Page 75 of Whistle

Jeremy reached across his desk to grab a card and hand it over to him. “Here’s the head of housing’s contact. They might be able to help with the dorm situation.”

Bodhi stuck it in the pocket of his faded, ripped jeans. They hung so low on his hips that it was practically indecent. And he was wearing a crop top again, that diamond stud in his belly button on full display.

“Because I wasn’t able to find you anything immediately, you have forty-eight hours until you have to turn in your room key. You can stay there if you need to, but any more fights and I’ll have to get campus security involved.”

I made a sound. “There won’t be more fighting.”

“I don’t need forty-eight hours,” Bodhi said, tossing his key on the desk. “I’ll be out in thirty minutes.”

“Where will you go?” Jeremy called, but Bodhi was already out of the room with clearly no intention of coming back.

The RA looked at me.

“Thanks for calling me,” I said instead of saying what I really thought of him.

“Sure, Coach.”

I turned to leave.

“I need an address for his file!” he called.

“He’ll call you,” I replied.

Bodhi was already partway down the hall, and I jogged forward to catch up. “Bodhi.”

He ignored me and kept going.

I wrapped my hand around his wrist, halting his feet.

He turned. “You need something, Coach?”

The injuries on his face made it hard to be irritated even when he was clearly trying to push my buttons. “What happened?” I implored.

“The usual,” he said, tugging his arm free of my grasp and turning.

Before I could press him further, Wes appeared at the end of the hall, hands full. When he saw us, he gestured with his chin. “Hey, Bodhi.”

Bodhi stiffened as if he expected some sort of confrontation.

Wes acted like he didn’t notice, and when he was within distance, he held out a white paper cup with a black lid. “Here, I got this for you.”

Bodhi stared at the cup like it was poison. “What is it?”

“A trauma latte,” Wes answered. “It’s an Elite tradition.”

I rolled my eyes. I thought trauma lattes were stupid. Landry liked them, though.

“What the hell is a trauma latte?” Bodhi wanted to know.

“It has caramel,” Wes said, patient. “Believe it or not, you aren’t the only one around here who has trauma. The caramel helps with the adrenaline crash.”

“I got into a fight with my roommate. That hardly counts as trauma,” Bodhi deadpanned.

“Some trauma is worse than others,” Wes allowed. “Welcome to Elite,” he said, offering the cup once more.

Bodhi hesitated.

“You don’t like coffee?” Wes asked.

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