Page 2 of Faking the Play

When I saw the name on the message, my smile grew. The warmth that spread through me had nothing to do with the weather. Jason Hunn and I had been dating for nearly a year, and we were only getting more serious. He’d come to see me almost every week over the summer, and the other day I’d caught him looking at rings. Just the thought of a proposal had my insides squirming, pushing aside the anxiety I felt only moments ago.

As I read the message, however, my smile disappeared and a sick feeling formed in my stomach, forcing me to grab onto the closest table to keep from crumpling to the floor. I might not have fallen, but staying on my feet didn’t soften the blow from the words in front of me.

I don’t understand how you could do this to us. To me. I hoped both of us going for the same job wouldn’t come between us, but using me to get it? I never thought you could do something like that. But still, I was going to forgive you for passing off my work as yours. Then someone sent me this link and said you’ve been fucking Isenberg this whole time, sending him nudes and everything. You broke my heart, Amelia, and I can’t forgive you for that. We’re done.

I stared at the message, my brain refusing to process it. Any of it. How could I, when none of it made sense? Passing off Jason’s work as mine? Sleeping with Dr. Isenberg? Sending him nudes?

And then I saw the link.

My hands shook so hard I almost couldn’t tap the screen, but when I did and I saw what was there, I wished I’d dropped my phone. Broken it. Stayed ignorant just a little longer.

The first one was a full body shot. An arm under small breasts that were tipped with pale peach nipples. A thatch of dark hair between slender legs.

Full-on bush in that shot. I mean, wax or something.

The comment I’d heard in the store rang through my head, and my heart began to pound.

Blood rushed in my ears as I scrolled through nearly two dozen pictures. Some with skimpy lingerie. Some of just breasts. Some of spread legs and newly shaved skin. And some with my face very clear.

All of the images were familiar. I’d posed for them, after all. After weeks of cajoling, less than a month ago, Jason had gotten me to agree to let him take pictures of me. First in my underwear, and then naked.

All of them for his own private perusal.

And now they were online for anyone to see if they knew where to look. Based on the way people had been staring at me, people knew where to look.

What made it even worse was that, along with each photo, whether my face could be seen or not, was my name.

And the accusation that I’d earned my new TA position by having sex with my fifty-something mentor and boss, Dr. Beren Isenberg.

Heat flooded my face even as tears filled my eyes. I blindly shoved my phone back into my pocket and grabbed my books. I needed to get out of here. Away from the eyes I could still feel on me even though I was fairly well hidden in this little space. Away from the whispers I could definitely hear as they stopped being whispers and became full-blown conversations. Away from the entire store of people who’d seen me naked and thought I’d screwed my way into a job.

Books in hand, I made my way to the doors, grateful that I’d been at the school long enough to know my way around without needing to see much. A burst of heat rolled over me the moment I opened the door and practically ran into the sunshine…only to be stopped short when I slammed face-first into a very hard, very broad, chest.

Chapter two

Amelia

“Whoa, there.”

Big hands closed around my arms and kept me from falling, but did nothing to ease my embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry,” I said quickly, taking a step back. “I should’ve been looking where I was going but I wasn’t and I’m so sorry and I’m just going to—”

“Amelia?”

The deep voice rumbled through me, but this time, I realized that I recognized it. My embarrassment gave way to complete and utter mortification as I looked up—way up—into a pair of icy gray eyes that warmed as soon as our gazes met. Messy blond hair and absolutely massive muscles made up the six feet and four inches of Ryan Thompson, CSU’s star defensive lineman.

And one of my childhood best friends.

Which meant…

Someone cleared their throat.

Shit.

“If it isn’t Amelia Fine.”

To Ryan’s right stood a handsome man a few inches shorter, with reddish-brown hair and dark brown eyes. Twenty-one-year-old Ethan Blake, playboy wide receiver with a bit of a troublemaker streak. His dimples flashed as he smiled at me, but that smile quickly vanished when he saw my expression.

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