Chapter 2

I stood frozen outside Riley's door, my raised fist still hanging in the air.

What the hell?

The moaning stopped abruptly. I heard rustling sounds, then footsteps. I knocked quickly, three sharp raps.

"Just a minute!" Riley's voice sounded breathless and flustered.

I waited, trying to process what I'd just heard. Riley had been... thinking about Chase? The same Chase who'd just humiliated me downstairs? My stomach twisted.

After what felt like forever, the door opened. Riley stood there, her hair slightly messed up, cheeks flushed. She'd obviously tried to fix herself up, but her lab coat was wrinkled and her lipstick was smudged.

"Brie? What are you doing here so late?"

"I need to talk to you about what just happened downstairs." I stepped into her office without waiting for an invitation. "Chase and the guys were completely out of line."

Riley closed the door behind me and walked to her desk. She didn't meet my eyes. "Out of line how?"

"They're spreading rumors about me. Saying I'm giving performance enhancers to State's players and... other things." My face burned just thinking about it.

"Other things?" Riley sat down and finally looked at me. There was something cold in her expression I'd never seen before.

"Sexual things. They're saying I have some kind of problem, that I can't control myself around athletes." The words felt disgusting coming out of my mouth.

Riley leaned back in her chair. "Well, you did date that guy from State."

I blinked. "Marcus? We broke up six months ago. That has nothing to do with—"

"Doesn't it though?" Riley's voice had an edge to it. "I mean, you were dating the enemy. Can you really blame people for talking?"

What? "Riley, they're saying I'm trading sex for information. That's completely insane."

"Is it?" She stood up and walked around her desk. "You do have access to medical supplies. And you have been... friendly with opposing players."

I stared at her. This was not the conversation I'd expected to have. "Are you seriously suggesting—"

"I'm not suggesting anything." Riley crossed her arms. "I'm just saying that when a girl dresses the way you do and acts the way you do, people are going to talk."

Dresses the way I do? I looked down at my jeans and university sweatshirt. "What's wrong with how I dress?"

"Oh, come on, Brie." Riley's laugh was sharp. "Those jeans are practically painted on. And don't get me started on some of the tops you wear to work. Low cut, tight... You're practically advertising."

My mouth fell open. I couldn't believe what I was hearing from another woman, from my boss.

"I dress professionally," I said, my voice shaking. "And even if I didn't, that doesn't give Chase the right to—"

"Chase is a good guy," Riley interrupted. "He's under a lot of pressure as team captain. If he said something out of line, I'm sure he didn't mean it."

A good guy? "He called me a sex-crazed spy in front of the entire team!"

"Well..." Riley shrugged. "Maybe if you hadn't given him reason to think that."

I felt like I'd been slapped. "Reason to think what?"

"Brie, let's be honest here." Riley sat on the edge of her desk. "You're young, you're attractive, and you clearly enjoy male attention. The way you flirt with the players, the way you laugh at all their jokes..."

"I'm being friendly! It's called being professional!"

"Is it professional to date athletes from rival schools?"

"I dated one guy! One! And we broke up months ago!"

Riley held up her hands. "Look, I'm not judging you. I get it. Hockey players are hot. They're strong, they're athletic, they have stamina..." Her eyes got this weird, distant look. "Trust me, I understand the appeal."

What the hell is wrong with her?

"But you can't act surprised when people notice," she continued. "When a girl like you surrounds herself with all these fit, attractive men, people are going to assume things."

"A girl like me?" My voice was getting louder. "What does that mean?"

"You know what it means." Riley's eyes traveled over my body in a way that made my skin crawl. "You've got the kind of figure that drives men crazy. The kind of curves that make them think certain thoughts."

I felt sick. This was supposed to be the woman who protected me from this kind of talk, and instead she was making it worse.

"I can't believe you're saying this," I whispered.

"I'm just being realistic," Riley said. "And honestly? If Chase did decide he wanted to sleep with you, you'd be lucky to have him. He's gorgeous, he's the team captain, he comes from a good family. Instead of crying about rumors, maybe you should be flattered."

I'm going to throw up.

"Get out," I said.

"Excuse me?"

"Get out of here with that bullshit!" I stood up so fast my chair almost fell over. "You're supposed to be helping me, not victim-blaming me!"

Riley's expression turned icy. "I think you need to adjust your attitude, Brie. And maybe think about whether you really want to make a big deal out of some harmless locker room talk."

"Harmless?" I couldn't believe this. "They basically called me a prostitute!"

"They called you exactly what your behavior suggests." Riley moved toward the door. "Now, I have work to do. I suggest you go back to your dorm and think about the choices you've made."

She opened the door, clearly dismissing me.

I walked past her in a daze. "This isn't over."

"Yes, it is," Riley said. "And Brie? Next time you want to come crying about hurt feelings, maybe look in the mirror first."

The door slammed behind me.

I stood in the empty hallway, shaking with rage and disbelief. The woman who was supposed to protect me had just told me I deserved to be sexually harassed because of how I looked.

Because of how I looked.

The next few days were hell. By Tuesday morning, it felt like the entire campus was talking about me. I heard whispers in the dining hall, saw people pointing in the library. Someone had obviously spread the story beyond just the hockey team.

My roommate Chloe, who I'd been friends with since freshman year, suddenly had excuses for why she couldn't walk to class with me.

"I've got an early study group," she said Tuesday morning, not meeting my eyes.

"Since when do you have study groups at eight AM?"

"It's a new thing. Professor's orders. Sorry, I'm gonna be late." She grabbed her bag and headed for the door. "I'll see you later."

But she didn't come back to the room until after midnight, and she went straight to bed without saying a word.

Wednesday was worse. In my Sports Medicine class, the professor assigned partner work, and I ended up being the only person without a partner. I had to work alone while everyone else paired off.

They're all talking about me.

Thursday afternoon, I'd had enough. I was sitting in my dorm room, staring at my laptop, when I made the decision. I opened my email and started typing to the Dean of Students.

I need to report sexual harassment by members of the hockey team...

I was halfway through the email when my inbox chimed with a new message.

From: President.Office@university.edu

Subject: Meeting Request

Ms. Ashford,

Please come to my office tomorrow at 2 PM to discuss a recent matter involving the athletic department.

Sincerely,

President Hamilton

I stared at the screen, my finger hovering over the delete key for my half-written complaint.

The president wanted to see me.