“Phew,” I said, leaning back and crossing an ankle over my knee.

“No, Carter,” he snapped, pinning me with an icy gaze. “Not phew. You’re still on probation with me. With the program. I spoke to the athletic director about it. We’re trying to keep it under the radar this time because repeated probations look bad for you and for the program.”

“What’s the reason you’re putting me on probation?”

“You really don’t know? Your grades are in the goddamn toilet. Just like last year.”

Well, that wasn’t a surprise. Since school started three weeks ago, I’d dedicated approximately twenty minutes to studying and completing assignments. It was my last year at Boyd. I wouldn’t be staying to graduate, so I gave no fucks whatsoever about my grades.

College was merely an annoying detour along the way to the league. At least I didn’t have to worry about losing a scholarship on top of everything else. I was paying my own way through this circus.

“I’ll address my grades,” I told him.

“You’d better.” He gestured to his phone. “You’ve failed two quizzes in history already. And you have a term paper due next month that’s worth a third of your grade. I expect you’ll expend extra energy on that paper to ensure you don’t fail the class.”

“Yes, I will.” Extra energy having someone else write it for me, maybe. That history class was drier than cardboard.

“While we’re on the topic of problematic behavior, I heard about your antics at that little end-of-school party you threw this spring.”

What, specifically, had he heard? He would take issue with several things, I was sure, some of which weren’t exactly legal. Asking for details didn’t seem like a good idea, though. Then he might start digging.

“I’m sure whatever you heard was greatly exaggerated.”

He shot me a look so searing my skin prickled. “I’m told there are pictures. You better hope that is not the case.”

Shit. Maybe we needed to confiscate phones at the door. No evidence, no crime, right?

“I have eyes everywhere, Carter. If it happened, assume I’ve already heard about it.”

Cute how he was trying to scare me. But if that last part were true, I would have been kicked off the team freshman year.

He added, “Stop gallivanting around with girls, getting into fights, and acting like a teenage idiot.”

I almost pointed out that at twenty-one, I was not, in fact, a teenager. Then I realized that was his point. Instead, I nodded. Silence was usually the safest bet in these situations.