See if you can trace it.
I hit send and shove my phone back in my pocket.
It vibrates almost immediately.
That alone makes my brows pull together.
Caiden doesn’t answer messages right away.
He enjoys making people wait.
I pull the phone back out.
Caiden
Yep. Will do.
Then another message appears.
I’m sending someone your way. Don’t know when yet but I’ll let you know when he arrives. You’ll get him settled in.
Another.
And don’t fuck this up. I know about your little fight during the game today. Knock it off.
My frown deepens.
How the fuck does he know about something that happened less than an hour ago?
He was talking about Livy. If he keeps her name out of his mouth, he’ll survive.
I send the message and shove the phone back in my pocket just as two familiar figures come into view up ahead.
Kalen is walking at his usual pace, calm, steady, like nothing in the world could rush him. He’s got the Dalmatian he rescued for Juniper walking leisurely in front of him on a bright pink harness and leash. What did she name it again? Sprinkles? I don’t fucking know. They must have went back to our place and picked her up after the game. Kalen and Juniper have some kind of weird shared custody going on with the dog.
Jeremy, on the other hand, looks like an elderly man speed walking trying to find a bathroom. He looks absolutely panicked, and I don’t even need to ask why.
He’s half jogging backward while looking over his shoulder so he doesn’t trip or bump into anything.
I glance past him.
Sure enough, a small herd of female students is trailing them at a not-so-subtle distance.
“Go, go, go,” Jeremy says the moment he reaches me. “We gotta go. I’m not doing this groping shit again.”
He points dramatically behind him at the group who are all smiles.
“They ask for a picture and the next thing you know they’re rubbing my abs like I’m a fucking statue.” Jeremy somehow lowers his voice when he reaches me, though the panic in it only goes up an octave. “The last time they cornered me alone one of them tried to grab my dick, man.”
There really is an ‘I want to fuck Jeremy Bennett club’ I suppose.
The sight of a six-foot-six Irish rugby player in full blown panic over a group of girls who are quite literally half his size is something I never thought I’d see. He could probably wipe all of them out with one kick of his massive leg, and that sends a laugh ripping straight out of my chest.
Jeremy scowls at me.
“It’s not fucking funny, Bash.”
He gestures at himself and then at me, “Let them paw at your junk and see how much you like it.”
