He studies me with a smile that’s overcrowded with small teeth in an otherwise large mouth. “Yes. Same terms as before. Your opponent has knocked out everyone before the second round. You up for it?” His beady eyes rake over me, an arch to his brow as he takes in the additional muscle I’ve managed to build up in the past couple of weeks. I’ve also healed up completely and feel like I’m at the top of my game.

“Who is it?” A whole list of names runs through my head, mostly SEC powerhouses since those are the ones I know the best.

“He’s an Alabama boy, and the fans are chomping at the bit to get to you. It’s all everyone is talking about.”

Everyone being his little circle of rabid rich fans.

My lips flatten. Alabama is the best in the country—this year. They defeated us in a tight Rose Bowl game last year, knocking us out of the national championship.

A muscle flexes in my jaw, and I give him a sharp nod. “Done. Just tell me when.”

“I’ll make the final arrangements and call you.” He puts out his hand for me to shake. There’s an ostentatious ring on nearly every finger, but I grit my teeth and take it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of movement outside the office, and I turn to see Muffin watching us, a petulant look on her face.

I narrow my eyes at her and she flips around then hurries toward the door, but not before I see that she had her phone out.

Did Ryker tell her we were coming here? That doesn’t make sense, not when I’m meeting Leslie here.

Brushing past him, I exit the office, my eyes scanning the gym for Ryker, who I find in the back on a butterfly machine.

Everything seems okay, but I know something isn’t right. I follow Muffin as she heads to the foyer, her bag slung over her shoulder.

I call her name, but she tears out the front door, a purposeful stride in her walk.

Following behind her, I exit the building and see her half-running to her little Mercedes convertible.

Jogging, I catch her before she gets it unlocked.

“Hey, I didn’t know you worked out here.” It’s not unusual for students to come, especially since the Waylon facility doesn’t offer the same variety of classes, but I’ve never seen her here. “What’s up?” I say.

“Yeah, well, I signed up for a CrossFit class here. The only time available is super late.” She’s fumbling around in her purse for her keys. “I thought it would be great since Ryker is here a lot.”

My stomach falls. He must have mentioned that he comes here. Dammit. I don’t need Muffin sniffing around and seeing me spar in the ring. I mean, it doesn’t look bad to box, but still…I want to cover my tracks.

“Oh, did you see him? He was on the butterfly machine.”

She blinks. “Uh, no…but I saw you in Carson’s office.”

My eyes narrow. “Is that right? Huh.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” she says curtly, giving me a sneer.

“You seem a little off, Muffin. You okay?”

With an aggravated sigh, she glares up at me. “Why so many questions, Maverick?”

I sneak a look at the phone she still has clutched to her side and nod my head at it. “Did you take a picture of me?”

She blinks. “What if I did? Is that a problem? Do you have something to hide?”

A scowl pulls my brow down. “No.”

She laughs. “I did actually, of you and the fat guy in the suit. Those glass walls are amazing—I could see everything.”

I stiffen. “Don’t meddle in my life, Muffin. Stick to Ryker.” My voice is hard and flat.

She bristles and opens her car door, giving me a cunning look as she slides inside. “Are you threatening me?”

I take a step back, holding my hands up. “No. I’m just asking why you took a picture of me with a man you don’t know.”

She arches her brow. “There are ways to find out who he is. Ever hear of reverse image search on Google? Besides, I asked Carson and he told me his name was Leslie Brock. Guess who I’m going to look up when I get home?”

I’m baffled by why she would even care.

Anxiety eats at me, imagining her blabbing around campus about who Leslie is. I know exactly what she’ll find out if she tries hard enough: he owns casinos.

“Don’t start something you don’t know anything about,” I say tightly.

An insinuating expression flits over her face. “Just a heads up, Ryker leaves his phone out constantly. I just happened to take pictures of some messages you’ve sent him that came across his lock screen—texts about fighting in Tunica and a man named Leslie, and then lo and behold, I ask Carson who you’re with and he says Leslie. Not smart to meet your bookie so close to home.”

Fuck. I can’t breathe.

I bark out a laugh. “He isn’t my bookie.”

She’s off base, but dangerously close…

“Yeah, right. You’ve been gambling.”

“It’s not what you think it is,” I say. “I’ve never gambled.” There’s so much more I want to say to her—I want to fucking go off on her—but I’m terrified.

“Whatever. You’ll say anything to protect yourself.” She’s managed to get in her car now. “I’ll see you,” she says as she slams her door and cranks her engine.

I stand back as she jerks out of her parking spot and squeals off.

Everything feels wrong.

I scrub my face and head back into the gym. I have to find Ryker and figure out what the hell is going on.

Delaney

It’s the Thursday night before spring break and the library is a dead zone, except for the diehards who aren’t leaving early for a quick trip to somewhere.

It’s seven o’clock, so I have two more hours before I can hightail it out of here and head to my house, where I’m supposed to meet Maverick.

Voices drift in from the front, and I look up from the circulation desk I’m manning, expecting to see my co-worker who’s been working on the main floor downstairs, but it’s Martha-Muffin and one of her sorority friends.

She sees me and changes her trajectory, making her way over to the desk. She practically flounces in a pair of white cutoffs and a lace top that barely covers her boobs.

I exhale. “Mensa meeting for two tonight? Please don’t let me interrupt. Choose a table, any table.” As long as it’s far, far away from me.

“You think you’re so smart.” She shakes her head. “It all might just fall down around you.”

I arch my brows. “Okaaaay. Am I supposed to be scared?”

“You would be if you knew what I knew,” she says, twisting her lips.

I sigh, not in the mood for her antics. I just want to get out of here and see Maverick. “Unless you’re here to check out a book—which I highly doubt is the case—or need help finding a book—which I also highly doubt—then I’ll leave you to your ridiculously vague comments and go do something productive with my time.”

I skirt around the edge of the counter, my goal to get as far from the toxicity as I can, then I hear her voice calling behind me in a singsong tone. “I know something you don’t.”

I push my glasses up and turn around. “I already know you slept with my ex. Over and done. I’ve moved on.”

She laughs, but it isn’t a pleasant sound, and by now the group of guys back in the corner openly stare at us.