Page 12 of For Crosby

“Great,” I mumbled.

“My uncle said he doubts he’ll call you back in, but if he does, call me and I’ll let my uncle know. He said do not speak to him without someone there with you.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t worry,” Grady said. “He thinks the dean’s covering his own ass. He’s as eager to eliminate damaging publicity from the school as you are to stay out of it.”

As much as I wanted to believe that, I couldn’t forget the disgust in the dean’s words or the look in his eyes when he called me out for leaving Mr. Hockey alone out there.

On the way back to my room, I received a text from Jeremy. “His practice ran long,” I announced to Finlay as I stepped back into our room. “He wants me to meet him at the rink.”

“Hey, at least he called,” Finlay said, her laptop in front of her as she sprawled out on the floor typing a paper. “The guys on the football team have to run laps if they’re caught with their phones anywhere near the field. He must’ve snuck away to contact you.”

I walked over to the mirror and checked my face again. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Hey.”

I glanced at her through the mirror.

“Don’t sabotage this before it even begins,” she said, sounding like a concerned mama bear.

“Sabotage would indicate premeditation.”

She tilted her head. “For the past year and a half, I’ve watched you blow off guys who were interested while you gave your attention to the ones who weren’t available.” She coughed. “Trace Forester.”

I turned from the mirror and glared at her. “I never had a thing for Forester.”

She rolled her eyes. “Riiiiight.”

“Fine. I agree he’s hot. But totally corny.”

“Don’t tell him that.”

“Too late.”

Her shoulders shook with laughter.

“Well, no need to worry.” I grabbed my fitted leather jacket from the closet and walked to the door. “I plan on giving Jeremy a chance. Now how do I look?”

Finlay’s eyes drifted over my skinny jeans and low-cut black top with chunky turquoise necklace. “Hot.”

“Obviously.” I laughed before turning and heading out.

I arrived at the rink after a short walk and tugged on the front door. It was locked. I glanced around. If not for the cars in the dimly lit parking lot, I would’ve thought I’d been set up. The campus was quiet. No one walked around. That was the crazy thing about a huge campus. It could change from chaotic during the day to deserted at night. I preferred the solace to the chaos any day.

The creaking of the arena door behind me had me spinning around.

An older man stood with the door cracked open. “Can I help ya?”

“I’m meeting one of the players here.”

“The boys are still on the ice. Coach is running their butts into it tonight.” He waved me inside. “No use waiting out there. Come take a seat inside.”

Inside, whistles echoed and blades scraped the ice. Heavily padded guys raced across the slick surface. I took a seat in the front corner of the arena, trying to remain out of sight. The man hadn’t said it was a closed practice, but the locked door indicated otherwise.

“Faster,” the coach bellowed from the center of the ice as the players skated in what looked like suicides from one side of the rink to the other.

I searched for Jeremy, but had no clue what number he wore. Hockey wasn’t a sport I followed. It seemed exciting, but when you went to school in Alabama, you cheered on the football team.

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