Chapter 16
Hadley
Dustin Slater was kissing me.
Dustin Slater was kissing me, and once again I had no warning. His mouth was on mine, his hand cupping the back of my neck, and he kissed me like he had all the time in the world and decided to use it.
The worst part? I was kissing him back.
My hands were gripping his hoodie, and I was pulling him closer. My head was angled so he could deepen the kiss, and I was two seconds from pulling him down to the ground and riding him like a stallion.
I heard a snort and had no idea who it was, but slowly, Dustin pulled back, his head dipping again to give me a light kiss, and then he stepped back, looking up and down the path. When he looked back at me, he actually seemed surprised that I looked breathless.
I was breathless.
He just kissed me like I was the last person he’d ever get to kiss. And he looked . . . completely fine. I blinked, scrubbing my lips with the back of my hand as I threatened myself with physical violence if my heart rate didn’t calm down.
“What was that?” I demanded.
“Coach Merriman,” he said, looking down the path again. “Look, here isn’t a good idea. Do you have somewhere we can go?”
I gaped at him. “Is this your way of having sex with me?”
He genuinely looked bewildered. “What?” He was shaking his head and acting like he didn’t just give me one of the best kisses of my life. “I swear you’re tripping, Peterson.” He jerked his thumb to the mouth of the path. “Did you see Coach?”
I shook my head, and he looked genuinely relieved.
“Good,” he said with a nod. “He recognized me, but I think I managed to shield you.” His teeth worried at his bottom lip as he looked back up the path. “We’re too open here. I can’t keep kissing you every time someone passes.”
“Why?”
“What?”
“What?”
Dear Lord, kill me now.
“You want me to kiss you?” He didn’t look like he would ever kiss me again; in fact, he looked like a man who was severely questioning his own judgment.
“I do not want you to kiss me again. Or ever.”
He smirked, stepping closer. He looked gorgeous. Backward cap, dark eyes glistening with promise, and that panty-dropping smirk. That — that look right there — is why he got women.
God, what a dick.
Dustin licked his bottom lip, dipping his head slightly. “Baby, when I can still taste how sweet you are, maybe stop the shit, hmm?”
See, I shouldn’t be reacting to that.
The butterflies in my stomach shouldn’t be swooping around like that. I was not someone who got butterflies in her stomach. In fact, the only fluttering my stomach should be doing was warning me that it was about to vomit.
“Baby,” I whispered, raising up a little. “You kiss me again without my permission, and I’ll make it so you get called Dustina next time you’re in a locker room.”
The bastard snickered. “Dustina?” He laughed, taking a step back. “That’s funny.” He grinned at me. “You’re funny, Peterson.”
Whatever.
“You kissed me because you thought your coach saw us?” It was time to get back to the matter at hand.
“Yeah.” He nodded, looking back at the top of the path. “I’m sure it was him, and considering I got warned to stay away from you this afternoon, I think being seen with you may be a problem.” He looked back at me. “You got somewhere?”
“You’re not coming home with me,” I told him flatly.
He rolled his eyes. “Obviously.” He shuddered.
Shuddered.
My back teeth ground against each other. “Did you just shudder?”
He shrugged impatiently. “Can we move this along?”
“You have more to tell me?”
“No, I just enjoy your company.”
“And you said I was the funny one,” I snarked. “I have an area I like in the library, it’s on the second floor. Back of the philosophy section. It’s got one chair, and smells kinda funky . . .”
“And this is where you go to relax?” he asked me doubtfully.
“Fuck you, Slater. Just meet me there in five minutes, okay?” I started to walk away. “Wait, this is definitely worth my time?” I asked him. “It’s more than grade coasting?”
“It’s more than that,” he conceded reluctantly.
“Good. I’d hate for the last twenty minutes to be a waste of my time.” I turned and walked away from him. His hand grabbed my arm. “What?” I snapped.
“Phone,” he demanded.
“Why?”
“So you can tell me if the weird-smelling nook you covet is empty or not.”
Oh, well, that made sense. I handed my phone over, and he punched in his number.
“I resent the term covet in that context,” I muttered when he handed my phone back to me. I pressed call, then canceled the call. “Now you’ve got mine.” I stepped back. “Five minutes, Slater.”
I pretended I didn’t hear his mumbled “Can’t wait” as I walked away.
The library was busy, and I had a sinking suspicion my nook was going to be occupied when I got there. It was, and I grumbled about being right all the time.
My phone buzzed with a text.
Sexy AFWR: Well?
Me: What does this name mean? Sexy what? Also no.
