Looking to Score(51)

But I didn’t want to compromise my own sanity, either.

“We can take things slow,” I replied. “I don’t want you dipping in any infected ponds while we’re sharing a lily pad, though.”

Oakley grinned. “How could I possibly want another pond when this one is so perfect?” His lips found my collarbones, and that skilled tongue of his swiped out to taste me.

Then he was gone. I was just about ready to spread-eagle for him when he jumped off the bed and started searching for something. Once he found his cell phone on the dresser, he came back. “Take a photo with me,” he pleaded.

“I’m naked,” I argued. Oakley rolled his eyes and grabbed my hand, making sure to thread our fingers together. Within an instant, he snapped a photo—making sure to crop out my freeballing titties. After what felt like two seconds of filtering, it was posted to Instagram and already had four hundred likes.

“What did you say?” I asked as he tossed it on the mattress beside me.

“See for yourself. I’m about to take a shower.”

I watched him disappear, then greedily picked up his phone. The photo was slightly blurry and sweet, but it was the caption that made me smile.

#mine

I supposed I was okay with being his. For now.





After some sexy time in the shower, because oh yeah, Oakley got some after that Instagram post, I had to get ready to face the music. And it was a slow haunting death march that was leading me like the pied piper to Dr. Haynes’s office for that formal discussion he promised me on the phone last night.

What did one wear to be humiliated in front of a legend and then fired? Black? I went with all black. This was a funeral for my future, after all. And no makeup. I was just going to cry it off two seconds after leaving his office anyway. No need to have stinging eyes and mascara streaks to add to my shame.

Oakley offered to walk over with me, but I put my big girl panties on, sucked it up, and walked over by myself. My feet felt like they were encased in lead, and the hot ball of anxiety in my stomach was radiating nervous energy. Before knocking on death’s door, I did a few of the breathing exercises Shelby taught me and repeated my favorite mantra. When I felt ready, I turned solemnly to face the door and knocked, fully aware of my own melodrama.

“Come in, Miss Matthews,” Dr. Haynes called. His voice was cold and disappointed. I almost couldn’t make my body move into his office. This was going to fucking suck.

I walked into his office and took my usual chair, not daring to say anything. When I finally got the courage to look up at him instead of looking at my shoes, there was none of the usual warmth in his face.

“When we first met, I was surprised that my newest PR student was being accused of crossing ethical boundaries. Your professors have raved about your coursework. It was hard to believe that anyone could accuse you of acting anything less than professional,” he started. “Mr. Davis recently told me the truth about that night, which made far more sense than the version of things that were spun to me in that first meeting.”

I listened intently, still not willing to speak.

“I am very disappointed to find myself in this position again. If it were solely up to me, I would not keep you in this program. However, it is not entirely up to me. Coach Howard has made a convincing argument for you to stay. It also seems that you have charmed the entire football team. It has come to my attention that every single photo has been removed. That is incredibly impressive.

“By the skin of your teeth, you will remain in your internship. But I think maybe we need to come to a better arrangement to ensure your success moving forward,” Dr. Haynes said, peering at me.

“I’m willing to do anything, Dr. Haynes,” I stammered. “I have learned so much from you. I hate that I’ve disappointed you, but my work ethic is spotless.”

Dr. Haynes got up from his desk and sauntered over to me. It was the first time since meeting him that my mentor seemed predatory. My eyes went wide when he leaned on his desk next to me. “Miss Matthews,” he purred, every syllable of my name dripping with sex. This was starting to feel like a cheap porno, but I wasn’t sure if that was just my imagination or what.

“I think I have a way that we could work through this,” he rasped, leaning forward. I wanted to scoot my chair back but also didn’t want to show any weakness.

“And what way is that?” I spat, crossing my arms across my chest.

“You know I do some freelance representation, right?” he then asked.

“Of course. It’s one of the reasons I wanted to work with you. You have such a track record of success, and I really see the value in your mentorship,” I insisted. I couldn’t figure out where this conversation was going.

“I’m working with a company that wants a partnership with your father’s company. Plotify is taking the music industry by storm, and we’d like in on the pot.”

It suddenly made sense. Doctor Haynes didn’t want to mentor me, and by the looks of it, he didn’t even care about my...image. He wanted an in with my father.

“You have his number,” I began with a sneer. “I’m sure the great Zachary Haynes doesn’t need an intern’s help to get the job.” I didn’t like how I was being used.

“We both know you don’t need this internship. We both know you’ll have your dream job after college. You didn’t have to work for it. Hell, you went streaking at your old school, and Daddy covered it up for you. I just figured…”