Page 88 of Campus Muscle

Tara’s gaze shot over to me, but she quickly buried the fleeting look of hope that had flashed across her face. She was tangled up with Frank too, so this affected her as much as anyone else in this room.

“Hopefully your plan doesn’t need me to do any heavy lifting,” he joked weakly.

“No, but it’ll only work if— I need to know if there is anything that can be used against you if people start digging.”

“People?” Tara asked, no longer pretending she wasn’t listening.

“It doesn’t matter if I keep the Highlanders out of my article,” I replied. “Where there’s smoke…”

Trace thought for a second, then shook his head. “My dad sent me a video of him burning the check that arrived in the mail. There’s no link there. And Frank offered me a stack of cash and a car, but I didn’t take any of it. I don’t know what else can be used as proof.”

“I can provide a statement saying he pressured me into passing Trace as game-ready after his injury,” Tara said, trying to be all helpful after fucking Trace over.

“Wait,” he said, and pushed to his feet. “What about my exam? The TA gave me the answers. I can’t prove I didn’t use them, but Frank can prove he had them given to me.”

Under normal circumstances, that would be an issue, but I was the proof he didn’t use them. The two of us sat in the library all night studying. That would’ve been caught on the surveillance cameras. I tried to replay that day in my mind to see if I could spot the actual cameras, but then—

“Your score,” I blurted out, the light going on in my head. “You did terribly on that exam, barely staying eligible to play. Your marks were so bad, there’ll be no question of cheating.”

“Talk about kicking a man while he’s down.” But a faint smile curled his lips.

I mirrored his relief and took a few steps closer. Until there were only a few inches separating us. “We both know you like it that way.”

The air in the gym suddenly felt a lot tighter. Beside us, Tara cleared her throat, an awkward sound that broke the spell. She shifted her weight, looking everywhere but at the obvious electricity humming between us.

“Right,” she muttered, getting to her feet. “I, uh... I actually just realized I left the high-density foam and some extra bracing tape in the med bay. I need to grab that real quick so we can finish up today’s session.”

She headed for the door, but I found my voice before she could disappear. “Wait—Tara?”

She paused, looking back at me.

“Speaking of his shoulder,” I said, my reporter’s brain struggling to keep up with my racing heart. “Frank pressured you to pass him, we know that. But what’s the real story? Can he actually play the next game?”

Trace opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a hand to silence him. I wanted to hear it from her.

Tara looked at Trace, then back to me, her expression turning serious. “If it were anyone else, I’d say no. But the inflammation is down, and the range of motion is... well, it’s getting there. It’s a pain management game now.”

“I’m playing,” Trace said, his voice like steel. “I’m not sitting on the sidelines. I want to finish this. I have to.”

“I’ll have him taped up the wazoo,” Tara promised me, her professional mask sliding back into place. “I’m doubling his rehab, and we’re gonna be aggressive with the cold-compression. If he can handle the grind, he’ll be match-fit by kickoff.” She pointed a stern finger at Trace. “Don’t you even think about bailing on me while I’m gone. Stay on that bench and keep that ice pack exactly where I put it, or I’m writing you up for non-compliance. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

She turned and hurried out, the heavy door thudding shut and leaving the two of us in the sudden, ringing silence of the gym.

“Alone at last.” I sidled up to him, trailing my palm over the heat from his thigh.

He was pinned under the weight of the ice pack and the heavy taping on his right shoulder, but his left hand was free. It found its mark instantly, threading deep into the hair at the nape of my neck as he pulled me up to meet him.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he rasped, though he was already leaning down, his face inches from mine.

“Just how you like it,” I whispered.

I reached up, feeling the involuntary ripple of his abs under my touch. I tilted my chin, and the moment our mouths crashed together, the gym disappeared.

Trace groaned into my mouth, his tongue sweeping past my lips to claim me with a possessive heat that made my knees weak.

His hand tightened in my hair to gain a deeper angle, while I leaned into him, my chest crushing against his bare skin. Every swipe of his tongue was a slick, wet friction that sent a jolt of pure electricity straight to my core.

For a few stolen minutes, there was no Frank Delaney, no looming scandal, and no broken shoulder. There was just the heat of him, the taste of his mouth, and the way he looked at me like I was the only truth he had left.