Page 98 of Whispers of Wisteria
“Hold this.” I didn’t look at him as I pushed my bag into his arms, and I ignored him as he fumbled not to drop it on the dirty floor.
I could not allow this to stand. If anyoneneeded to bring Miles clothing, it would beme.
I strode through the gymnasium, cutting through the practice. This was more important. Urgent, even. My thoughts roared as she threw the shirt at his face, then giggled as she twirled a lock of her hair around her finger.
Why would youthrowit? Now it was just going to get dirty with face sweat.
The incompetence was astounding.
I’d rolled my sleeves past my elbows before I was even halfway across the room.
Perhaps this was the fabled Heather. The stalker with a restraining order.
The one he’d once had sexual relations with.
I’d be sorely disappointed if it were. Miles seemed only mildly put out, not cowering in fear, as he tried to push the clothing back at her. It was not the look of a man terrified of an ex-lover.
But if it wasn’t Heather, then who?
“Miles.” I moved to his side. I crossed my arms as I glared at the other woman. “Who’s your friend?”
The witch yelped as he jumped and tossed the offending garment into the air. “Bianca!” He turned towards me, his face paling. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Oh…” My short burst of confidence faltered. I stepped back, hurt.
Did he not want me here?
“Don’t misunderstand!” Miles’s panic faded, and he grasped my hands. “I’m happy to see you. I’m just surprised. How did you…” He looked past me, and his fingers tightened over mine. “Oh,Anthony.”
“Hello to you too.” Anthony joined our circle, looking relaxed with my purse thrown over his shoulder. “Looks like you need some help.”
“What are you talking about?” Miles’s voice took on a strange, high-pitched tenor. “I do not need—”
“Who isshe, Miles?” The now offering-less woman eyed me in suspicion. But this time, she was no longer alone. A fellow fan joined her for moral support.
Miles’s face turned bright red, and after shooting one last glare at Anthony, he grabbed my elbow and pulled me to hisside. It was a good thing too, because now that the adrenaline had faded, the crippling grip of terror was beginning to take shape in my thoughts.
What had I done? I’d been so blinded by emotion that I’d thrown myselfinto the spotlight.
“Hello…” Miles addressed the rabble. “Everyone. This is Bianca Dubois.”
“Dubois!” Someone gasped, and I stared as the twittering started.
“I knew I recognized her.”
“That explains why she’s been drinking all the coffee; they must have a lot of late-night study sessions,” someone off to the right said.
And the last, a woman on the left: “She’s so lucky to be married to Professor Dubois. I’d love for him to tutor me every night, all night.”
The bile was thick in my throat—if I didn’t escape soon, I was going to throw up in front of all these people. I wasn’t sure what was worse: their envious looks or the super-gross rumors.
And who would want to study anything withBryce? I might not loathe him anymore, but his performance in the classroom had been lackluster.
How was it possible for a room to be both hot and cold?
“So, please, be nice to her,” Miles said, and my face grew even warmer.
Why did this feel so wrong?
