Chapter 32: Damage Control I

"First," Knox growled softly, unzipping his black varsity jacket and wrapping it around my cold shoulders before I could even object, "we get out of the cold."

The leather smelled of clean cedar, subtle cologne, and the autumn night.

It swallowed my frame whole, the hem falling past my thighs, instantly shielding my bare shivering arms from the biting wind that whipped across the concrete plaza outside the player exit doors.

Before I could pull away or argue, Knox caught my wrist firmly, and guided me down the plaza steps toward his black pickup truck idling near the curb. Priya scrambled into the back seat, and Knox held the passenger door open for me until I climbed inside.

He shut the door, rounded the hood, and slid into the driver’s seat, bringing the warm blast of the heater to life with a quick turn of the key.

"Where are we going?" I asked, pulling the heavy lapels of his jacket tight around my chest as my breathing slowly settled down.

"The SinBin," Knox said, shifting the truck into drive and pulling out onto the main campus road. "The team victory party is tonight. Half the university is already there."

Priya leaned forward between our seats, her illuminated phone screen reflecting in the rearview mirror as she scrolled through the comments.

"Knox, the photo on Briar Campus Buzz already has three hundred shares and over a hundred comments. People are saying you guys had a massive lovers’ spat right after winning the home opener. Some of the comments are even asking if the whole relationship is just a publicity stunt."

"I know," Knox replied smoothly, fixing his eyes on the dark road ahead with set jaw.

"Can’t we just deal with this tomorrow?" I asked, feeling the bone-deep exhaustion of the last three days pressing heavily against my temples. "Maybe we do a public date tomorrow afternoon or something. Go grab coffee on the quad where people can see us holding hands and smiling like normal people."

"No," Knox said, his voice dropping into a low, decisive rumble. "My father is calling AD Pierce at nine tomorrow morning to review the game notes and our compliance status. If this photo is still trending without context when they talk, Pierce will use it to question our entire setup. We kill the rumor tonight at the SinBin, in front of the whole school."

I let out a long breath, staring out the window at the passing campus streetlights.

Knox was right, even if I hated admitting it. The contract depended on keeping up appearances, and letting a viral rumor fester overnight was a risk neither of us could afford to take.

Ten minutes later, Knox pulled the truck into the packed gravel driveway of the SinBin.

The two-story brick hockey house was glowing with warm amber lights, the deep bass from the speakers vibrating the windowpanes.

Dozens of students were spilling out onto the front porch with red cups, laughing and shouting over the music. Cars lined the curb for two blocks in every direction.

We climbed out of the truck into the chilly night air. Priya gave me a supportive pat on the arm before heading toward the kitchen to find a drink.

Knox stepped up beside me, his long shadow falling over my shoulders as we walked up the wooden porch steps.

The second we walked through the front door into the crowded living room, the noise dipped slightly. Head after head turned in our direction.

Whispers traveled through the room as eyes darted from Knox’s varsity jacket draped over my shoulders to the rigid posture between us.

"Look who made an appearance!" a loud, sneering voice called out from the center of the room.

Brad Orwell, Harold Orwell’s son, Vanessa’s brother, and the same guy Knox had flattened in the student center the other day, stepped out of the crowd. He was holding a red cup in one hand and his phone in the other, a smug, venomous grin plastered across his face.

"Well, well, Sheridan," Brad scoffed loudly, raising his voice so the whole room could hear over the thudding music. "We saw the post on Briar Buzz. Looks like your diner girl was giving you hell right outside the exit. What’s the matter? Lovers’ spat already?"

A few of Brad’s friends near the couch let out quiet, taunting laughs.

Knox didn’t flinch. He took a slow step forward, his eyes locking onto Brad with an icy, lethal stillness that made the laughter instantly die out.

"Mind your own business, Orwell," Knox said flatly.

"Come on, man!" Brad pressed, stepping closer with a mocking laugh. "If she’s really your girl and you’re not on the rocks, prove it right now. Kiss her in front of everyone."

The living room went dead silent. Everyone was watching, waiting to see what Knox would do.

Before Knox could answer, I stepped out from beside him, meeting Brad’s sneer with a cold, unbothered stare.

"We don’t have to prove anything to you, Orwell," I said, my voice carrying clearly over the thudding bass. "Especially not to someone who needs a crowd to feel relevant."

Brad’s face flushed a mottled red, his jaw clamping shut as a few freshmen near the couch snickered into their cups.

Knox didn’t say another word to Brad.

He reached out, sliding his hand smoothly around my waist, and guided me away from the crowd, leading me down the narrow hallway toward the quiet, shadowed alcove near the back patio exit.

The noise of the party faded behind us as we stepped into the dim hallway.

I leaned back against the brick wall, exhaling a long breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. "Well, that was lovely."

Knox stopped in front of me, his broad shoulders blocking out the hall lights. He looked down at me.

"He’s right about one thing, Bennett," Knox murmured in a quiet voice.

"About what?" I asked, frowning up at him.

"If we kiss on his dare in front of the living room, it looks forced," Knox explained, stepping closer until his chest nearly brushed mine. "Everyone will know it’s a stunt for the crowd. But if someone ’accidentally’ walks in on us when we think we’re completely alone..."

I stared up at him in utter disbelief, my pulse skipping a beat in my chest. "So what are you suggesting?"

Knox tilted his head, his gaze burning dark and intense. "I suggest we kiss. And let someone ’accidentally’ walk in on us."