Page 47 of Distorted Obsession

“Yeah. I’d really like that,” I offer.

“Eves, you ready?” Paisley asks, tapping on my room door.

Peering down at the time, I see it’s almost time for practice. “Cal, I gotta go. I can’t wait to talk finally.”

He confirms that he’ll make the reservations, then disconnects the call.

“Yeah. One sec,” I shout, springing from my bed. I grab my shirt off the back of my chair, pull it over my head, and grab my volleyball bag before sliding my feet into a pair of white Crocs.

“One of these days, you’ll be on time,” Paisley quips.

“Now, you just sound like my mom, and there’s no reason for all of that. We still have forty-five minutes before practice even begins,” I mutter, then rush out of my room. “See, I’m ready.”

Paisley chuckles but says nothing else as we join the rest of our friends.

We barely make it downstairs and out the front door of our dorm when we’re greeted by Portia’s tagalongs sans their leader.

“The sky must be falling. You lot can put your collective brain cells together to function without your owner,” Cammy snipes,and I smother a grin. She never misses an opportunity to take verbal jabs at these bitches.

Tricia rolls her eyes. “You stupid cunt. Wait ’til I get my hands on you!”

“Oh no. I am so scared. The big, bad Tricia has threatened me. What will I ever do now? I may as well drop out of school to escape the clutches of an utter and complete waste of fucking space,” Cammy snarks. We all burst into laughter, failing to school our features at her sass this time.

“I’m going to—” Tricia begins, but she’s immediately cut off.

“What? Are you going to tell me that you don’t like me?” Camiel taunts, narrowing her gaze at Tricia. “That’s okay, babes. I’m for a more refined palate.”

Tricia’s face blooms red as snickers ring out. “Who do you fucking think you’re talking to, bitch?”

Candace tugs at her arm, “Trish, let’s just go. These bitches aren’t worth our time.”

“The only?—”

The blaring of sirens interrupts Jade, grabbing all of our attention.

A fire truck drives past, followed by an ambulance and campus police.

“What the fuck is going on?” Tricia mutters as we see them stop in front of the dorms adjacent to where we’re standing.

Turning, my gaze follows as first responders run into the building.

“Does anyone know what’s going on?” Ayana probes as she walks over to us.

I shake my head. “No clue. They just arrived.”

Time passes, and a crowd begins to form, and with it comes chatter of possibilities.

“Someone says they found a student unresponsive,” a person to our left states.

My eyes furrow.

“Said it was some drug overdose,” another person announces.

Another ten minutes tick by, but no one exits the building.

Tires screech, causing my head to snap toward the sound, and then a woman bolts from the matte-black Porsche Cayenne.

“Isn’t that Portia’s mom?” Candace chokes out.

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