Sexy AFWR: sexy as fuck wide receiver
Me: There’s something wrong with you
Me: The corner’s busy. I can’t think of anywhere else.
Sexy AFWR: Think harder
Me: Why don’t you try and think harder. Or does thinking hurt you too much?
There was no response. I didn’t know what to do now. Did I go back outside? Did I loiter? Loitering was bad; there were already too many people looking my way and sniggering. Fuck, I forgot about the video.
Me: Scratch the library, too many people are looking at me after . . . well, you know
Sexy AFWR: Then we don’t do this here
I hated to agree with him.
Me: I live in the apartments across from campus. Number 202. Third floor. Apartment E.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Sexy AFWR: You just gave me your address
Me: I’m aware. I need ten minutes to get there and deal with Milly
The reply came slower this time.
Sexy AFWR: I’ll be there at nine
Me: This is not a date! Don’t expect anything
The response was immediate.
Sexy AFWR: Relax. I’m bringing someone with me.
Someone?
Me: Who?
The dots flashed once. Then vanished. He didn’t answer.
Of course he didn’t.
I hurried home, my mind racing and replaying our entire conversation. I didn’t dwell on the kiss. Nope. Didn’t think about it once. Not once. Ten times, maybe . . .
I groaned as I crossed the street. He’d tell me what he knew, and I’d share what I learned. We’d either part ways or . . .
Or what?
What the heck was Dustin Slater going to do? He could tell me what he knew, as an informant. A confidential informant. The story was still mine to tell. Mine to research. He wouldn’t be sitting beside me at night, making print copy. After this conversation, it was unlikely we’d speak again.
I took the stairs to my apartment two at a time. At the door, Milly and I did the ‘welcome home, you’re not getting out’ dance, and then I made a pot of coffee because it was only seven thirty, and I flatly refused to clean my apartment while I waited for him.
“Will he bring the quarterback?” I wondered.
The thought was delicious.
If the QB knew . . . God, that was a story. Would he go on record? I chewed my lip in anticipation.
“Please, please let it be Spence,” I muttered as I fed Milly. She gave me a disgusted look when I placed her food bowl down, and I pretended I didn’t see the accusing glare that she wasn’t getting a tin of tuna tonight, but actual cat food.
“The inhumanity,” I scoffed, “that I’d serve the cat actual cat food. Imagine the headlines.”
There are a few harsh home truths I know about myself that I’m not entirely proud of.
One, I will cry at a commercial at the drop of a hat, but I don’t cry at funerals. I will focus on the negatives rather than embrace the positives. And I am, without a doubt, the worst person when it comes to waiting.
I mean — the worst.
The ninety minutes until Dustin Slater knocked on my door were excruciating. I felt every second tick past in slow motion. Had ninety minutes always been so long?
I heard the heavy tread of someone coming up the stairs, and the lighter sound of another. The QB was light on his feet? Huh. Didn’t expect that.
He rapped his knuckles against the door in a solid, businesslike fashion. I imagined policemen had the same style of knock.
I scooped up Milly, much to her disgust, and opened the door. Dustin looked at me, looked at the cat, and brushed past me without a word.
Not the quarterback.
Not even the linebacker.
I gaped at the blonde-haired woman in front of me. Hair tied back, a cap on her head, like Dustin, an oversized ’Bama hoodie that looked like a man’s, and a pair of skinny jeans.
“Savannah Cole?”
The dean’s daughter was on my doorstep. Her dad put me on unofficial academic probation, and she was here. I wasn’t sure I liked that.
She smiled at me. “Hey. Is it okay if I come in?”
Before I could make the decision, Dustin pulled the door open wider, and since I was holding on to the handle, I went with the door, stepping into his hard body, then jerking away from him as if he’d scalded me.
By the time I’d turned to glare at him, he was already closing the door, and she was inside my space.
My apartment is compact.
It’s not meant for three people. It’s a struggle for two people. Three was definitely a crowd. I had one couch. It was a two-seater, and Dustin had already sat down, and factoring in his man-spread, there was nowhere else for the dean’s daughter to sit, or me.
She didn’t seem to mind. She took a few steps to the window and looked out. “This looks like a window seat. Can I?”
It wasn’t. It was just a largeish ledge. She was being polite.
“If Slater closed his legs, you’d be able to sit there,” I said with a not-so-subtle glare at him.
“Oh . . .” She hesitated. “I’m actually allergic to cats,” she confessed. “I was hoping the window would help.”
“Shit.” I darted forward, removing the folded blanket. “That’s actually Milly’s spot,” I told her. “Possibly the worst place to sit.” I opened the window a tiny fraction. “I can’t open it, or Little Miss Adventure will sneak out.”
