Hooped #3 (The Hooped Interracial Romance Series, Book #3) Read online

  Just when I would have sent the message, the door to the locker room opened with a squeak, and Devon came out. Where he’d been absolutely jubilant on the court, flushed with victory, jumping up and down, smiling up at me, he was obviously furious—his brows were low over his eyes, his lips turned down in a frown. “Dev!” I came away from the wall I had been leaning on, hurrying to get to him as he came out of the locker room almost storming through the door. Devon looked around, and in a moment spotted me; I watched the clouds clear away from his face, and he smiled at me—though it was barely a fraction of his normal charming grins.

  “Hey, babe,” Devon said, wrapping his arms around me the moment I came near. He kissed me lightly on the lips, his hands wandering along my curves slowly. “It was good to see you there cheering for me,” he murmured. He smiled against my lips, pulling my body close against his, holding me for a long moment.

  “It was good to watch you,” I told him. The things I’d heard—the expression on his face, the whole situation—tugged at my mind, troubling me. “What’s going on, Devon?” Devon pulled back slightly, swallowing. For a moment, he looked more worried than angry, and then the expression left his face once more, replaced by a ghost of his usual cheerful look.

  “I don’t want to talk about it here, babe,” he said, smiling weakly. He kissed me again. “Let’s head back to the house and we can talk about it there, okay?” I looked up into his eyes.

  “This isn’t—it’s not anything about what we discussed before, right?” I said, holding onto his arms tightly.

  “No,” Devon said, giving me another weak smile. “It’s nothing about anything like that. I promise I’ll tell you everything, okay?” I took a deep breath.

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Ten

  The entire time we walked across campus, I was torn between dread at finding out what had happened to Devon and delight at the fact that he was holding my hand. If nothing else, I thought, obviously his problem—whatever it was—wasn’t about Kelly or about me, and it wasn’t about his playing ways. But the fact that Devon was so obviously upset worried me. It had to be something serious for him to be so angry. The questions from the reporters, along with the comments from the coach—that he had nothing to say about Devon, that Devon wouldn’t be speaking to the press—filtered through my mind, giving me a picture of nothing good at all. I wanted to ask him what it was, but while we were in public—and in spite of how deserted the campus was that time of night, it was still public—I knew he wouldn’t want to say anything.

  So I forced myself to be patient. It would look strange for us to walk silently, so I made myself make small talk. Devon and I talked about the game, about Northwestern, about the halftime show that neither of us had seen. “I feel like I played better than ever,” Devon said, giving me a slightly more genuine smile.

  “You were definitely on fire,” I said, moving a little closer to him in the darkness between two safety lights. Devon gave my hand a little squeeze, and I hoped against hope that whatever had happened between when he left the court and when I saw him again, it wouldn’t be something that could ruin our relationship; I had practically not just burned but exploded my bridges with Kelly. I didn’t know how I could handle it to lose both Kelly and Devon within twenty-four hours. It wouldn’t be fair.

  We arrived at the frat house, and Devon said a polite hello to his brothers hanging around the living room. “Great game, man,” someone called out, barely tearing his gaze away from the TV where a post-game commentary was going on. One of the other brothers looked over and grinned, giving me a wave.

  “I saw you down court-side,” he said. “Cheering our boy. You got a good one there, Dev.”

  Devon chatted for a few moments—and I knew that he was anxious to get me somewhere private where we could talk. I kept up my own end of the conversation, smiling and nodding, agreeing with a few comments about the game. I could feel the tension in the room—but obviously no one wanted to talk about whatever was happening with Devon. That made me even more deeply worried; I didn’t know how to feel about something that everyone in the frat knew about, but which no one would talk about. Something that the coach of the team wouldn’t talk to the press about, that Devon wouldn’t mention in public. My heart was beating in my chest as my brain played through all of the possibilities; maybe there had been a death in Devon’s family, or someone had been injured, or he was sick. Maybe Devon had bad grades in one of his classes and was going to be put on academic probation. Any number of things would have happened.

  I somehow managed to keep my anxious self together. After a while, Devon finally managed to beg off, saying that he was tired after such a big game and wanted to get some time with me alone. I grinned nervously, looking around the room; there were a few leers—a few suggestive looks, from guys who were pretty sure they knew what Devon was really after. Some of the other guys in the frat looked at Devon and Me as if they were contemplating an explosion. Devon took me by the hand and led me up the stairs, saying goodnight to the other guys. He gave my hand a little squeeze, and I could see the anxiety in his eyes as he glanced at me.

  My heart beat in my chest, faster and faster, as I tried to decide what the worst possible thing could be. Maybe he knocked someone up; condoms break, the pill fails—it could be that. If he’s not seeing her still, I could be okay with that…I guess…or maybe he took steroids and got caught—though I can’t even imagine him doing something quite so stupid. Maybe he and some other member of the team had some kind of problem—some kind of fight. Oh god, I wish he would just tell me what’s going on. I might die of a fucking heart attack before we even get to his room.

  Devon opened the door to his bedroom and led me through it, and for a long moment we were both silent as he closed the door behind us. I waited for him to tell me—I waited for him to say something, anything. Devon was looking at the floor, staring at it; it made me terrified. Whatever it was, it was obviously a really huge deal. This couldn’t be something minor, not the way that he was wrestling with himself, avoiding my gaze.

