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

I DROVE the van through the streets of Harkness while laughing like a maniac.

Apparently the body’s physiological response to getting away with pranking a fraternity was an epic attack of the giggles. I hadn’t giggled so much since the ninth grade, but here I was, losing my shit in the driver’s seat, while Lianne lost hers beside me. And in the seats behind us, a dozen models laughed and chattered among themselves.

“Oh God, these shots are perfect,” Lianne said between laughing jags. “Your friend Graham sent photos and a video. I can’t wait to see these in high-res. There’s a bunch of texts from him, too.”

“What do they say?”

“There’s… ‘Oh my God, Oh my God. You are a genius. Best idea since fortune cookies.’”

That one made me laugh.

“And the last one says ‘marry me.’”

I snorted. “There was a time when I would have.”

“Really? I need to meet this guy.”

“I’m sure you will. And his boyfriend.”

“Oh.”

“Yup.” I stopped at the last traffic light before the train station. My heart was still thumping with adrenaline, even though the fun part of our mission was over. It was just dawning on me that maybe I was about to get into so much trouble. Anyone from Beta Rho could have spotted me in the van with the models, or sitting across the aisle at the game. “Hey, Lianne? Can you see us in the pictures Graham sent?”

She manipulated my phone, squinting down at the screen. “Yeah, but just barely. And we’re off to the side. And so what?”

“I’m not letting you take the fall for this,” I said, already bracing for the consequences.

Lianne reached across the gear box and put a hand on my arm. “You do not need to worry about me. I’m serious. If this gets out, my manager will be pissed, but my publicist will do a happy dance.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m her most boring client. I mean, it’s not like she wants to see me land in rehab. But it’s hard to get media attention for someone who never leaves her room.”

I swung the van into the train station drop-off circle and killed the engine. Lianne turned around in her seat. “Thank you for your service, ladies. It’s been a pleasure. Paychecks are coming from your agency.”

One of the models opened the sliding door and another called out a question. “Can we keep the sweatshirts?”

“Sure!” I called. “But I wouldn’t wear them on the train. It’s unlikely, but there could be Beta Rho guys onboard, and they might give you a hard time.”

“Oh, I’m wearing mine,” said a statuesque redhead named Amber. “Fuck it.”

That set us off on another round of laughing, and the models climbed out of the van. Lianne shut the door behind them and I drove off again.

The final steps in our plan took another hour and also made me feel like a criminal.

In a dumpster behind the van rental place, we threw away the extra Beta Rho shirts and the instructions we’d printed out for the models. Then, after checking the van for incriminating evidence, we turned it in. Finally, we called a taxi to take us back to campus.

“I’m starving,” Lianne admitted while we rode back in the cab. “Let’s order something the minute we get home.”

“But the dining hall is serving for another fifteen minutes,” I pointed out. “We can just run in there right now.”

“Well, okay,” Lianne said quietly.

When we walked into the dining hall entryway, Lianne went straight instead of climbing the stairs. “Um, where are you going?” I asked.

She spun around, looking sheepish. “Lead the way.”

“How have you never been to the dining hall?” I demanded. “It’s November.”

Her face closed down. “I just order in. It’s easier.”

“March.” I pointed at the granite steps. “You just need your ID. It doesn’t get any easier than that.” I showed her where to swipe in at the doorway, then herded her into the kitchen for a tray. “And don’t forget silverware,” I said. “That’s a rookie mistake.”

An older woman behind the serving counter lifted a plate off the stack. “What’ll it be?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs.” Since a look of horror was dawning on Lianne’s face, I pointed toward the doorway. “Don’t panic. There’s a salad bar out in the dining room. And the soup is right there.” I nodded at the self-serve pot.

“Hold up,” the serving-line lady said, her spoon halting above the meatballs. “You look just like that girl in those movies. The magic princess.”

“Mmm,” Lianne said noncommittally. Then she put her head down and wandered toward the soups.

When my plate was handed over, I thanked the server and turned to find Lianne waiting for me. She had a bowl of Mexican chicken soup and an anxious frown. “Come on,” I said.

In the dining room, I spotted Graham at a table with Rikker and Corey Callahan. There was only space for one, but I stopped for a second anyway. “Hey, guys!”

Corey slipped her tray to the edge of the table and then stood. “Hey! I’m on my way out,” she said. “Take this spot…” her voice trailed off when she realized who was standing next to me. “Oh, um, hi,” she said, recovering quickly. “I’m Corey.”