“Is that why she’s only got three legs?”
I turned to look at Dustin, my eyes wide. “We don’t talk about that when she can hear,” I hissed at him.
He sucked his teeth, eyes widening as he nodded. “Yeah, right. Of course, you’d be a crazy cat lady.”
“I am not—” I said no more. I might be a crazy cat lady. I was crazy about my cat not getting hurt.
Dustin stood, took one step, and was sitting on the edge of my bed. “There, now the couch is free for you both.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about him sitting on my bed. He looked . . . comfortable there. I didn’t like the way I noticed that.
“I’m Savannah,” she said, extending her hand.
“Hi. Shit.” I was still holding Milly, who was as welcoming to strangers as I was.
“Go to your blanket, kitty,” I murmured to her, setting her on the floor.
When I straightened, I grabbed a small bottle of hand sanitizer, swiped my hands, and then shook the hand that was still extended. “Hadley Peterson. Nice to meet you.”
I pointedly ignored the huff of laughter to my left. Savannah sat on the couch, exchanging a look with Dustin. I wasn’t going to try to read into that.
I opened my fridge.
“I have beer or two sodas. Who wants what?” I asked.
“Beer.”
“Soda.”
I did not expect to be handing the beer to Savannah and the soda to the wide receiver. I opened a beer for myself, and then, despite my cat’s protests, I leaned against the window ledge. “So? Who starts?”
Dustin gave Savannah a pointed look. “I told you.”
She failed to hide her smile behind her beer. She watched me as she took a sip.
“Before we start, we need to make something very clear.” She spoke with confidence; she was her father’s daughter.
“We were not here. We have not told you anything, and under no circumstances, at any time, can you quote us, or use either of us as a source.” She took a breath. “That includes Dante and Noah.”
I set my bottle down and reached for my notebook. “Can I take notes?”
“No.”
I ignored Dustin and watched her. She was the one with all the power in the room.
“I’d prefer you didn’t,” Savannah said. “But . . .” She thought for a moment. “I appreciate you may want to check dates or something, so brief notes. Not verbatim. Nothing you can use as a quote.”
Damn, she was good.
“Alright.” I smiled at her, hoping to relax her, but I got nothing. She wasn’t a novice; she’d been dealing with attention all her adult life by the looks of it. She knew how it worked and how to play.
“What’s your involvement, exactly?” I asked, not beating around the bush.
“I am a student liaison. I help with tutoring. This semester, I was assigned to an athlete.”
That was it. No detail. No elaboration. I glanced at Dustin, who was eyeing Milly, and then I realized Milly was eyeing him. “Be careful, she’s about to—” she leaped for him — “pounce.” He caught her midair and, with a slick move, had her in the crook of his arm.
“Right.” I watched my cat curl up and purr. “Of course,” I muttered.
I turned back to Savannah. “Sorry . . .”
“It’s fine.” She smiled. “I recently discovered the grade-altering system,” she told me bluntly. She saw my look and snorted. “No, I did not know about it. You can imagine, as someone who actually enjoys tutoring, I did not take it well.”
“You never suspected before?” I asked her skeptically.
“I’ve never tutored an athlete before,” she told me simply.
“Oh.” I looked between them, and she shook her head.
“Not Dust.”
Dust? Were they involved? Did she know I’d kissed him? Twice?
“I was assigned to tutor Dante. He picked an elective that is in my area of, well, expertise.”
The way she said his name, I scratched the idea of her and Dustin. “I didn’t know you were a thing.”
Dustin blew out a breath. “And she says she’s a reporter,” he mocked.
“I’m not a fluff-piece reporter,” I snapped at him. I winced internally. “Um, not that you are fluff,” I offered weakly to Savannah.
“It’s fine.” She waved it off. “While we were—” she glanced at Dustin — “discovering things, we learned there are other things that we didn’t know.”
I slid down the wall, until my butt hit the floor, my pen poised over my notebook. “Like what?”
She glanced at Dustin again.
“You can’t tell anyone it was us,” he said flatly.
I didn’t miss the shift. The joking, the irritation — all gone.
“Not because it makes us look bad,” he continued. “But because once this moves, it doesn’t stop.”
He finally looked at me. Really looked.
“This program doesn’t absorb damage,” he said. “It seems to redirect it.”
My grip tightened on my pen.
“If you don’t let this go,” he went on, “it doesn’t just come back on football. It comes back on every athlete tied to the department. Wrestling. Lacrosse. Basketball. All of it.”
Savannah didn’t argue. That scared me more than if she had.
“What did you find?” I asked quietly.