“Hi.” I reached for my coffee and took a gigantic gulp. This interaction was beyond awkward, but the sugar and caffeine cushioned the blow a bit. If only I’d packed a flask to spike my coffee with. Even if it wasn’t yet noon.

This was literally the first time we had ever been one-on-one. And hopefully the last.

Working methodically through the list of ten questions I’d written—because Liam hadn’t done that, either—I tried to be as professional as possible. How did he start playing hockey? When did he know he wanted to play at the college level? Who were his role models? What did he intend to pursue after graduation? I took scrupulous, detailed notes to eliminate any possibility that I would have to contact him again for clarification or follow-up.

While I’d planned to keep our meeting brief, Paul was more than happy to talk about himself. Or rather, to drone on about himself. He kept spiraling off on unrelated tangents while I desperately tried to harness my interviewing skills and wrangle him back on course.

Paul was thirstier for the spotlight than I’d realized, and apparently, he viewed this temporary Luke-free window as his time to shine. Seemed like Chase had done him a favor.

Twenty-five painful minutes later, which was ten longer than I’d intended to spend with him, he concluded a long-winded tale about hockey training camp last summer. Or last spring. I didn’t know; I’d tuned out. I glanced down, cross-referencing my notes with my list of questions and praying I hadn’t missed anything. I was ready to end this nightmare of an interview.

“Okay, I think that covers everything.” Standing, I pushed my chair back and closed my silver laptop. The massive tension I’d been holding in my shoulders eased as I gathered my things. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“By the way.” Paul leaned back in his chair, leisurely crossing an ankle over his knee. “I have a funny story for you.”

I paused and glanced back up at him, bracing myself for another boring, self-promoting tale.

“My cousin is a server at O’Connor’s, and she knows your boyfriend—you know, because he fucked one of her friends.”

My stomach lurched, and I stifled a flinch, wishing more than anything that I could un-hear the information. Why had no one yet invented brain bleach to erase disturbing pieces of information like that? I didn’t want to know, didn’t need to know, didn’t want to think about it.

He continued, “Anyway, she said some blond chick was all over Carter when he was there recently.”

Thoughts spun in my mind, rotating faster than an F5 tornado.