Page 147 of Party Girl: How a Naughty Omega Finds Love
ChapterForty
AVI
Class ends and I rush out, checking my phone for any updates. Asher texted me right after I finished my presentation. He told Whitney about the presentation. Aside from me mentioning I was writing a bit about her, he didn’t know what I had written. He didn’t know the intimate details and now she’s pissed. If I can get to her, I can explain and help her understand I didn’t use her for her story. That is, if she’ll listen to me.
Following the speed limits on the way home is annoying, but I won’t be the reason anyone else is hurt. I promised myself I’d never cause someone pain. Knowing Whitney is at home hurting destroys me. She’s probably assuming the worst. I know I would be. I grip the wheel a little tighter. By the time I make it home, my fingers ache and my stomach is churning with unease. I pull on my backpack and head toward the house. Asher meets me on the porch.
“Hey, man. She won’t come out of Trev’s bedroom.” His hair is a mess, like he’s been running his hands through it.
I shoulder check him as I pass. “What did you say to her?”
“Nothing. Well, not much. I only mentioned you wrote a paper.”
Trev and Hayden are sitting at the kitchen table. They’re usually off before I get home and tonight is no different. Trev’s covering his mouth with his hand, but he’s seething. Hayden drums his fingers on the table and manages to be more intimidating than Trev even though he’s a beta.
“You better fix this.”
I scoff. “I’m going to.”
Hayden nods. “Good. If she’s not better in twenty minutes, I’m going to kick your ass.”
“That won’t fix things,” I say, glaring at him as I make my way down the hall.
“Maybe not,” he calls after me, “but if it makes her happy, I’ll do it.”
Asshole. I shake my head and stop in front of Trev’s door. My heart is pounding in my chest and my hand shakes as I lift it and knock.
“Go away.”
Utter dejection coats her words.
“Can I explain? It’s not what you think.” I drop my forehead on the door. “Please, Whitney. Talk to me.”
The door wrenches open, and she gives me a scathing once over. The hate she’s sending my way doesn’t bother me, it’s the undercurrent of vulnerability that guts me. I suck in a lungful of her sour scent.
“Not what I think?” she finally says. “I’ll tell you exactly what I think. I think you saw an opportunity to practice what you’ve learned and you took advantage. Did the class love it when you told them about my trauma? Did they applaud you for being able to help with my panic attacks?”
“That’s not what it was about,” I say, sticking my hands in the pockets of my jeans.
“Then what was it? Tell me. What was the reason?”
“Can I come in?” I glance down the hall. The guys are all standing at the end of it, arms crossed over their chests. Their sympathetic anger is palpable.
She peeks down the hall and some of the anger bleeds from her face when she sees the rest of her mates. “Fine. You have five minutes.” Stepping aside, she glares at me as I enter Trev’s room.
“The paper I presented on was about linking common symptoms of a disorder with personal experiences.”
“Please, tell me how my personal experiences are your own.” She huffs and paces in front of me.
I sit on the bed to give her space and control of the room. “They’re not.”
“Exactly.” She stops and spears me with a look.
“I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but it might be better if you read the paper?” I slip my bag off my back and unzip it. “The first two pages go over the disorder and some of my own issues with it.” I hold the paper out for her to take. “The part about you is on the third page.”
* * *
WHITNEY
