“Good luck,” Coach answered. “He disappeared from practice early, saying he had a prior commitment.” Coach plopped down at his desk and scratched his head. “He’s probably balls deep in some unlucky coed right now. That boy’s dick is going to fall off one of these days. When you see him,” Coach continued, wagging his finger at me, “tell him that he owes me another hour of practice.”

I couldn’t believe this. The University of Texas was one of the most prestigious schools in the state—hell, in the country. People were dying to get in here. There was no way Oakley was that good. There were always better players waiting to prove themselves. I didn’t know anything about football, but even I knew that.

I should have excused myself, but instead, I sat down. “Why is Oakley still on the team?”

The coach rolled his eyes and asked, “Why do you care?”

“If you want my help, I need all the information. You and I both know you wouldn’t put up with this shit unless you were forced to,” I replied.

His brows shot up in surprise as if he weren’t expecting me to ask that. Coach leaned over his messy desk and lowered his voice. “You’re a smart girl. Let’s just say Oakley is very protected by higher-ups that want to see him succeed. One might even say they have no other choice but to keep Oakley happy.”

I nodded and wrote a quick note in my planner, then stood up. “I’ll find him and pass along the message. When is your next practice?”

“Oh six hundred in the morning.”

Perfect. I loved to start my day early. “We’ll be there.”

He snorted. “Mr. Wednesday said that I’d be monitoring your progress? I’ll be watching you. I suggest you go ahead and plan on being here another semester because Oakley Davis is hopeless.”

I smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” I loved it when people underestimated me. It made proving them wrong that much more rewarding.

I walked out of his office with my head held high and my shoulders rolled back, making sure to pour confidence in my steps as I left. I looked like I had my shit together. I was getting a fucking A, come hell or high water.

But the moment the door closed and I was out of his line of sight, I squeezed my eyes shut and frantically picked up my phone, desperate to figure out where my client was. I pulled up his Instagram and checked his story.

Shit. Damn. Hell. Sonofamotherfuckingbastard.