2 Whispering Read Online Free

Paris’ longtime boyfriend. She had been hedging about ending their union for the last few weeks – mainly because she’d started a flirtation with a guy who lives a few floors below us. Of course, the fact that Mike had nicknamed himself “Boots” hadn’t helped.
    “We’re still together,” Paris said shortly.
    “Really?” I was actually surprised by this. I didn’t get his appeal at all – and the new nickname just made matters worse.
    “I don’t want to throw the relationship away without giving it a chance,” Paris said honestly.
    “What about Mark?” Mark was the slacker skateboarder that had piqued Paris’ interest the minute he had sat down with us at lunch one day.
    “Mark?” Brittany looked up from the floor in surprise. “Mark Doyle?”
    “Yeah,” I brushed off Brittany’s question impatiently.
    “My Mark Doyle?”
    “Your Mark Doyle?” I turned on Brittany in surprise. “Since when is he your Mark Doyle?”
    “Well, we did go to high school together,” she reminded me.
    Something told me Mark and his ever-present bag of pot didn’t run in the same clique as Brittany and her matching sweater sets. “I didn’t realize you guys were such good friends,” I said pointedly.
    “Well, we are,” Brittany lied.
    “You’re so full of it,” I practically exploded. “You just don’t want Paris and him to date and this is your way of combating it.”
    “I’m staying with Mike,” Paris interjected, trying to defuse the situation. I don’t think she wanted to live in the middle of a war zone over the next few months. I didn’t blame her – but I couldn’t take much more of Brittany’s attitude. Of course, the truth is, my attitude wasn’t exactly stellar either.
    “See, she’s staying with Mike,” Brittany said prissily.
    “That still doesn’t negate the fact that you don’t even like Mark,” I pointed out. “You just don’t want Paris to have him.”
    “That’s simply not true,” Brittany said, pressing a photo of the ugliest purse I’d ever seen onto her focus board.
    I felt like shoving truth right up her . . . thankfully for Paris, I never got to finish the thought because there was a knock at the door.
    We all looked up to see the guys from across the hall standing in the doorway. “Oh, good, you guys are back,” said Rick No. 1 – there were two Ricks living in the same room. One was annoying – that would be Rick No. 2 – and the other looked like a hot little frat boy in training.
    “Hi, Rick,” Brittany said breathlessly.
    I bet you can’t guess which one Brittany was crushing on.
    “So how was everyone’s break?” Rick No. 1’s gaze met mine. He was well aware of Brittany’s crush on him – and it made him uncomfortable.
    “Fine,” I said dismissively.
    “Mine was tremendous,” Brittany interjected excitedly. “I went to the art museum in Detroit. It was a great learning experience.”
    “That sounds . . . great,” Rick No. 1 choked out.
    “I want to go there, too,” Rick No. 2 said.
    He really was more Brittany’s speed; I don’t know why she couldn’t fixate on him. He even wore sweater vests in a complementary color palette to her own closet offerings.
    “There was a special exhibit on shoes through the ages,” Brittany said helpfully. “It was fascinating.”
    Unless it was an entire room full of Converse, that sounded like a nightmare.
    “So, what’s going on tonight?” I desperately needed to change the subject before it turned to Renaissance art or something equally snore inducing and I really lost my mind.
    “We’re going to a house party off campus,” Rick No. 1 said. “We wanted to know if you guys wanted to go?”
    “Where is it?” Brittany asked.
    “Some house on Franklin,” Rick No. 1 shrugged. “We have an address.”
    “You don’t know who lives there?” Brittany looked concerned. “What if they’re perverts?”
    “Then I hope they’re hot women,” Rick No. 1 joked.
    Brittany pursed her lips.