Page 7 of The Offstage Fling

I repaid Beverley with chocolate cookies. Double fudge, because she was worth it. My sweet, all knowing elderly neighbour gave me a hug that day. I’d never been so grateful for a nosy neighbour. I nearly cried, and she hugged me tighter.

That was the day I ballsed up, walked into the dean’s office, and asked for on campus dorm accommodation.

Lost in my head, I almost missed the soft click when the hairpin did its thing a few minutes later, and opened the door with a hard smile and a two-forks-up salute to the ghost of Lance’s back.

And almost got trampled by a herd of rampaging Rippton students careening through the tunnel to the waiting buses on the other side, cheering the home game win.

“Hell.” I stumbled back a step, my terror engulfed by the mob. My elbow grazed the concrete wall, and I clung to it while the herd trawled past.

Finally it was just me and the tunnel. I took the time to inspect the graze. It didn’t ooze, but I slammed a tissue to that bad boy anyway.

“Are you okay?” A deep voice nearer than I expected anyone to be brought my head up.

“Ah, yeah. Sure. Just got trampled a little.” I gestured to the empty arched corridor, trying not to study the blue eyes fixed on mine beneath a swag of black hair.

Beau Bennett, lacrosse captain and darkhorse.

I listened to plenty of Rippton’s rumours–a girl has to have a hobby alongside getting a divorce and trying to stuff as much of her degree into her waking hours as possible. Beau Bennett was a ladies man with an unreadable history. The darkhorse of Rippton U. Because every now and then, something catastrophic happened when he was around.

People–the not so nice sort–disappeared or ended up unbreathing or lying in their own body fluids where he had been present. Or at least, so witnesses said. Because his name was conveniently stricken from any record after the fact.

“You sure?” He took a step closer, running his dark gaze over me in a way that shouldn’t have brought my temperature back up. “You look like someone fucked you, then threw you away and fucked you over.” He smirked, his gaze lingering on my torn tights. “Or just a good, overall fucking. Don’t worry. It’s a damn good look on you.”

I eyed him warily, clutching my stinging elbow. “Thanks,” I said flatly. “Don’t you have a cheer team to worship?”

He snorted. “It’s the other way around, little bat girl. They like to beg, and...things. You don’t, do you?” His gaze sharpened, refocusing on me instead of on his dick.

I liked it better the other way.

No. I’d never beg ever again. But that wasn’t anything to do with him.

“Thanks for checking I was alright.” I offered him a sugary sweet smile tinged with a side edge of barbed wire. “Go collect your winnings, or whatever it is you lacrosse boys do.”

I was being a sexist brat, but fuck it. He was in my face and hurling insults. I got to return that volley.

Happy with my sports analogy, I flicked one shoulder back, and remembered why my neck cramped in the first place.

Fucking Lance.

Clenching my fists because something told me I shouldn’t show weakness or my back to this man, I gave him a little finger wave that doubled as a shooing motion. I wasn’t coordinated after myoverall fuckingto turn it into flipping him the bird too yet.

Beau nodded, his gaze still locked on me as he retreated. His eyes flicked to the door and back. “Enjoy your moment in his spotlight, batgirl. He doesn’t do encores for single audiences. Hell, he never does encores at all. Enjoy your backstage pass.” He winked and pivoted on his heel, striding away and leaving me alone in the tunnel.

I stared after him, clutching my portfolio and breathing harder than I should.

Fucking Rippton frat boys.

Fucking rock star assholes who screw really damn well.

The worst thing? I knew I’d go back the next week. Because more than the fake promised job from an ex, I wanted that encore.

The one Xoan never gave to anyone.

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