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“Hmmm... so...?”
“So I started doing some digging, discreetly asking questions and unravelling the ball of wool until I started to get somewhere. I had some strong leads, and then, almost by accident, I struck gold.”
“You got a big lead?”
“Yeah, basically. I managed to find out when and where the final initiation ceremony for the new pledges was taking place, and, better still, I was able to infiltrate it.”
“How?”
“I had a tip-off, but the less you know about my actual methods the better for both of us, okay? No offense.”
“None taken. So you went.”
“I sure did. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“And I’m guessing it paid off?”
“Yes and no. I got some amazing intel, and there’s definitely a story there, but whether it’s a story that I can, or should, tell is another question.”
“Jesus, Bee, the suspense is killing me. What the fuck did you see?”
“Well, here’s where it starts to get weird.”
Chapter 5
Bear
“Hamilton!” Coach bellowed across the field, beckoning for me to approach him. “Drop and give me twenty.”
“Really? What the fuck? Why?” I had been treading on eggshells at practice ever since our last run-in, and had done literally nothing to warrant punishment.
“Congratulations, you just upped it to fifty.” I knew not to question him again, in case it went up to one hundred or beyond. “What’s all this I hear from the Dean about you giving this young journalist the slip all week?” Shit.
“I wasn’t giving her the slip. She asked when a good time was to interview me. The truth is there hasn’t been one. I have classes; so does she. Plus practice, plus life, so no, we haven’t been able to find time just yet.”
“All I heard in that was excuses and bullshit. You need to make it work, but don’t worry; because you’re totally incapable of wiping your own butt without help, I went ahead and arranged a time for you. Right after practice.” What?
“Sorry, Coach, I can’t. I have a class.”
“Correction, you had a class. Now you have an appointment with Ms. St George who should be here any minute...” he glanced down at his watch. “…now.”
As though on cue, she came strolling out of the changing room. Fuck. My. Fucking. Life.
“Ah... but I can’t cut Business Analytics. Professor Masterson will flunk me if I miss this class—it’s part of the assessment process.” More to the point, I loved that fucking class, and I wanted to go.
“Already cleared it with him.”
“You did?”
“Yup. When the Dean backs something, you find that doors open to accommodate it. This is one of those times.” So it would seem.
I rolled my eyes internally as I completed the remaining pushups. Not that I’d needed to bother concealing my irritation, as Coach was no longer focused on me—he’d already moved on to bawling out one of my teammates instead.
I finished up my punishment and looked across at Honey St George, standing on the sidelines. She was hotter than I remembered. Less unexpectedly attractive librarian type, more just hot in a hot woman type of way. My dick quirked its agreement. I ignored it.
I went about the rest of practice as though she wasn’t there. Just because she’d been forced on me, that didn’t mean I had to bend over backward to accommodate her. Besides, Coach was always the first one to tear us a new one if we lost focus during practice, so I was heeding his instructions, and solidly ignoring her. Well, my brain ignored her. My boner, not so much.
After practice, I took a thousand years getting showered, dry and dressed, hoping that she’d get bored and give up. When I emerged twenty minutes later, I realized that she wasn’t going to be put off that easily.
