Page 9 of Heartless As Puck

“Are you sure?” He pouted, his mousy brown hair flopping in his eyes the same way it had earlier.

“She said no.” Clara stood and shoved her chair back, the legs scraping against the threadbare carpet in a way that made the hair on the back of my arms stand up. “Your puppy eyes aren’t going to have any effect on her either. She’s around professional athletes every day. Your dimple is no match for their muscles.”

He scowled and slunk away. I felt a little bad for him.

“You didn’t have to be mean,” I muttered to Clara.

She rolled her eyes. “Men need to learn that no means no.”

I stood and donned my backpack, not arguing the point. She was right, and she had plenty of her own reasons to be frustrated with the male gender. There was something magnetic about Clara; men often took one look at her and wanted to know more.

When they asked her out and she explained her sexuality to them—she was both asexual and aromantic—some of them took it well, but many either saw it as a challenge or thought she was lying.

If I were her, I’d be irritated too.

We wandered down the corridor together and turned into the wing of the building that functioned as the library for arts students. With its comfortable armchairs and sofas, mishmash of artwork, and low hum of conversation, we preferred the Arts Library to the others on campus. We settled on a sofa near the water cooler.

“So how are you handling the shitshow at your work?” Clara asked, leaning forward so she didn’t need to speak loudly for me to hear her.

I pulled a face. “It’s still early. It’s hard to know how it’s going to play out.” I hesitated, then added, “I’m glad some of the players have been traded—they were assholes—but I’m worried about what might happen. All I want is to get through the next semester without anything changing, but I don’t know if I’ll be that lucky.”

Her teeth sank into her lower lip. “You know that I’m here if you ever need help or a sofa to sleep on.”

“I know. I just…” I wanted to do this myself. To prove that I could stand on my own two feet.

Her expression softened. “I know, beautiful. The option is there if you need it.”

“Thank you.”

We studied for a while, attended another class, and afterward, I checked my phone and, seeing a message from Austin, headed back to the Range Rover and drove to the stadium.

I slipped inside and made my way down the corridor, but before I reached the changing rooms, Coach Dunn stepped in front of me.

I stopped abruptly, stumbling to catch myself before I walked into him. He crossed his arms across his broad chest and glowered down at me, his dark eyes roiling with emotion.

“Are you the one who talked to the press?” he demanded, the vein in his forehead bulging.

“Uh…” I stammered, caught off guard.

He motioned toward the stairs. “My office. Now.”

All of a sudden, Austin was thundering down the corridor.

“Leave her alone,” he snapped, advancing on us. “She didn’t have anything to do with it.”

Slowly, Coach Dunn turned toward him, his lip curling into a sneer.

Oh, shit. I really hoped that Austin hadn’t just gotten himself into a whole lot of trouble because of me.

THREE

AUSTIN

I held Coach Dunn’s gaze, protectiveness surging through me. I didn’t want to antagonize him—especially not after the progress I’d made with him during training—but I couldn’t allow him to upset Jane either.

I drew in a slow breath, grimacing at the familiar smell of damp sweat that emanated from my gear bag. “Jane didn’t talk to Rebecca.”

Dunn’s nostrils flared. “Don’t interfere, Harris.”