31. Scheming
THIRTY-ONE
Scheming
CALEB
Shannon scribbled furiously on the notepad with the hotel logo at the top, laying page after page in neat rows on the floor and weighing each down with a pencil, a sock, a leftover fork from room service, or anything that would keep it from floating away in a puff of air. Caleb watched in silence as the gears turned in her head and the storm raged in her eyes, flaring as she rearranged pages and bit her lower lip, deep in thought.
“When you said to pack for a weekend with you, I grabbed all the cute lingerie I own and forgot my laptop and all documentation around the master plan,” she said. “Eyes on the prize.”
“I have never seen anything sexier than you taking notes in lingerie,” he said, snapping the side of her cherry-print boyshorts as she walked past with two more sheets of paper. “But we can go get it. Your dorm is a ten-minute drive.”
“This is okay for now.” She slowed her pacing and stopped with a quick turn to kiss him. “Everything I need is right here. For now. ”
His hands grazed the straps of her red bra and lingered on her arms. “I’m right here.”
“You’re almost everything,” Shannon said, kissing him again before she kneeled on the carpet. She tapped a paper toward the middle of the rows. “This is where it ended with him,” she said. “The last phone call, I mean. New Year’s Day.” Gesturing to the rest, she frowned. “This is what I’ve collected since then.”
Caleb walked gingerly along the lines of papers, shifting his weight to keep off his sore ankle. “I’m not even a bit surprised you are an incredible note-taker, organizer, and researcher on top of everything else amazing about you,” he said, plucking a paper from the floor. “That you do it barely clothed for my viewing pleasure is about to kill me.”
She smacked his ass and tugged his shorts in return, then turned back to her notes.
He cleared his throat. “‘Player identification bylaws vs. legal name change in Massachusetts, see pending litigation and juvenile/family court contingencies,’” he read. “You even think in bullet points, don’t you?”
She raised a hand, still wiggling the pen between her fingers. “Guilty,” she said. “When things get overwhelming, I like to put what I know in order and identify the places I need to fill in. It gives me perspective.”
“Screw political science. You should get a degree in plotting and scheming and making things happen.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s called project management.”
“Then it’s time to change your major.”
She settled on the floor next to him, cross-legged and frowning. He bit the insides of his cheeks to hold back a smile when he realized her inner thighs were still pink. “There are too many gaps,” she said. “I’ve read piles of policies and legal directives, but there’s no moment where Delilah flies in with her super cape and tells him he’s busted. The timeline is all wrong.”
He scanned several more sheets.
“We have the recording and whatever charges they smack him with for that stunt at the party, but I don’t know if it will be enough,” Shannon continued. “Date-rape drugs equal federal felony charges, but if he got out of those once because he didn’t have more on him during a search, who knows if we have anything this time?” She picked up a paper that read ‘plausible deniability.’
“Five of us saw him,” Caleb pointed out.
“I know, but I told Delilah that may not stick if his dad sends in the big lawyers. That’s approximately what happened last time, I think.” She tapped the corresponding notes. “Then on another side, the athletics recruiters. I know what he did with his name is against the rules for recruitment, but what do they do when those rules are broken and they don’t find out until after the player has been on the field and on scholarship for three years? Lawyers again. They might just slap his hand.”
“They might,” Caleb agreed, squinting at her notes on name changes and juvenile versus adult criminal records. “But if they slap his hand privately, there’s a media angle because the college recruiting association is strict on everyone, or supposed to be. Get a few bored podcasters to stir the pot. If one talking head picks it up and gets loud enough, someone comes up with a stat about the all the times exceptions were made, and the association will punish him to protect their reputation. Our school feeds the league with talent, and people would love to talk about anyone from my team having an unfair advantage.”
“You think?”
“I know. You think college athletics get cutthroat? Try college sports journalism. These guys are hungrier than we are.” He ran through his mental playlist. “I can think of a handful of good amateurs and two or three mid-level pods that could talk about it. They’re all just waiting on that anonymous tip.”
“Then I have a job for you, Mystery Boy.”
He tapped his cheek to demand payment in kisses. “Do I get a bonus if someone gets loud enough that the NCAA responds with a comment?”
“I love the way you think,” she said before another lingering kiss. She scribbled on another sheet of paper and added it to a row on the floor, then bit her lip as she considered its placement in silence.
“What’s that one?” he asked, pointing. “Luna M. and Marissa P.?”
