Whistleblower ✓

33 | lime juice

"That'll be in the communications office," he told me. "You're gonna go back out through the turnstiles, take a left—"

I wish I'd turned on my heels and followed his directions.

Because the next person to come around the corner towards us was Truman Vaughn.

He wasn't tall, but what he lacked in height he made up for in sharp features and an unflinching stare. I'd forgotten how intense the weight of his full attention was. I felt like a gazelle staring eye-to-eye with a panther.

I felt like prey.

"Am I interrupting?" Vaughn asked Gordon and me as he approached.

His voice was smooth and slow, and punctuated with a smile I didn't buy for a second.

Gordon rolled back his shoulders like he was standing at attention.

"Just pointing her towards the communications office," he said.

"Actually," I piped up, leveling Vaughn with an unflinching glare, "I'm looking for St. James."

"Ah, Jeez," Gordon said under his breath.

Vaughn didn't seem impressed by my display of bravery.

"And for what purpose do you need my quarterback?" he asked.

Everything he said managed to sound slightly condescending—not enough that you were sure he was being a dick on purpose, but enough that it was impossible to ignore.

"We have class together," I asserted. "It's about our group project."

Vaughn looked me up and down once, very slowly. And then he tipped his head towards Gordon and said, "Call security."

And just like that, my heart-rate was off to the fucking races.

"I'm not lying," I said. "We have a project—seriously, you can ask him."

Vaughn sighed, like my existence was the worst kind of inconvenience for him. I was sure he was about to tell me I had sixty seconds to get my ass out of his facilities when, somewhere down the hall behind me, a door swung open.

"What's going on?"

I'd never been so relieved to hear someone's voice.

I turned. Bodie strode towards us, plucking out his headphones one after the other. He wore a sleeveless black Under Armor shirt and a pair of grey mesh shorts. His arms were beaded with sweat, his hair slicked back with it and cheeks so flushed they were nearly purple.

When his eyes landed on me, I felt the knot in my chest dissolve.

Because he looked happy to see me.

"Hey," he said, a slow smile tugging up the corners of his mouth before his eyebrows suddenly pulled together. "What are you doing here?"

Vaughn cleared his throat.

"You can get back to your work out," he told Bodie, nodding in the direction he'd come from. "We're just calling security. The Daily is sending their spies in here, now."

"I'm not a spy," I said, more exasperated than panicked.

I looked to Bodie, pleading silently for some backup.

"You don't have to call security," he told Vaughn, snorting at the absurdity of his head coach suggesting such extreme measures to combat someone who posed as little a physical threat as I did. "I have a bio project with her. I asked her to meet me here. Right?"