Page 13 of Out of Bounds

"That’s not what—"

"That’s sure as shit what’s happening." I gestured to Mr. Ishisaka, scrolling through his emails like Ryan would’ve admitted his wrongs. Like that would’ve convinced the football player to hit our little stage.

"I apologized. Now I have to talk to you."

"You didn’t even goddamn apologize." I couldn’t believe the guy. "I’m sorry, ball dribbler. You can’t do that to him. Who do you think you are?"

No compromise laid in his dark honey eyes. "You’re not listening to me, Kassie. I need to talk to you. There’s a private location at the training center—"

"Uninterested."

Nothing in his life could’ve surprised him so badly. For a moment, he opened his mouth to reply, and nothing came to him. With a single word, I shocked him senseless. A person sayingnoto Ryan must’ve been a new experience.

His jaw tightened. "It’s not just me. It’s with our public relations department, the football alumni association—"

"Do I look like I care about some ball-throwing club?"

"You’ve been ignoring our emails—"

"Uninterested." I shook my head and walked back to my desk, trying to figure out who I could convince to come in and model. I still had some of those librarian kids in my contacts, but who’d be available on such short notice?

An arm that belonged in a nationwide gym commercial cut across and rested on my desk, stopping me in my tracks. "This is important."

"So is this." I plucked my phone just beyond my new cage. "I don’t know why I’m wasting my breath. You wouldn’t have done it anyway."

For real—Ryan Cross, enormous, bulky football player, taut lines that snaked up his body, a hard light to his eyes, with the most muscular arms known to man—on our wooden stage? Hilarious.

"Scamper off." I jutted my chin and waited for a cool reply.

Ryan paused. "Want a bet?"

"What?"

"A bet. I’ll come next Wednesday. We’ll do a sweep and make sure phones are confiscated. This class—yourclass—gets ten minutes. And you come to the meeting today. No argument."

That’s the offer?

The more I stared back at him, the more I thought over our little predicament. He clearly wasn’t thrilled with the modeling prospect, and I wasn’t jazzed about whatever trap he and his football jockheads had set for me.

But Mr. Ishisaka needed a model. My professor was one of my favorite people in the world. He’d even landed me a few limited-time storyboard gigs last semester. I couldn’t imagine how bummed he’d be if Ryan skipped out of the session.

I have to do this real careful.

"Tell you what, big football man." I pretended to scroll across my phone’s black screen. "You skedaddle back to that artificial turf crap, unless—"

His jaw set. "Unless?"

"—you model, right here, right now." I made a show of shrugging like I couldn’t believe my terms either. "Then, I’ll go to your meeting."

"No."

"That’s what I thought. It’s been fun. It’s been a blast."

He held up a hand. "Anyother day."

"Knew you wouldn’t."

"There are preparations to take."

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