She looked queasy. “You may have heard about a video of two cheerleaders that made its way onto some websites this fall. There were always rumors about who did it, and I’ve pretty much confirmed them. We don’t think he did anything technically illegal, but these women have offered to help testify against his character or do whatever’s needed to hold him accountable.”
“Jesus Christ.” Caleb held a hand to his forehead, dazed. “What the hell is wrong with that guy?”
“I’m past caring. Right now, my concern is timing,” she said. “Hayden’s a senior, but he has one more year of eligibility to put up even better numbers, which means he’s got enough time to brush it under the rug and get the name thing written off as a clerical error. It’s a non-story by next spring. It can help Delilah in her case now if they can show anything against his character, but if we get that verdict, it’s just money. She’s after his dreams, since he took hers.” Her shoulders drooped and Caleb’s eyes widened when she crossed her arms and pushed her breasts together.
He nodded absently and wondered if it would be inappropriate to carry her back to bed in the middle of brainstorming. His mouth watered for the little cherries she wore.
“Guys with criminal records get drafted all the time, as long as it’s not a big public scandal at exactly the wrong moment,” Shannon said. “We need the scandal right before the draft. We don’t know when we’ll see federal charges, or if they’ll charge him. His lawyers might have fought them off by this time next year. At least now it’s over his head like a threat, if anyone knows about it.”
Caleb jerked upright and grabbed her hands. His eyes shone, cherry-print lingerie momentarily forgotten. “Did you just say he has another year?”
“Yes… he’s a senior, but he was on the bench as a freshman, so next year would be his last year to play. That’s what I meant about the timeline. This might be a non-story next year.” She twisted her lips, confused.
“When is the next court appearance, or whatever they call it? The continuance.” He held his breath and crossed his fingers while she thought.
“The end of April. The thirtieth, I think.”
He flopped back on the bed, laughing through the twinge of pain in his back.
“Caleb? ”
“It’s too perfect,” he said, wheezing through breaths. He grabbed her arm and pulled her down next to him. “Oh my God, it all makes sense. Isaac once told me something was ‘stupider than a quarterback sneak at third and long,’ and listen—Hayden ran to the draft after you got the recording. He must have panicked, and he didn’t want to give you or Delilah time to make it all worse for him. This is a colossal risk for a short gain if anything, and if he doesn’t make it, he’s done with college ball and he’s at the mercy of free agency.”
“He told me over and over he wasn’t going to. He had analysts projecting him going in the first or second round back in the fall, but after the blowout in Michigan, he said he’d stay and play it out. Then the bowl game—oh my God, he didn’t.”
“He sure did.” Caleb covered his mouth with his hands and tried to contain another burst of laughter. “He went to the combine and performed all right, so there’s some interest. Coach isn’t pushing it in the media because we look like shit if he doesn’t do well. He’s going to see which way the wind blows before he says anything, I guarantee it. Stack this on top of Hammy’s ‘off-the-field antics’ that cost him the cleats endorsement last year, and he might be an embarrassment to the program.”
Shannon’s eyes shone. “How did I not know this?”
“You can’t blame the idiot for thinking you wouldn’t be hanging with a football crowd after that.” His eyes went wide. “And another mystery solved. This is why he freaked out when he found out I liked you.”
She giggled. “We’re dangerous.”
“I know this is your fight, and Delilah’s,” he said, “but if you’re up for it, I’m pretty good at breaking down quarterback protection.” He flexed his arms, tapped the team logo on his T-shirt, and smirked. “You may have heard about me on the podcasts.”
“I’ll take all the help I can get.” She laughed at his uncharacteristically cocky expression and tickled him until he gave in to a smile, then kissed his cheek. “And you’ve been a decent teammate so far, even if you’re only a superstar because of a particular brand of protein bars.”
Caleb snapped her boyshorts again. “Everything I have is yours,” he said. “Even vegetarian protein bars. I don’t have them, but I’ll find them. I’ll do a commercial just for you. In the meantime…”
“Podcasters?”
He snatched his phone from the nightstand. “Yes, and I may be able to up the stakes even more,” he said, scrolling through his contacts. Raising an eyebrow, he showed her the screen.
“Caleb, you don’t have to do that.”
He pulled her onto the bed next to him and kissed her neck. “You have done amazing work,” he murmured into her hair. His breath tickled her skin with a fiery warmth. “People need to know everything you put together. Let me do what I have the resources to do for you and let’s take this all the way. Please.”
Shannon didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Anything you can. I trust you.”
He pulled one sheet of paper from the notepad, scribbled “NFL,” and called his father.