“Hockey team got beat,” I told Noah when he returned with a tray, carrying two beers and a bucket of wings.
“Yeah, they were going to, they’re beat up pretty bad.” He set the tray on the table.
“Really?” I questioned him. “That’s not what the reports say.”
Noah looked up. Not a long look — just long enough to know he’d just noticed more than I wanted. “What reports?”
I suddenly remembered where I was and who might be listening. I waggled my phone. “The provider of all things,” I joked. “Sports news.”
Noah nodded, and he didn’t push it, and neither did I.
I settled into the booth, wondering if Noah planned to share the wings with me as he continued to eat his way through the bucket.
“I thought these were for me?” I teased, and he looked up sheepishly.
“I ordered two,” he said. His hand was already dipping back in.
“Fine, I’ll wait.” I glanced at my phone and saw a message from Sav.
Savage: You still awake?
My entire focus shifted to the screen and that question. It could be completely innocent. Or it could be something else entirely.
“What is it?” Noah asked, licking his fingers, but his eyes were sharp.
I showed him the screen, and he grinned, shoving the bucket my way.
“You’d better eat, you might need it.”
“Dick,” I murmured, but I reached for a wing and wondered what I would say. Could Sav really be hitting me up for a booty call? If she was, was I going?
Of course I was going.
I checked the time she sent it — twenty minutes ago. I ate a few more wings, weighing my options, and then hit reply.
Me: Yeah. What do you need?
I knew what I needed. Fucking her into the mattress and hoping the need to have her would disperse as soon as I left her bed. I went to the bathrooms to wash my hands, ignoring Noah’s knowing grin.
My phone buzzed as I was leaving. I pulled it out of my pocket faster than I meant to, even while I exchanged shit with people who called out to me.
Savage: I forgot to send you the reading list for next week.
I barked out a laugh as I read her text. Shaking my head at my own stupidity. Savannah Cole sending me a booty text? What the fuck was I thinking? I headed back across the bar toward my teammates, but the sound of my name — sharp, low — stopped me short.
“Dante Spence.”
I turned around. It wasn’t a coach or anyone I knew well enough to name. Just a group of upperclassmen, no longer on the first team. Guys who would tell others for years that they played in college, as if they were stars, but in reality, they were never going any further than the bench. The way they looked at me made my jaw tighten.
“Word of advice,” the biggest of them said, stepping in close enough that I could smell the stale beer on his breath. “Keep your mouth shut about what you hear in the weight room.”
What the actual fuck was this? I narrowed my eyes. “And what do you think I’ve heard?”
“Don’t play dumb.” His smirk was all teeth, but there was nothing funny about it. “Rumors are rumors for a reason. Nobody wants the NCAA sniffing around again.”
Again?That word felt heavier than the others.
Before I could respond, another voice cut in — quieter but sharper. “You remember Sterling, who played on the team?”
