The Dean’s eyes narrow, his voice a furious hiss. “Oh, is she? Is this why you defiled her?”
I rear back, as if I had been slapped. “Defiled? Absolutely not, sir. I would never. We didn’t fuck, we just?—”
“I would be careful, son. Very careful about the next words that come out of your mouth.” If his eyes were narrowed before, now they’re bulging as if his head was about to explode. That mustn’t be healthy. I’m willing to bet that his blood pressure right now is through the roof.
Thank fuck Coach Harrison intervenes. “Graham, I think we need to look at damage control at this point. I know you’re angry. Let’s just be constructive here.”
“Thank you, sir.” I say, but immediately pipe down when Coach levels me with a withering glare.
“I’m sure Jamie meant no harm. And he’s going to make this right.”
I nod along, eager to get the Dean to calm down. “Of course, I absolutely meant no harm. In fact, your daughter and I parted on very good terms. And I am going to make it right—wait a second. What do you mean by making it right? I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t marry your daughter.”
The Dean laughs.
But it’s not a happy laugh, it’s harsh, and a little unhinged. I’m officially worried that he might cut my balls off and use them as paper weights on his desk, or worse, as pucks on the ice.
“Marry my daughter? Are you fucking insane?”
My jaw hits the floor at the F-bombs the Dean just dropped. Administrators are no longer the dignified academics they used to be, I swear to God.
“My daughter,” the Dean explains, his tone haughty as he looks at me as if I was the scum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “Is engaged to be married to Harry McBride, the son and heir to the McBride’s fortune.”
The name rings a bell. Oh, the guy is a billionaire who made his fortune in the Silicon Valley when all the biggest tech giants of today were born. I think McBride Senior even owns a NHL team and a NFL team. He’s that rich. My family is upper one percent wealthy, but that kind of money makes us look like paupers.
“So if you don’t want me to marry your daughter,” I say, fighting to hide to a sense of relief that floods me at that thought. “How can I make this right?”
A look passes between the Dean and Coach Harrison. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m sure it’s going to hurt me one way or the other.
“Carissa is in love with her fiancé,” the Dean explains. “But she’s always had a wild streak. She takes that trait from my wife’s side of the family. She’s looking forward to marrying Harry after she graduates in two years. But it seems that in the meantime, she intends to have…fun.”
I’m confused. “Right, sir. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”
The Dean smiles. “Oh, you don’t?” his tone has that false friendliness that usually precedes an outburst. I’ve seen Coach doing that. When he doesn’t yell, and seems to agree with us, he’s scarier than ever. That’s when he’s more likely to impart some crazy punishment, like bag skating, or suicide drills until we all puke.
This time I know better than to open my mouth and wait for the backlash that’s about to come.
“I found this on my daughter’s phone.” Dean Fletcher’s tone is accusatory. “Take a look, Mr. Hart.”
It’s some kind of score card with names on it. A Bunny Card, as it says on the top.
I see my name on it and the names of all my teammates.
“What is this?” I blink a couple of times, unsure what I’m looking at.
The Dean’s look turns feral. “That, Mr. Hart, is a card every so called Puck Bunny carries with her. They put a checkmark next to the name of every Cove Knight they ‘hook up with.’ Furthermore, you get a score. If you look at the top of the card, there are categories.”
My stomach plummets when I realize that the Dean is right. Carissa has checkmarks next to my name, Tucker, and Connor. The categories are interesting, too; muscles, dick size, personal hygiene, kissing, fucking, oral, and after.
I wonder what’s after. I gotta ask Candace next time I see her.
My name doesn’t have a score for fuck, which is fair because Carissa and I didn’t do that. I do pretty well in the other categories. Muscles nine, dick size nine, personal hygiene ten, kissing nine. Oral doesn’t have a score because she went down on me, but I used my fingers on her. After has a three. A three? I definitely need to ask Candace what’s the deal with that.
I skim quickly down the list at the guys Carissa hooked up with. Ha, I score way better than Tucker. He has a lousy score on kissing and a zero on after. Connor is on par with my scores.
“I’ll take that back.”
I hand the Bunny Card back to the Dean. “I’m sorry, sir. If I could have a do over, I would decline your daughter’s offer to follow me to the bathroom.” And I would try harder not to think about Luke’s sister while she’s giving me head. I know better than to say that last part out loud.
