Page 45

Nobody should’ve been smoking, not when designated smoking spots peppered the campus grounds. Apprehension kicked up my spine, and my knees locked with the inexplicable urge to turn on my heel. I pushed through it, rolling my eyes at myself.

You’re being paranoid.

Bronze fixtures gleamed against marble, and the mini-chandelier illuminated four girls huddled by the arched window, passing a cigarette between them, heads close together as if they were discussing the latest gossip.

They belonged on a movie set, with their perfectly styled hair and make-up that was somehow both subtle and too glamorous for a weekday afternoon.

My throat worked as I reached out to straighten my blazer before I stopped myself halfway and settled for brushing an invisible speck of dirt off the sleeve instead.

At the centre stood Tiffany, peering down her long regal nose at me, like I was a bug that had crawled out of the sewers.

Rage kicked up inside me, turning from a slow simmer to a boil in a second as the party flashed through my mind, and strong dislike pulled my features into a frown.

I should’ve just backed out, found another bathroom, but the impulse felt like a quiet defeat of sorts. And I was fed up with backing down left, right, and centre. So I lifted my chin and stepped further inside, sealing my own fate.

Tiffany said something to the one on her right, and the blonde’s eyes glittered, growing dark and entirely too amused. My stomach lurched violently, and I cursed myself for my empty bravado.

My feet staggered backwards a step, before my back pressed against a chest. The fifth member of their group must have sneaked behind me from a stall. Before I could blink, a hard shove against my shoulder blades brought me straight into their midst.

Shit!

But it wasn’t Tiffany who pushed off the wall towards me, but the blonde—Chloe—notorious for sweet-talking her way out of trouble one moment, and eviscerating someone with the same tongue, the next. She looked like a stunning grown-up girl scout, with big brown eyes and a natural pout that had fooled plenty, from what I’d heard.

As she stalked closer, a bead of cool sweat slithered down my spine, and my shoulders drew up, as if they could protect me.

“Look who’s here. Are you lost, sweetheart?”

Her overly sweet tone didn’t fully hide the cruel line of her smile. She took a deliberately slow drag of her cigarette, before she blew it all in my face.

My spine stiffened and my lungs protested, but I forced myself not to react. A peek over my shoulder told me the girl keeping watch by the door hadn’t budged.

“No, just had to pee.” I shrugged.

Shifting my weight, I glanced around as my mind scrambled to scrape together a plan—a feat that proved difficult, with all the alarm bells ringing in my ears.

“You do look lost to me.” Another drag as she gave me a slow once-over that reminded me horribly of somebody else.

“The janitor’s loo’s down the hall, sweetheart,” she snickered, smothering me with smoke again.

I decided right then and there I hated that nickname.

A petite woman with a sharp bob tipped her head back and laughed, red lips pulling away from perfect white teeth. The redhead who’d refused to work with me a week ago cackled and the rest followed suit. The sound of their cruel laughter shattered against pale walls, jagged shards that hurt and stabbed my insides with every breath.

“That’s true, silly me.” I forced myself to smile back.

The mirth froze on her lips. “Trying to be funny now?”

The sweetheart facade cracked, revealing something ugly underneath.

“You want to know what I think?” She ambled closer, cigarette dangling precariously close to my face, teetering between long perfectly manicured fingers.

My throat worked as my gaze ping-ponged from the cherry-red glow to her face, as if losing sight of either would provoke an attack. I wasn’t sure how far they were willing to go, but I didn’t much like the way her eyes had gone pitch black.

I smothered a gasp behind a stiff smile as an idea flashed through me. Stupid, reckless.

“Do tell,” I said, brimming with put-on curiosity.

Then, as an afterthought, “Can I have a drag first?”