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Toby looks at each one as we pass by the hall until suddenly, I don’t hear him next to me.
I look back over my shoulder to find him standing in front of Slade’s cut-out.
I wish I could punch the cut-out and knock cardboard Slade on his ass. But a Hawkeyes employee hitting a player, even if it’s a cardboard version, would probably look odd to the VIP ticket holders who paid extra to get into the stadium early.
“Is he really this tall?” Toby asks, standing right up to the cutout for reference.
Toby is no slouch either at five foot eleven, but Slade still has a few inches on him.
I walk up, not wanting to lose my friend to the mob of crazed hockey fans who will soon stream through these halls.
“Yep, that’s spot on. And trust me when I say that the event planner that puts this on is precise about everything. They came in during practice and measured everyone's height to be sure.”
Shawnie didn’t mind coming in after practice when all the guys had just showered and were walking around in only towels or boxer briefs. She volunteered her services since Juliet was adamant that the heights were to be exact.
“I guess it’s been a while since I saw him in college, and he was gorgeous then… but did he get hotter, or is this photoshopped.”
I don’t want to stare back at the very real and very accurate life-sized cut-out of the man who is on my lifetime shit list.
“All he’s missing in this picture is the knife in his hand that he plans to stab you in the back with. Other than that, yeah, sure, it’s accurate.”
I turn again and start walking back in the direction we were headed. If Toby wants to go on a self-guided tour, he’s welcome to it. I’m certainly not going to stand around staring at the man I despise, especially since I’ll have to watch him play for a good part of an hour tonight.
I hear Toby’s loud footsteps behind me.
“Hey, hold up, I’m coming.”
It doesn’t take long for Toby to come alongside me. His legs are about twice as long as mine, so he can get places faster than I can if he wants to.
“I’m still surprised you two aren’t dating. He had it so bad for you back in college and now you two are back in the same city and working for the same team. Not to mention that you live in the same building.”
He had it so bad for me back in college?
What is he talking about?
“Do you need a refresher on what happened between us back in college? He ruined my life. Don’t you remember that? He definitely didn’t have it bad for me,” I say.
“I know I was back in North Carolina at my mom’s house recovering when all the shit hit the fan with the tryouts, but you know he didn’t mean for it to get out to every jock on campus, right? It was only meant for the jocks in on that bet and the rich kids at that frat house that put up the money.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about. What bet? What money?”
“You’re kidding, right? I heard about this from one of the kids in my biotech class who was sending me his lecture notes. Even he knew about the bet. Are you honestly telling me you didn’t know about the fraternity that put up the funds for the bet?”
I stop in the walkway, irritated that he keeps bringing up all this stuff I know nothing about.
“Toby, I have never heard about a bet, or rich kids, or money, or the jocks that were involved. All I know is that Slade threatened Sean Klein not to date me, or he would end his soccer career, and that he would do the same to any jock who tried."
Toby pulls me out of the hallway so that I don’t get trampled by the ever-growing number of fans coming in.
“Yeah, that's what was being pushed around school because the fraternity didn’t want the Dean to find out about them betting on a faculty member’s daughter. They worried the school board would shut down their daddy’s fraternity alma mater.”
“Wait,” I shake my head. “What does that have to do with me?”
“I was told by a reputable source who was really close with Sean at the time and told my friend, was that Sean got drunk one night at a party that you attended. A bunch of his friends wagered that he wouldn’t be able to get a date with you. He saw an opportunity to make some money, so he went to a couple of rich kids to see if they would sponsor a wager to any jock who could…”
Toby pauses for a second and looks at me.
“Who could what, Toby? Spit it out already?”
