The Shameless Hour: A Sports Romance (The Ivy Years Book 4)

NOVEMBER

AS A FAVOR TO RAFE, I wrote a spreadsheet to help tally up all the different business loans we were considering for our Urban Studies project. Truthfully, I’d never been so caught up on homework as I was this semester. Since I was still calling in sick to hockey, I had a lot of time on my hands.

“Damn,” Rafe said the next night when I showed him the spreadsheet. “We are going to win this thing.”

“We so are.” It’s really astonishing what you can accomplish when you barely leave your room. I was quite pleased with myself.

Rafe threw his soccer jacket on the desk chair and sat down on my bed, pulling my computer into his lap. “Are these interest rates accurate? They look high.”

“Of course they’re right. What do you take me for?” I gave him a nudge with my elbow. “Commercial rates are higher than regular mortgage rates. And the terms aren’t as good.”

Rafe’s dark eyes looked up at me in alarm. “What if another team doesn’t know that? We could lose the contest and all because you’re smarter.”

“Huh. Well that’s a depressing idea. It’s usually the opposite — being stupid is what bites me in the ass.”

“Me too,” Rafe mumbled.

“Although, under the right circumstances, ass biting can be awfully fun.”

His eyes got wide, and I laughed. “Don’t worry about the interest rate thing. I’ll put a range of interest rates in the write-up.”

“Good idea.” He handed my laptop back on a yawn.

“Tough practice today?”

“Always. We’re playing Princeton on Sunday night, and coach is all fired up.” He unzipped the book bag at his feet and took out his Urban Studies notebook.

“If you’re tired, we can work on this tomorrow.”

He shook his head. “I’m good. Let’s make a list of all the businesses in the neighborhood, so we can see what’s missing.”

We worked on that for awhile, with me manning the search engine on my computer while he made detailed notes in the nicest handwriting I’d ever seen from a guy.

“You’re very methodical,” I said, trying to pay him a compliment. I was trying to act like less of a bitch when Rafe was around. It made me self-conscious to know he’d seen me at my absolute worst.

“Eh,” he sighed. “Methodical is what keeps me afloat. The Harkness workload has been a real shock to my system.”

“Lots of people say that,” I said quickly.

“Do they?” he grumbled, turning the page in his notebook. “I haven’t met any of them.”

There was a knock on my door. I glanced at the clock. It was ten already, so I didn’t know who it might be. “Come in?”

Trevi opened the door. “Hey, Bella. You feeling any better?”

“Uh, sure. Trevi, this is my neighbor Rafe.”

“Hey man.” He shook hands with Rafe and then perched on my desk chair. “Bella, I have some shitty news.”

“Oh, goody,” I said, my voice light. But inside, I trembled. More shitty news? Really?

“Coach Canning made the brilliant decision to hire his son as the student manager.”

“What?” I gasped. “He gave my job away?” Even as I said the words aloud, I wished I could take them back. Because I sounded so pathetic.

Across from me, Trevi rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “Yeah. The guys are pretty pissed off. In fact, I was thinking I’d get a bunch of them together and we’d write a letter to coach. If there’s a dozen signatures on it, maybe he’ll listen.”

“No,” I said quickly. “He won’t fire his own kid. And Coach warned me. His email said that if I didn’t come back to practice he was going to have to look around for someone else. I just didn’t think he’d do it so fast. I thought I had a little time.”

“You didn’t go back to practice?” Rafe asked softly.

I shot him a look. See? Rafe was destined to think I was a bitch. Because when shit went bad in my life, he always happened to be around.

Trevi looked uncomfortable. “It’s just not right, though. His kid isn’t even a Harkness student.”

I laughed. “I’d bet any amount of money that he will be next year. This is going to look so good on his application.”

Trevi pulled a face. “As if the kid even needed to fill one out. I hate nepotism.”

“That’s like saying you hate gravity, Trevi. It’s here to stay.”

“That is craptastic.” Trevi stood. “Let me know if you change your mind about fighting it. It’s more fun with you around, Bella.”

My heart broke a little bit when he said that. Because I wanted to believe him. But I did not want to walk into that locker room, either. And now I didn’t have to.

“Come to Capri’s on Saturday night?” Trevi said, his hand on my doorknob.

“I can’t. I have a family thing in New York.”

“Sunday then,” he insisted.

“Maybe.”

“I’m not above throwing you over my shoulder and dragging you there,” Trevi teased.

“Great idea,” I deadpanned. “Chicks really dig that.”

I heard Trevi snicker as the door fell shut. When I turned back to Rafe, he was studying me with those big brown eyes that didn’t miss much. “What?” I asked, testily.

“You haven’t been going to practice?”

Ugh. Now he was going to go all bossy on me again. “Nope.”

“So you’re just going to let the job go?”

I closed my computer, hoping Rafe would take the hint that study time was over. “It’s not like I need the money, right? That’s lucky.” In a strange way, Trevi’s shitty news was a relief. Because now I could stop worrying about missing practice and letting people down.

“It was never about the money, I think.”

So true. “The new coach was never my biggest fan, okay? Maybe this is the best way for him to say it without having to say it. The man can hire whomever he wants.”

Rafe made an irritated sound in the back of his throat. Then he closed his notebook and shoved it into his book bag. “It sucks, though.” He stood. “I won’t see you tomorrow. Are we still on for Saturday night?”

I was going to have to give myself a major pep talk before I faced my family. “Saturday night is unavoidable for me. But if you don’t feel like dressing up to eat fussy food in a room full of philanthropists, I wouldn’t blame you.”

He shrugged. “It’s no trouble. How dressy are we talking about?”

“Coat and tie.”

“That’s easy,” he said, pausing beside the bed. He put one warm hand on my head for a second, and it was all I could do to keep from leaning into it. Then he took it away again. “Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” I said, as if it was something friends just said to one another. As if I weren’t the one who was quite obviously self-destructing.