4. Whitney

The glee riding Weston”s face is torture as he waits for me to answer. Maybe if I tell him enough, he”ll have some fucking pity on me. How could I be so stupid?

”He bumped into me in the cafeteria. I wasn”t paying attention and thought he was talking to me. He said I should come to the party with him, and it would be fun. When I said yes, he turned to me and pointed to the earbud in his ear.”

The broken bursts of laughter at my expense poke at my ego. ”Shit. What happened after that?”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment. ”He said, ‘Fuck it, be at the house by five. We can make a night of it. We can make shit happen.’”

”Quinn”s not a guy you”re supposed to be alone with. I wouldn”t even leave my pet goldfish alone with him.”

”As opposed to you?” I ask him. The force of him ramming that thick cock inside of me will stay with me for the next few days. My hands unintentionally reach up to rub my jaw.

”I”m sorry about that, Whitney. I got carried away. Can I ask you something?” His bushy black eyebrow quirks up.

”What?”

”Why didn”t you stop trying to have sex with me when I asked you to?”

Fear rips through me, as it”s a question I should have the answer to, but it makes me sound like a fucking predator.

”I was drunk, or drugged, whatever. Besides, I, uh, thought you didn”t mean it,” I admit.

Dread crushes fear as he taps his phone to stop it from recording. He waves it in his hand but scrolls to the video from last night with my tits on full display. He deletes it and then goes into the trash bin to delete the video forever.

”No one gets to see Whit”s tits but me. However, to keep you in line, I”ll keep this little confession to myself. It”s a shame that men”s claims of assault go unreported and are rarely taken seriously.”

”But you came?—”

”So did you,” he argues back. ”Now get your shit and let”s go to class. We”re going to be late, babe.”

I rummage through my stuff to put on jeans and a shirt that looks presentable. The glares of shock and whispers of surprise are hard to ignore as Weston walks with his arm draped around my shoulder.

He”s being affectionate, nuzzling against my neck and whispering in my ear, ”Make this shit believable, Whit, or everyone will know the degenerate pervert you are. Begging me for dick, taking it when I wouldn”t give it to you. Love me, Whitney.”

My stomach churns with the revolting decision ahead of me. I have no idea how far Weston”s willing to take this, to hang this over my head. I”ll be ruined, expelled, shit…I could go to fucking jail.

I face him, stopping at a fork in the path where people have to walk around us to get on their way. My mouth crashes against his, and I slip my tongue inside. I moan to let him know I”m into it and he does, too. The passion clouds my actions as I fall into the trap of letting his hands hold me, gripping my ass and squeezing with every swipe of our tongues over one another.

”Isn”t there a class or dorm room you guys can go to for that?” someone asks, walking by.

Weston pulls away with a smile. ”Perfect. Just like that.”

It”s twisted the way we fall into a rhythm so easily.

”Let”s go, babe.” His voice doesn”t possess an ounce of irony or disdain. I know his hatred for me is buried somewhere, begging for the right time to release it. I know he”s going to humiliate me. I just need to make it to graduation before that happens.

Weston is set on ruining my reputation over a misunderstanding. Every second glance in my direction has people questioning how I walk around, knowing that I made a mess in some poor guy”s bed. Every girl looking to get on Weston”s radar sinks to his level, calling me Shit-ney and making sure my social life is insufferable.

I don”t want to go home, to quit, and let these assholes run me out of a degree program I pay hard money to attend. I”ll just make it to graduation and be done with him, done with school, done with this shitty period in my life.

Weston walks me to class and kisses me on the lips before winking at me and disappearing into the crowd. I”m not in class long before a text comes to my phone through a social media app. The request is in vanish mode. I want to ignore it, possibly send it to the spam folder, but something tells me to open it. Of course, it”s from Weston.

Don”t forget to get me in with Daddy Adams, babe.

I snarl and go to delete the message, but it vanishes as soon as I touch the screen, showing that I read it.

”Psst,” a voice whispers next to me. Her name”s Claire if I remember, but I don”t talk to many students in this class. I”m certain she”s just trying to get my attention to have me pass a page of notes or something.

