24
GAVIN
Whitley looked flustered when she returned to me. No amount of gentle cajoling could get her to explain what had happened. She just laughed and played it off, quickly changing the subject.
I didn’t know what it was about.
But it couldn’t be good.
She was stiff in my arms the rest of the night. As if uncomfortable to be there, when she’d been nothing but overly willing since we’d agreed to date. Whoever had said something to her, they’d certainly be hearing from me when I found out what they’d said.
Even Court noticed.
When we finished for the night and were heading back toward the cars, Whitley clung to English’s arm and was whispering furtively in her ear.
“What’s up with that one?” Court asked.
“I wish I knew,” I told him.
“Thought you were getting along.”
“We were.”
