Page 9 of Forbidden

I almost wrench the door to Franklin West Hall off its hinges, storming past the deserted reception desk and jogging up the stairs. Because it’s Sunday, the desk outside the dean’s office is empty. I know he’s in there though, because we made brunch plans yesterday, so I pull open the door to his office, not giving two shits about knocking.

“Doug!” he exclaims, jolting upright behind his desk. “What the hell?”

“Exactly!” I slam the door closed behind me, my breath coming in short pants. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

Drew stares at me, his brow creased. “Why didn’t I tell you what?”

“That you hired a twatting assistant coach, you complete and utter tosser!” I cross his office and slam my hands down on his desk. “What the hell? Why wouldn’t you fucking warn me?”

I can literally see the second the penny drops. But then he leans back in his chair and folds his arms.

“I did tell you.”

“You most certainly did fucking not.”

Drew sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I emailed you in August.”

I blink at him. “You know I don’t check my fucking email.”

“Well maybe you should, Doug. Then things like this wouldn’t bite you in the ass.”

With a groan of frustration, I collapse into one of the hard leather chairs opposite his desk. “This is complete and utter bollocks.”

Drew chuckles and I lift my head to glare at him.

“What’s so funny?”

“You get extra British when you’re pissed.”

I lift my two middle fingers in response. “In England, pissed means drunk, which is what I plan on being in the next hour.”

“Doug,” Drew says gently. “It’s not even nine a.m.”

I rub my hands over my face with a sigh. “This is a fucking nightmare. You have to sack him. I can’t have some annoying as fuck Yank watching my every move, undermining me and crap.”

Drew’s eyebrows shoot up. “Am I not an ‘annoying as fuck Yank’?”

“You’re mildly annoying, but I can tolerate you.”

“Gee. Thanks.” He stands and moves around to the front of his desk, perching on the edge and crossing his ankles over each other. “This is a good thing, Doug. You can delegate. This could be an easier year for you.”

I stare up at him for a long second. “He told me West hired him because the swim team is a shit show.”

Drew winces. “She expressed some concerns, yes. I told her they were unfounded. You had a pretty solid season last year.”

“Why, then?” I whine, not giving a shit that I sound like one of the flipping students. “Why can’t she just let me do my job?”

Drew lets out a long sigh and I know what’s coming. My fucking reputation. It’s not my fault. Okay. That’s not true. It’s entirely my own fault.

When I first moved to the States, I was just sixteen. I’d never left my hometown before, let alone flown across the ocean. America was big, and bright and loud, and the girls were more than a little obsessed with my accent. It was the land of plenty. I was already drinking, smoking, and shagging around, so I just kept to what I knew. Evidently, that made me a ‘bad boy’, and ironically, ‘bad boys’ get laid twice as much.

I quit smoking by eighteen and, although I still drink probably more than I should, I’ve never touched drugs. Sure, I still shag around a lot, but I’m careful and get tested regularly. I’m not that bad. I swear it’s mostly rumor.

“There were reports that you yelled at your captain in front of everyone after the first meet of the season.” Drew squints at me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“West must have hired him way before that, though,” I say, ignoring his question.

Drew and I have been close since he joined last year. Him and Mika, one of the professors, are my two closest friends. But neither of them know about Aldo. Every year there are rumors that I’m shagging students. I swear they start them themselves. I’ve never once crossed that line, and I’ve had plenty of fucking opportunities. Until Aldo. Until that hug.

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