“Hi,” Lianne said softly.

I put my tray down. “Corey, Graham, Rikker, this is Lianne.”

“Hey,” the guys said. But Corey was still staring.

“Do you need help with that?” I asked, pointing at her tray. She walked with a cane, and once in a while she needed an assist if there were too many things to balance on the tray.

But she seemed to snap out of it. “Nope. No problem. And congratulations!” She gave me a big smile. “Graham was just telling me about…”

I gave my head a quick shake. “I wouldn’t know a thing about it.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh. Of course you wouldn’t. How ridiculous.” With another big smile, she hefted her tray in one hand and carefully moved toward the exit.

“That was…” Graham was grinning at me, too. He whispered the last word. “Spectacular.”

Rikker leaned in close to me. “Would it have killed you to warn a few people? I never go to football games. And I’m pissed that I missed it.”

Graham squeezed his wrist. “But I got excellent pictures. After dinner I’m going over to the newspaper to file my story. Front page, of course.”

My stomach gave a nervous flutter. “We are in such deep shit.” I yanked the other chair out for Lianne. “Sit down already. Wait — I promised you rabbit food. The salad bar is right there.”

Lianne set her tray down and walked toward the salad bar in the center of the room.

Then the weirdest thing happened. At the table nearest to the salad bar, I saw a couple of people nudge each other. The whole table went quiet. The same thing happened at the next table. Thirty seconds later, everyone who sat lingering over the last half hour of Sunday dinner was staring at Lianne.

“Wait,” Graham said, following my gaze. “She looks really familiar. Isn’t she that…?”

“Yeah,” I said. “She’s my neighbor on the fourth floor.”

He sat back in his chair. “She’s in Beaumont House? I’ve never seen her before.”

I reached across the table and gave his hand a warning stab with my fork. “Don’t stare.”

Lianne returned a minute later, sitting down with her salad. After a few beats, the ambient sound of conversation returned to the room.

“That was trippy,” I said.

She sighed, lifting her soup spoon. “I had this weird idea that I could just blend in here. It took me about an hour on move-in day to figure out that wasn’t true.”

“I think it is,” I insisted. “But you have to actually blend if you want to blend. If you came in here every night, it wouldn’t be interesting.”

“I have no idea how to blend,” Lianne admitted. “I’ve never gone to school before.”

“What?” Rikker sputtered. “That’s impossible.”

Lianne shook her head. “I finished kindergarten in a regular school. After that, my mother dragged me to whichever continent she thought would amuse her most. I had private tutors. And then I worked all the way through high school. The only people I saw every day wore capes.”

“Wow. I thought my high school years were fucked,” Rikker muttered.

Lianne waved a hand, as if brushing the whole conversation aside. “Thanks for sending us the pictures, Graham,” she said.

He grinned. “You were in on it, too?”

“She was my partner in crime,” I said. “The models were her idea.”

“And the sweatshirts,” she added.

“The cleavage,” I agreed.

“Remind me never to piss you two off,” Rikker said. “Can I tell the team that you’re my new idol?”

“I wish,” I said. “But please don’t. I have to be careful.”

Graham’s face got serious. “Shit, you’re right.” He tapped my hand. “There’s your hot neighbor.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rafe remove a couple of pans from the salad bar. How anyone could look that good doing kitchen work was really a mystery.

“He stood guard today,” Lianne said. “I saw him.”

“Did he now?” Rikker asked, smiling at me.

“Yep,” Lianne said even as I kicked her under the table. “He’d like to help Bella with some other things, too. But she turned him down.”

“Lianne,” I warned. “What do you care?”

“Because,” she said, with a toss of her shiny hair. “The tension is killing me. You two look at each other like you wished clothing was never invented. When we’re all in the same room, I feel like I’m intruding.”

“Well you’re not,” I insisted.

“Uh-huh.” Lianne stabbed an olive on her plate.

“New topic,” I suggested. “What is your newspaper article going to say?”

Graham chuckled. “Let’s see. We lost the game, because our quarterback threw three interceptions. Also, two hundred Beta Rho brothers proclaimed themselves to be idiots. And nobody argued.”

“I dare you to write that, babe,” Rikker said.

“Oh, I’m going to. I need a good headline, though. ‘Frat Gets Bitchslapped’ probably won’t make it past the editorial board.”

