“Her family is one of the university’s founding families. She’s on the board,” Tate explains.
“She said nice things to me at the fundraisers. She was a fan of Mom’s. Speaking of Mom, that bastard used her name.”
I have to get him out of here before he breaks something. “Come along, McKinnon. Let’s have a chat.”
“Only if you promise me I’m not in trouble for the Zamboni incident—that happened before I met you!”
If he’s worried about that more than he is the current hockey-related scandal, he’s gonna be alright.
“Why would I lie like that?”
“But—”
“C’mon. It’ll make you feel better.” And me. Spanking isn’t just about crime and punishment; it’s safety for people like us. I turn to my brother. “And you, find Andy. I want to have a chat with him.”
29
Ace
Things go from bad to worse, and it only takes forty-eight hours. More articles are released, but Andy doesn’t stop with the Gazette, photos from my one drunken night are everywhere. He creates a narrative as if the images are from multiple occurrences, as if I’m out there every night boozing it up.
And people are actually fucking falling for it. Thankfully, not everyone. The guys know I don’t drink during the season and even Delta Gamma figure out pretty fast that it’s all bullshit. But “witnesses” come forward, wanting money for views and clicks for fame, lending false credibility to the articles.
That’s when our donors start pulling out. All that fucking hard work since the beginning of the year, crumbling brick by fucking brick. Coach was right about the Alumni sticking around—they know frat brothers are prone to the sort of social crimes it looks like I’m committing—but they’re getting leery, asking questions. Worried about my growing “alcohol addiction.”
By the time the third article drops, twisting my one-night fuck-up into some kind of frat-boy relapse saga, I stop refreshing the page. I stop reading the comments. I stop trying to defend myself at all.
And that’s what finally breaks Luke.
Luke storms across campus, and I barely manage to keep up with him before he glides through the doors of The Shadow Gazette office, ready for war.
The guy at the front desk starts to speak, but Luke doesn’t even slow down. “I need to speak to your editor.Now.”
Luke has the kind of voice that has you moving before you know why you’re doing it. The frightened little first-year scampers to the editor’s office, only to be preceded by another frightened little first-year. Who’s running this place?
Oh.
It’s her.
She has meek, long, fly-away hair. Freckles. Kinda cute in a nerdy sort of way. Her already big eyes get rounder, but not because of Luke; they’re staring at me.
“Uh, ah … A-Ace,” she stutters, blinking.
“You must be Katrina,” Luke says. How the fuck does he know that? But at least he’s softened. “I need to speak with you.”
“Right this way, Professor,” she says.
In the room with the door shut, she takes shelter behind her desk, and I sit—on my still sore ass—pillowing my hands behind my head, stretching my abs. She’s staring again.
“Oh for the love of … McKinnon,” Luke snaps, eyes glancing south.
Oh shit. My shirt crawled up my torso. I yank it down, but I spread my legs, getting comfortable. I fully expect Daddy to come to my rescue on this one. We need diplomacy, and I’m not feeling very diplomatic right now.
To be honest, Luke doesn’t seem very diplomatic either, but he’s got a better shot at it than I do.
“Katrina, what happened to those nice articles you were writing about my … student here?”
Student.I snort. I wanna know what he almost called me, though. Was it gonna be princess? Boyfriend? Love of my life?
