AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Delivery for Miss Shiloh Wilson,” he announces gleefully, holding out a clipboard. “Sign here, please.”
I scribble my signature absentmindedly, acutely aware of the whispers and giggles erupting from the students who've begun filtering into the classroom. Heat creeps up my neck as I bid Lloyd farewell with a mumbled thanks.
“Ooh, Miss Wilson! Who are those from?” Liz, the most notoriously popular–and very mean–girl from the junior class squeals as she saunters through the door.
“That's none of your business,” I reply evenly, trying my best to keep my tone light while I’m tempted to tell her to fuck right off.
That’s a little dramatic.
I clear my throat, silently urging myself to get a grip. It’s not Liz’s fault my panties are in such a twist. No, that victory lies solely in the hands of the stepbrother I let pull down an entirely different pair last night.
Not thinking about it. I amnotthinking about it.
“Um, okay, everyone take your seats as quickly as possible, please. We've got a lot to cover today.”
As the class settles, I try to shove the flowers to the back of my mind. Easier said than done when they’re a looming gargantuan spectacle in the middle of my classroom. They haveto be from Dom. Some misguided peace offering, no doubt. What could the note possibly say?
‘Sorry for spilling my load inside you, I’ve realized that’s a pretty weird thing for a stepbrother to do. Let’s forget the whole thing ever happened?’
I shove the arrangement to the corner of my desk, determined not to let him throw me off balance when the day has barely begun. The last thing I want to think about today is the roleIplayed in the whole twisted mess.
The morning flies by in a flurry of Shakespeare quotes and grammar exercises. When the lunch bell rings I find myself alone in the classroom once again, staring at the damn flowers. Curiosity finally gets the better of me, and I pluck out the small envelope nestled among the blooms.
My fingers tremble slightly as I tear it open, bracing myself for whatever snarky message Dom's left for me. But as I unfold the card, I'm met with...nothing. It's completely blank. No name, no message, not even a florist's logo.
A chill runs down my spine. This isn't Dom's style at all. He'd never miss an opportunity to be smug or take credit for fucking with my head. So, who the hell sent these?
I'm still frowning at the empty card when a voice startles me back to reality. “Earth to Shiloh! You coming to lunch or what?”
I look up to see Luke leaning against the doorframe, his massive arms crossed over his chest and one blonde eyebrow raised comically high. “Sorry, yeah, I let myself get distracted. I’m coming now.”
I tuck the card into my pocket and follow him to the teacher's lounge, where the rest of our little group is already gathered. As soon as I sit down, I'm met with knowing grins.
“So,” Ruby leans in. “Spill it immediately. Who's the lucky guy?”
I blink, my mind as blank as that infernal card. “What?”
“Oh, come on,” she giggles. “The flowers? Half the school's talking about it already.”
“Oh, I... I don't know,” I admit, pulling out my sad excuse for a lunch–a slightly squashed peanut butter sandwich I threw together in my haste to leave the house this morning. “There wasn't a card.”
This response elicits a chorus of intrigued “Ooh”s from the group. I take a bite of my sandwich to avoid having to say more.
“Maybe you've got yourself a secret admirer,” Luke wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, causing Greyson to punch him playfully in the bicep. “About time, if you ask me. How long has it been since you've been on a date, anyway?”
I nearly choke on my mouthful of sticky bread. If they only knew what–or ratherwho–I’d done last night. But that thought only makes me feel nauseated. These are my friends. I should be able to tell them anything. And yet, that’s a secret I’ll be taking to my grave.
“I’m not holding out for some mystery man,” I finally manage. “Or any man, for that matter. I'm perfectly happy with my quiet little life here, and my books.”
“Amen to that,” Jemma pipes up. I can always count on her to echo such a sentiment.
The conversation mercifully shifts to other topics, the group clearly sensing my less-than-gleeful outlook on the whole subject. But my mind keeps wandering back, keeping me from fully hearing the conversation. The unanswered questions nag at me the entire lunch hour, until I’m convinced I’m losing my mind all over again.
As the bell signals the start of the next period, I hurriedly gather my things and power walk back to my classroom. As I lecture about the symbolism in "The Great Gatsby," my eyes keep darting to the gratuitous arrangement. While its cloying scent permeates the room, I can’t help but think of the cloakedfigure at Fairchild Manor. If some prankster out there is determined to fuck with me, they’re getting exactly what they want.
And if it’s not Dom, what the fuck did I do to deserve two psychos on my ass?
I catch a few students exchanging curious glances and have to resist the urge to snap at them that I’mtotally fucking fine. I force myself to focus on Fitzgerald's prose, on the green light at the end of Daisy's dock–on anything but those damn flowers.
