Page 113 of The Love Penalty

The police officer said witnesses won’t remember that far back.

But what if they did?

What if someone saw who I was with that night?

It’s a long shot, but it’s worth taking, right?

I can’t rely on a detective to follow this thing through with the same kind of determination I can throw at it. My foundations may have been shaken by what happened to me, but they didn’t completely crumble. I’m nothing if not tenacious.

If Asher can put his future on the line for me, then I can most definitely find the courage to prove our fight isn’t in vain.

I’m not going to know everyone who was at that party, but I do remember where the party was, and if that’s not a good starting point, then I don’t know what is.

Slipping from the bed as quietly as I can, I creep out of Asher’s room and fumble my clothes on. My skirt is all creased from being bunched around my waist yesterday, but I flatten it out as best I can and tiptoe to the door.

I should probably take Asher with me, but I don’t want to wake him. He’s been under so much pressure, and I know he hasn’t been sleeping well. I can do this without him and then report back as soon as I’m done.

Ordering an Uber, I pull my shoes on and slip outside, walking down the street to the meeting point I selected. Thankfully, I only have to wait at the corner for five minutes. It’s hardly a busy Uber time, so drivers are readily available.

“Good morning.” The driver’s friendly voice is almost jarring.

I give him a polite smile and check to make sure he knows where to go.

He nods and thankfully picks up on my mood pretty quickly. We arrive at the football frat house without a word.

Slipping out of the car with a murmured thanks, I stare at the three-story Victorian-style house and shudder. Memories of strutting up the path in my skimpy black dress haunt me. I walked into that place with an angry determination. I was pissed off with Caroline for moping over Casey, and I didn’t know she was worried that she might be pregnant. I stormed into that party looking for a good time and mindless pleasure… and two hours later, I shuffled out in shock, my mind barely functioning as I somehow made it back to Huxley Hall.

I honestly have no idea how I did. My memory of that part of the evening is a dark spot in my mind.

A nervous breath shudders out of me as I walk to the door.

About eight members of the Nolan U football team live in this place. It’s not actually a fraternity, but people call it the football frat anyway… maybe because of the alliteration? Or maybe this place used to be a fraternity house a really long time ago.

I don’t know the history, but this house is kind of famous around campus. The team hangs here on a regular basis, they have frequent parties, and it’s usually filled with members of Greek Row because this house is less than a block away from it.

I glance down the street, scratching my arm as nerves scatter through me.

“Get to it, Lani.” I order myself forward, and five seconds later, I’m knocking on the old oak door.

It’s only then that I notice the time and mutter under my breath. It’s only just seven o’clock. That’s way too early for a house call.

Social etiquette nearly has me turning away, but then the lock flicks and a handsome guy with a square face, swooshed-back hair, and a panty-melting smile appears.

“Hi, there.” He takes me in, his eyes skimming my body from head to toe before giving me an appreciative grin. “How can I help you?”

“Uh… hi…”

Dammit, this is the worst idea ever! Just leave, Lani!

“Zan the Man!” someone calls from inside the house. “Who is it?”

“I’m not sure. All she’s said is ‘uh’ and ‘hi!’” The guy gives me a teasing smile as I tense at the sound of clomping feet approaching the door.

“Well, hey there, angel.” A blond giant grins down at me, and I’ve never felt so small in my life.

“Don’t go scaring her off, Wily. Come on, man.” The shorter guy whacks the back of his hand against Wily’s chest.

I swallow and try to ease my nerves by guessing which positions they play. Wily has got to be a lineman—he’s too big to be anything else—whereas Mr. Smiles here looks more like a quarterback or wide receiver.

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