull myself into a sitting position and look blankly at Sam.

With a somber expression, she picks up the glass and holds it out to me.

I take it and toss it back, the whiskey burning my throat. I pinch my eyes shut and exhale forcefully.

“Do you think Shane’s seen it?” Chloe asks.

Oh geez.

I jump up and get my purse. There are no calls or texts from him. This isn’t a texting sort of moment, so I try calling but it goes to voicemail.

I almost leave a message, but then a feeling of paranoia sweeps over me. What if somebody checks his messages? Would that be more proof?

I end the call without leaving a message and look at my phone. I decide to send a text after all.

Me:
Please call.

I hit send, feeling even more nervous. Am I just piling on damning evidence? Then again, if someone searches his phone, that’s not the text we would need to worry about. I don’t know if anybody
would
be searching his phone.

God, I’m a jumble of nerves. “He could lose his job,” I say.

“I don’t think so,” Jack says. “Like Sam said, it’s not really proof. He might have to answer for this, but they can’t do anything without solid evidence.”

Chloe and Ashley nod their heads in agreement. “Even some of the commenters were saying it doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”

“Really?” I ask hopefully.

“Not... a lot... but yeah. Some. It’s a valid point of view.”

I guess. I look at my phone, wishing Shane would call me.

An hour later, we’ve finished off the pizzas we ordered (at least, they did, since I don’t have much of an appetite) and we’re watching a movie. To help distract me, they said.

It’s not really working.

I’ve managed to not text Shane for some time, but can’t resist any longer.

Me:
Will you please call me?

Why isn’t he calling? Does he know what’s happened? If he does, is he mad at me? I’m the one who seduced him to start with. I’m the one who started this whole fucking thing.

We finish the movie and are halfway through another when my phone finally rings.

“It’s him!”

Jack hits the mute button on the TV and the room falls silent as I answer. “Shane?”

“Hi.” His voice is dull.

“Did you see—”

“I saw.”

“God, I’m so sorry Shane. This is all my fault.”

“No,” he says, his voice still dull. “It’s not.”

“How long have you known? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. Did someone show it to you?”

“Uh... yeah. Dean Jennings.”

I look at Sam with a mortified expression. They’re all watching me, waiting.

“What?” I ask.

“Dean Jennings called me into his office and pulled it up on his computer.”

My head is spinning. This is the worst thing that could’ve happened. I grip Sam’s arm and try to think of a way out of what he’s saying. “But the pictures don’t really show anything. There’s no proof—”

“I told him.”

All the blood in my body plummets to the floor. There’s a rushing sound pulsing in my ear. “You what?”

“He asked me point blank if we were having an affair.”

“Oh my god.” I let my head fall into my hand. Of all the scenarios I played out in my mind tonight, why didn’t I see this one coming? The most obvious of all.

“I just... couldn’t do it any more, Isabella. I’m done.”

Done with what? Lying to everybody? Or done with me?

“So...” I say slowly. I don’t know what to say. “What does that mean? What did he say?”

“I’m suspended pending his investigation, but most likely he’ll let me go.”

My head snaps up. “What?”

“I just thought you’d want to know.”

“No!”

“Isabella.”

His tone stops me cold.

“I really don’t want to talk right now,” he says slowly, and I hear it in his voice. He does sound done. Done with everything. “Alright?”