Page 92 of Still Yours
The last thing either of us needs is to complicate our current situation with more feelings.
I wait for the front door to open and close before slamming my palm into the kitchen door, keeping my hand there as I lower my head and rest it on the inside of my arm, my pent-up frustration having nowhere to go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Noa
The dying grass sparkles with frost in the rising sunlight, telling of an incoming snowfall. I look up at the sky as I stretch, as if the gray-blue sky can tell me when it’ll burst open with snowflakes.
Snow on Christmas would be amazing. Mrs. Stalinski would love it. I send a prayer into the morning sky asking for a snow day before picking up my feet and taking off.
It takes at least a mile before I find my breath and can focus on the audiobook I have playing in my earbuds. The tightness in my chest changes from a burn to a tolerable ache and my muscles warm, pulsing with action as I jog through the neighborhood.
I’m in the zone, relaxing into my thoughts and allowing my subconscious to work through the tougher aspects of my life, when a flash catches my eye.
I blink, and it’s gone. It occurred in my peripheral vision, and I’m thinking I imagined it when it happens again.
My steps slow. When I notice movement behind the hedges bordering the nearby park—deserted at this time of day because of the time of day and chilly weather—I pull my earbuds out.
“Noa-Lynn Shaw!”
I jolt at the unfamiliar,loudcry of my name.
“Miss Shaw!”
Someone else shouts my name from a different direction. My head jerk toward it.
Rushing feet follow, and suddenly, I’m cornered in the middle of the road.
“Miss Shaw, do you care to comment on the status of your current relationship with Stone Williams?”
“Can you confirm you’re together?”
“Are you aware of his playboy status, assault record, and choosing to commit to him, anyway? Wouldn’t you call that once shamed, twice burned?”
Cameras flash. I wince.
Men in dark clothing surround me. Not one of them sounds nice.
I do a slow spin, my eyes stretched wide in both shock and terror as phones focus on me, cameras zoom in, and voices shout over each other.
“How do you know who I am?” My question is shallow and breathy from my run. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“An anonymous tip came in.”
“I can’t disclose my source,” another one chimes in.
“Fact remains, someone has outed you as Stone’s new fling and next scandal. Everyone loves controversy, girl, so get ready.”
“Smile!”
Flash.
“N-No comment,” I stutter out while holding an arm up over my face. I try to break out of the circle, but I’m held back as they crowd in. “I said no comment! Leave me alone!”
“One last question. Is it true he asked you to abort your pregnancy so he could avoid a scandal and become successful?”
I freeze.
