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She’d sent a link to USC’s Athletics Department website. Beneath that she typed out, Buh-Bye MF!, which made me chuckle.
Filipe wrote: Stefon didn’t mess around. Coach is finished. The story is already on SportsCenter.
Beside me, Ciaran started reading the article in question on his phone. “USC has parted ways with men’s swim coach Roderick Anderson after it was discovered that the renowned two-time Olympic gold-medal-winning swimmer has allegedly been involved in an illegal gambling scheme that involved taking bets pertaining to USC’s competition results, which is a direct violation of his contract. No other statements will be made at this time. All questions should be addressed to the Los Angeles district attorney’s office.” Ciaran paused. “Do you think it’s true?”
“A cover story to hush up the real story? Could be, but then again, knowing about Coach’s blackmailing scheme, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was true.” Ciaran just stared at me for a long moment. “What?”
“I don’t think it truly hit me until now just how powerful your family is.” It wasn’t said with awe or reverence. Ciaran appeared to be stunned. “We told our parents only a few hours ago.”
“First off…” I put my phone down and leaned into him. “It’s our family. You’re now part of this sordid world of glitz and glam and all the seedy things that come along with it. And secondly, it probably just took a phone call from my dad asking the president of USC to take a closer look at Coach’s finances. Boom, done.”
I glanced at Ciaran’s phone. I saw that he had a number of texts from his friend Raj. I wondered if the gossip about Drew fucking Jones had hit Ciaran’s Vegas friends.
“It’s just going to take me a while to get used to it,” Ciaran answered. “Like, at least five to ten years.”
I grinned. “If that means you’re still putting up with me for that long, then I’m okay with it.” Ciaran kissed me then. The heat of his lips scorched my skin in all the right ways. I wanted to take it further by pushing him down on the mattress and exploring him with my mouth and fingers. But part of me knew Ciaran was stalling. There were messages on his phone that he hadn’t offered to discuss and I wasn’t above trying to get him to confide in me. So when I pulled back, he whined, his lips chasing mine. “Your turn,” I said. “Any news from your friends?”
Ciaran cleared his throat before giving me his phone. His friend Raj had called at least five times and left a voicemail.
“Can we listen?” I ask. When Ciaran nodded, I pressed Play on Raj’s voicemail.
“Hey Ciaran,” Raj’s voicemail started. “You probably haven’t heard, but word is that Mr. Jones submitted his resignation this morning.” Raj’s voice, while deep, had a hesitancy to it, like he really did not want to be leaving any of this on a voicemail. “I’ve tried to call you a few times already. In fact, we all have. No one knows for sure why Mr. Jones left, but rumor is he ran off with a freshman, which is of course stupid. But,” Raj said with a high-octave laugh, “out of all of us, you knew him best, so we were sorta wondering if you knew what had happened. Anyway, call me back. Plus, we need to plan your birthday bash. Ms. Galbr—er, I mean your mom mentioned something about throwing a big party in Malibu. Don’t let her forget that she offered to fly us over in that sweet private jet. Oh, and Rowen’s dying to drive your stepbrother’s Ferrari, so put in a good word for him, ’kay? Kinzy and Brieana both think your stepbrother is like, a dreamboat, or whatever. Actually, I think Rowen does, too. So…crazy story…Kinzy swears there’s a picture of you and your stepbrother, uh, k-kissing. Those celebrity websites can’t be trusted, right?” Raj laughed to himself and I snickered, too. Ciaran merely rolled his eyes at me, but I could tell he was nervous as the voicemail continued. “Anyway, call me back and maybe we can discuss our AP scores and get ourselves ready for early admission. July is going to be here before you know it.”
I paused the voicemail. “Does Raj even know how to breathe?”
“No making fun of my best friend,” Ciaran grumbled.
Pressing play, we heard Raj’s voicemail continue. “I’ve already written my essay four times, Ciaran. I need a second set of eyes on them to tell me which one is best. Out of all of us, you’re the best writer. I’ll email them to you, ’kay? Oh, how goes the novel? Any more progress on Badger Detective First Class Shiremarch’s case? My mom can’t wait to read it. She’s rooting for a high body count.”
This time Ciaran jammed his thumb on the Pause button. “It’s a casino heist, not a murder mystery,” he informed the phone like it would transcribe a message back to Raj.
“Did you want to text him that?” I asked with a smirk.
Ciaran rolled his eyes. “Just press play, you dork.”
Raj’s rambling voice sounded again. “About the essays… Like, read them when you can but maybe before tomorrow night, please. Not sure if my nerves can withstand a longer wait. You know me.” Raj let out another impossibly high-pitched laugh. “But yeah, about kissing your stepbrother, uh…”
“So that’s why he’s calling,” I guessed after pausing it again. “Raj has zero chill.”
“Matty!” Ciaran tried to grab the phone from me, tackling me to the bed in the process. It reminded me of that time he did the same thing on the night of our parent’s wedding celebration. I stole a kiss from him now, which was something I couldn’t do back then. Ciaran melted on top of me. I loved his weight against me. “No, Raj doesn’t know the meaning of chill. He tends to go off on tangents. Let him finish.”
“Sure thing, babe,” I said as my free hand snaked down his body to cup his ass.
“Dirty old man,” Ciaran purred into my neck.
“Damn straight. By three whole years.” I pressed play.
Raj’s voice filled the room again. “I mean, Kinzy showed me the photo. Showed all of us. It was kinda grainy, like those paparazzi photos usually are. Like, was that you? We zoomed in all the way until it was blurry pixels, which, you know, isn’t helpful. Oh my God, I’m just realizing how all this sounds. It’s no big deal if it was you! Like, we’re not ragging on you, Ciaran. Your stepbrother is objectively hot, and I say that as a straight guy. But, doesn’t he have a girlfriend? The blond woman from the other photos? Oh man, you’ve got blond hair, too. Your stepbrother must have a type. Just be careful, my friend, ’kay? My mom says rich boys are a different species.” Raj sighed into the phone. “We miss you like crazy. Call me back so we can talk about Mr. Jones, your hottie stepbrother, oh, and the AP test scores. And the essays. Don’t forget the essays. I’m sending them now. Okay, bye. But seriously, call me back, Ciaran!”
“I’m not sure, but I think he’s going to send you his essays,” I quipped.
“Matty—”
“And all your friends think I’m super hot. I’m the hottie stepbrother.”
“Can you please?—”
I added, “And it seems like Mr. Jones left in a hurry. Dante texted me, too. Apparently the heat was too much for Andy, so he’s on his way to Australia to hide out.”
