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Calm down, Jack. Worst-case scenario, she tells people you have a picture of another man's dick on your phone. Make excuses, or hell, who even cares if they think it's there for a reason. As long as they don't know whose dick it is.
Then the other foot falls.
Aniyah hits play on a video. Whether she’s done it by mistake or on purpose, a recording of one of the many video calls we've made over the past couple of months begins to play on the screen. One where Bryant, in all his glory, is stroking his cock and telling me how to play with myself. You can clearly see his face, watch him say my name, and hear my voice saying, "Yes, Coach," every time he gives me an instruction.
Fuck.
Aniyah's eyes are wide, watching the video with her mouth wide open, a look of shock on her face that melts into something else. Her brow furrows like she's putting puzzle pieces together.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
"That day at the sports complex, you were so close together you could have been kissing. I thought I was seeing things. And at the donor brunch, he was watching you so closely. I thought it was weird, but… you're fucking each other?" Her face screws up, like she's disgusted, and she looks up at me with unbridled judgment. Suddenly, I feel small, despite being well over a foot taller and at least fifty pounds heavier.
"It's not what you think!" I blurt out, but I'm too frozen to come up with anything clever to say.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I've ruined both our lives because I'm a fucking idiot.
What do I do?
What the fuck do I do?
CHAPTER 28
BRYANT
Jack barges into my office, interrupting a meeting with Tuck and one of the freshman coaches.
"I need to talk to you. Now."
I sit up straighter in my seat, appalled by his tone. I know he's mad at me for putting him off last night, but disrespecting me in front of my colleagues is a step too far.
"Excuse you? This isn't a good time, Jack."
He looks straight at me. The fear and panic in his eyes cut me to my core. "We have a problem."
I hesitate, looking over to the two coaches that are watching our exchange with concern. Jack's head gives a curt shake, letting me know that this is definitely a private matter. His face is too pale, his body language too agitated to ignore.
Fuck.
I assess him from head to toe. It's clear that he hasn't slept, and I'm pretty sure those are the clothes he left in last night. I didn't lie to him when I said I wasn't home, but I also wasn't exactly busy. I was sitting in the parking lot, I watched him leave, and then followed him. I was far back enough that when he looked around before snapping a picture of his dick, he didn't even notice me. I followed him all the way to the party, and finally left when I saw him kissing a girl through the kitchen window. What could have happened between then and now to make him this upset?
My anxiety goes immediately to the worst-case scenario. He got too drunk and caused major damage to campus property. He had sex with a staff member's daughter. Or son, and got caught. Or maybe he beat someone senseless and put them in the hospital.
The two coaches in my office stand up. "We'll leave you to it," Tuck says. "Let me know if I can help," he tells me, his concern obvious.
Jack slams the door behind him and locks it. Then he starts pacing, rubbing his hands over his face and pulling his hair.
"I fucked up, I fucked up, I fucked up," he repeats with every stride.
"Perry!" I bark. "Sit down and tell me what the fuck happened. Whatever it is, I'll try to help you out of it. But you need to calm the fuck down."
"We're in trouble," he says. It takes me a moment to process it. We. We’re in trouble. It’s not the words, but the way he looks at me, tears welling in his eyes, that breaks my heart.
"What happened?" I ask, keeping my voice controlled, forcing my words to come out low and slow.
"Aniyah got my phone at the party last night."