  “God, Devon,” I said, sitting down heavily on the edge of his bed. “Just tell me. I don’t even care what it is, just tell me. I can’t sit here and keep stewing anymore.” Devon finally met my gaze and looked like he was about to cry.

  “Okay,” he said slowly, taking a shaky breath and licking his lips. “But you have to promise to hear me out—don’t say anything until I’ve told you the whole story.” I closed my eyes; if it was this dire—did I really want to know it? But I had to know now. I couldn’t just brush it off and pretend like nothing was going on. Obviously the guys downstairs knew what had happened; the press knew about it. Everyone seemed to know about it except for me. I couldn’t just stick with ignorance.

  “Fine,” I said, opening my eyes and taking a deep breath. “I—I promise. I’ll let you explain the whole thing before I say anything about what it is. Just tell me.” Devon swallowed and moved across the room, sitting in his desk chair. He took another breath.

  “After the game, coach pulled me aside in the locker room,” Devon said slowly. “He told me—he said that some guys on the academic standards committee needed to talk to me.” I bit my bottom lip to keep from saying anything; if the academic standards committee wanted to talk to Devon—if they had—it had to be something major, indeed. Failing a class, or something that could be grounds for academic probation; something that could get him suspended or even kicked off of the team.

  “Okay,” I said—in spite of the fact that I had promised to say nothing until he finished. Devon closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he exhaled on a sigh.

  “The thing is that they—okay.” Devon pressed his lips together. “Back when I was in high school, I was all about basketball. I was barely making grades—just good enough to keep from getting kicked off the team, right?” I nodded. I wished that he would just tell me; my heart was beating so hard in my chest that I thought it would burst out from betw
een my ribs, or leap up into my throat. What did his grades in high school have to do with anything he had going on now? He was only a few semesters away from graduating.

  “So I needed really good test scores, you know?” I nodded again, feeling a chill in the room. The hair on the back of my neck stood up as a suspicion started up in my mind. Test scores. The SAT; the ACT. Oh god, what did he do? I felt my throat tightening at the question. “So I paid someone to take the test for me.”

  “You what?” My voice leaped out through my lips before I could restrain it, my words an almost shriek. I remembered as soon as I spoke that I had promised not to say anything until he explained all the way.

  “I paid someone to take the test for me. I knew I’d never get a decent score. So someone took my ACT, and did well enough for me to get my scholarship, and get in here.” I stared at him blankly, horror filling my brain. This was so much worse than anything I had imagined, though I couldn’t think of why.

  “You—you did what?” Devon shrugged, looking at me weakly.

  “They found out somehow, and the academic standards committee said that I had to meet with the dean tomorrow.” He took a deep breath and sighed again. “I’m going to be suspended, starting tomorrow morning—first thing.”

  I stared at Devon in complete shock. How was he not getting expelled for this? Suspended—he had not just cheated on his ACT; he had never even taken it! “If I’m suspended, I can’t play. I’m going to miss the tournament game.” I stood up, trembling all over, my shock turning into anger.

  “You—you didn’t just cheat on the test, you—” I shook my head, thinking about how hard I had worked to be able to get in, how hard I had studied and prepared to get the scores I wanted on the SAT and ACT. All of the different things that the girls had said about Devon filtered through my brain: that he did whatever he wanted, that he would say whatever it took to get his way. I brought my hands up to my face and then let them fall to my sides, torn between complete shock and utter rage. “Do you have any idea how hard I worked to get in here? Do you—do you even care about the fact that—that you’re—that you didn’t even do any of your own work to get your spot?”

  “I made grades!” Devon said, looking hurt. “And I trained harder than any other guy I knew.”

  “That’s not even the point!” I clamped my teeth shut, realizing that I was shouting. I didn’t want anyone downstairs to hear me—it was bad enough already. “Not only did you totally just...just ignore the system. You—you risked losing everything! When you could have just studied and gotten a decent score on your own.” I shook my head in disbelief.

  “I knew there was no way I could get a decent score—that’s why I did it.” I opened my mouth, but no words came.

  “I can’t believe you,” I said finally. “You don’t even care about the fact that you’re a liar and a cheat—you only care that you’re not going to be playing.” I opened my mouth and shut it again, trying to process what was happening, trying to understand how I could have ever had feelings for someone who would do something so incredibly stupid.

  “I can work it out, Jenny—” My hands tightened into fists.

  “You are never going to fucking call me that again,” I said, my voice going low as my eyes started to sting and burn with tears. “In fact—in fact, I never want to see you again. I don’t want to talk to you. How could you be so stupid?” I heard my voice going up and made an effort to control myself. I was not going to make a scene—not there, not then. I swallowed. “I don’t date cheaters, Devon. It’s as simple as that. I can’t—I can’t even imagine wanting to talk to you ever again.” I turned on my heel and in an instant it seemed, I had the door open. Devon called out from behind me, begging me to wait, to let him explain.

  I kept moving forward as if I couldn’t hear him, my feet carrying me down the hall, stumbling on the stairs, and to the front door. I looked straight ahead of me; I couldn’t stand the idea of how the guys in the living room were reacting. I couldn’t let myself see what their faces looked like. I closed the frat house door behind me and plunged into the darkness, not even certain of where I was going, only that I needed to be far, far away from Devon.

  Continued in Hooped #4, the hooped series. Click here to continue.

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 Claire Adams