”What?” I whisper back. The professor looks in our direction. But with over a hundred students in the stadium seating classroom, he”s having a hard time narrowing down who”s talking.

”Are you really dating Weston Whitlock?” she asks.

”Yes,” I growl. It”s unbelievable how fast gossip spreads across campus.

”Oh wow. He, um, never seemed interested in you before, Shit-ney.” Claire reminds me why we don”t speak.

”Fuck you.” I try to think of a witty comeback or play on her name, but my mind goes blank.

Claire leans away to talk to her friend before leaning back to speak to me. ”No thanks, shit-stain. What do you have on him? You have to be blackmailing him to get someone like that as a notch on your bedpost.”

”Mind your business and leave me alone.” I get up to move my seat, but that gets the attention of everyone in the class.

”Can I help you, Miss Downing?” the professor asks.

”No, I”m sorry. I have to go,” I tell him and rush out of the room. The bridge of my nose burns with tears threatening to fall. I keep my head down, hoping to get to a handicapped bathroom where I can cry my face off in peace.

My fingers wrap around the strap of my bag tightly, my chest jittering with the floodgates of my misery threatening to burst open. The clicks of my shoes speed-walking down the hall take my mind to a place in my head where I can ignore everyone and everything.

It knocks the wind out of me when I bump into the hard chest of someone in my way. When I look up and see the softness of Harland Adam”s brown eyes, I burst.

”Hey, hey, come. Let”s not do this in the hall,” he says, leading me into his office. After he closes the door, he wraps his arms around me, rubbing my back gently. Once I get it out, he leans me away from him, using his thumb to wipe my tears.

”What”s the matter, Whit?” he asks. There”s a sternness in his voice.

”Dad,” I stutter. ”I can”t?—”

I pause to think. How much do I want to tell him? Maybe he can get me out of this shit with Weston, but Weston”s hatred for me is my fault and then I took advantage of him. What will my father think of me?

”Whitney, sit down and tell me what”s wrong.”

Harland Adams is tall, with the same color eyes he gifted me, but a lifetime of guilt sits behind them every time we speak. His white hair fluffs backward as his eyes avoid looking at me. I take the seat in front of his desk.

”I have to turn down the job you want to give me.”

”Oh? I hope that”s not what has you so upset.”

I lean into that. ”It is. I didn”t want to disappoint you. You”ve been doing so much for me to make up for not being there when I was a kid and I just…I just don”t want to fuck this opportunity up.”

”Whitney, I”m doing all of this on your terms. No one knows that we”re father and daughter. You pay for that with the rumors that spread about you. I think it”s time we stop this charade and let everyone know?—”

”No. My life is hard enough as it is. I don”t know what will be worse—them thinking I fucked you for the job or them knowing you”re my dad and gave it to me. Either way, I”m fucked. Just give the position away or something.”

”Absolutely not. I made the position for you. Wait a minute. You said give it away. To whom?”

”Weston Whitlock?—”

This time, his laughter echoes around the room. ”I”m not giving anything to that cheating little shit. Besides, isn”t he one of the assholes behind these idiots calling you names?”

”He saved me last night,” I tell him the partial truth. ”We talked things out, and we”re thinking about seeing each other. No, we are going to see each other.”

”No.” His tone is final, but he pulls out his phone and swipes the screen, obviously reaching out to someone. ”You”re going to dinner tonight with Richard Ballinger. I don”t want to know what strings Weston pulled to get you in my office with this bullshit, but it”s over.”

”You can”t tell me who to date. He saved my life. Some jock dumped a bunch of shit in my drink, and Weston kept me safe. He didn”t touch me and let me sleep it off on his couch.”

”It”s just a tactic to get you to do this since I called him out yesterday at that sham of a career fair. A fair I was only at by your request.”

”You don”t have to give him the job, Dad. Just give him an interview to make it look like you”re not screwing him over because he”s been mean to me. Besides, with us dating, it will dim down those rumors about me fucking professors.”

”Fine, he”ll get an interview as long as you go to dinner with Richard. Don”t embarrass me, Whitney. The Ballinger family is important to my business. Have fun. Now go get yourself cleaned up. We”ll talk tomorrow.”