“Good.” She nodded, sliding a piece of paper across the desk to me. It was a list of Liam’s assignments until Christmas. “I wasn’t sure what he passed along to you in terms of his current and future assignments. As you can see, he started a feature about how the assistant captain for the Bulldogs is stepping up to guide the team while their captain is injured.”

I took a closer look at the list, and my stomach plummeted to the floor. Much to my dismay, there it was, second bullet from the top: Bulldogs feature with assistant captain.

The Bulldogs’ assistant captain was Paul.

Would it be unprofessional of me to dry heave?

“Liam did an interview with him already?” I asked. “Does he have a recording or transcript I can review?”

“No,” she said, folding her hands over top of the desk. “He hadn’t completed it yet.”

By “starting” the feature, she meant Liam had thought about it. Maybe.

Dread took root in my stomach and blossomed from there. A one-on-one interview with Paul wasn’t exactly on my bucket list, even if it would add to my writing portfolio.

“Since you’re familiar with the team,” Professor Johnson added, “I knew it would be no problem for you to conduct the interview so you can write the article.”

I nodded, but I wanted to scream. “Right. None at all.”

“I can email you the guidelines for a feature article as well, since this is your first time writing one.”

“Thanks,” I said, “that would be great.”

By the time I left her office, it was time to leave to meet Chase at the traffic roundabout. I made my way out of the center for communications and texted Amelia for Paul’s number while I walked across campus. After receiving an exceptionally frosty response—almost like she thought I wanted it to hit on him or something, and um, not a freaking chance—she eventually passed it along.

Then I connected with him via text and arranged a time to meet at a coffee shop on campus Monday. Better to get it over with rather than have it looming over my head.

* * *

A few hours later, Callingwood had pulled off an impressive win, Chase and I had eaten more than our share of junk food at the game, and we were back in town.

He pulled into a parking spot in front of Lush Boutique and killed the ignition. The neon pink sign glowed accusatorially at us. Going in there would be like announcing to the world that I was having sex. Not just sex, freaky sex. Or that I was masturbating, which I wasn’t keen on advertising, either.

“Ready?” He turned to face me, dark brown eyes glinting playfully.

Nerves seized hold of me, fight-or-flight response kicking in. The trepidation was like the first time I’d filled my birth control prescription amplified times a million.