“That’s missing the point, anyway,” I argued. “‘Frat Bitchslaps Itself While Ogling Models’ Boobs.’ Nobody made them do it.”

“True, but that’s too many characters for the headline typeface,” Graham said. “I’ll think of something, though.”

“I’m sure you will.” I cut a meatball with my fork. “Hey, Lianne? I signed for a FedEx package for you yesterday. I forgot to tell you, but I left it in the bathroom so that you’d see it.”

“Cool. It’s a script.”

“Yeah? A new film?”

She shook her head. “A play. Romeo and Juliet. Isn’t it funny that they FedExed me a copy for Saturday delivery? As if I couldn’t find a copy in Harkness, Connecticut.”

“You’re playing Juliet? Do you have to stab yourself in the heart with a dagger?”

“Yep!” She jabbed her salad with glee. “That’s the best part.”

“Can I watch? When is this happening?”

“Over Christmas. And you can watch, because it’s at the Public Theater.”

I dropped my napkin. “You’re doing Juliet at the Public Theater? You are fancy.”

“It’s a good gig,” she admitted. “I’m doing it because there’s a part I want in a new film adaptation of Shakespeare. But it sure kills Christmas break. I’ll have ten days of rehearsal and then fifteen performances.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. It’ll be a grind. But, hey! New and different take-out foods.”

“And New York,” Rikker offered. “You can’t beat that.”

She shrugged again. “New York is fine. But I’m not looking forward to staying in a hotel for three weeks.”

“Why not?” Graham asked. “Sounds like easy living.”

My neighbor looked uncomfortable. “It’s not enough privacy. My manager is, like, Hitler. And he can just walk through the front door anytime he wants.”

Her manager must be a serious piece of work She almost sounded afraid of him. “Lianne? Do you need a place to stay? I have a guest room. You’d have to share a bathroom with me. It would be just like we have it now.”

She gave me the side eye. “For three weeks? Your parents would freak.”

“No they wouldn’t,” Graham said, crumpling up his napkin. “Bella’s got the whole second floor of this sick townhouse to herself since her bitch of a sister moved out.”

Rikker nudged my foot under the table. “I want to stay at Hotel Bella sometime. Where’s my invite?”

“Come. Seriously. If you visit over Christmas, we can see a Rangers game. You too, Lianne. If you don’t want to be in a hotel, stay with me. Your manager can kiss my ass.”

She stared at me, her face coloring. “Wow. I’m liking this plan. Now finish your carbs. We need to get home and see how many pictures of this got tweeted already. And I want to edit Graham’s video.”

“We can’t post it under our own names,” I said quickly.

“You think?” She rolled her eyes. “I want it for posterity. The music will be a tricky choice, though. I can’t think of any songs about stupid frat boys.”

“‘Who Let the Dogs Out?’” Graham suggested.

“Huh.” My neighbor looked thoughtful. “I’ll try it on.”

When we got up to leave, the dining hall was almost empty. The four of us deposited our trays on the conveyor belt then headed for the door.

“Wait up.”

I turned to find Rafe walking towards me. Everyone stopped, which meant there were four pairs of eyes watching him approach. And I probably wasn’t the only one who noticed how perfectly his faded jeans clung to his hips or how taut all that muscle looked underneath his Harkness T-shirt. “Hi,” I said, feeling self-conscious.

“Hey.” He hesitated, those dark eyes studying me. It was going to be awkward between us for a while. There was no getting around it. “I, uh, just wanted to suggest that you don’t go anywhere alone for the next couple of days,” he said.

I held Rafe’s gaze, but I swear I could feel my three friends nudging each other behind me. “I’m not, um, alone,” I pointed out.

“Good,” he said, wiping his hands on the towel he held. “Just be careful, okay? We don’t know how pissed off they are. I’m stuck here another half hour, but…”

“We’ll walk her all the way to her door,” Graham said.

“Which is a hundred yards from here,” I pointed out. I was done with being looked after. Really very done.

“Then it won’t take us long,” Rikker said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Come on.”

“Thanks,” Rafe said, as if he’d handed over the baton at one of his races. But then he smiled at me. “Goodnight, belleza. Congratulations.”

Christ, that smile. And when he called me beautiful in Spanish, my insides melted into a puddle. “Goodnight.”

We left, and my friends were quiet for about fifteen seconds.

“Well, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed,” Graham said.

“Me neither,” Lianne agreed.

“Quiet!” I hissed, and they all laughed.