Ruthless knight

Sawyer

Oh, that shithead motherfucking son of a goddamn bitch.

I shoot my gaze up to the ceiling. Sorry Jesus.

Anger rolls through me so swiftly I shake with the force of it.

I have to command my feet—which are currently propped up on the stall door so they’re hidden—to not run right out there and give the asshole a piece of my mind.

Cortland’s always been a douche, so his asinine bet doesn’t surprise me.

But Cole?

He didn’t have to concede.

He could have told his teammate to go fuck himself.

He could have told him and everyone else the truth about our hookup so Cortland would drop it.

Cole’s warning from the other night zips around my head like a boomerang. “The second you think I’m capable of changing, or there’s any good in me, I’ll prove you wrong and hurt you again…worse than before.”

Turns out he was right.

But I can’t focus on how much it hurts right now, because I’m definitely going to be late for work if I don’t leave in the next ten minutes.

Attempting to remain calm, I tune into the sound of the showers ru

It doesn’t seem like they’ll be clearing out anytime soon.

Pulling my cell out of my pocket, I note the time and mutter a silent curse…just as someone enters the stall next to me.

Holding my breath—because I’m positive the dude must have had roadkill for lunch—I force myself not to move a muscle.

I’m about ready to pass out when I finally hear his stall door open and he leaves.

Think, Sawyer. Think.

Sca

My heart squeezes as the memory flits through my head.

As much as I hate thinking about that day—not to mention the irony of using this tactic—it’s the only solution that could work.

I just need a willing accomplice.

An accomplice who’s already here.

With no other options, I send a text to Bianca.

Sawyer: I need your help.

Bianca: Again?

Sawyer: I’m trapped in the boys’ locker room.

Bianca: See any nice peens?

Before I can tell her no, my phone lights up with another text.

Bianca: Is Le

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

Sawyer: I need you to do me a really big favor.

Bianca: You’re shit out of luck. My favor quota for you has already reached its limit for the century.

Brat.

Sawyer: Please, Bianca. I can’t afford to lose my job. I know you don’t understand because you eat off gold platters every night and bathe in diamonds and caviar, but some people don’t have it so easy.  

Bianca: Whoa. Passive aggressive and bitchy.

Crap. That’s not going to get me anywhere with her.

Sawyer: You’re right. That was rude. I’m sorry.

Bianca: Don’t be. For a minute I almost liked you.

I want to ask her if that means she’ll help me, but I get her follow up text.

Bianca: I’ll help you, but it’s go

Surprise, surprise.

Sawyer: I already told you I don’t have any money.

Bianca: I don’t want your money, Church.

Sawyer: What do you want?

Bianca: I haven’t decided yet. But when I do, I’ll let you know. Deal?

This has bad idea written all over it, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

Sawyer: Provided it’s not illegal, it’s a deal.

Bianca: We’ll discuss the semantics when the time comes. What is it you need me to do?

Sawyer: Pull the fire alarm at some point in the next three minutes.

Bianca: Just so we’re clear. You’re asking me to commit a crime?

Well, when she puts it like that.

Sawyer: You’re right. It was wrong of me to ask you. Forget it.

Mere seconds after I press the send button the ear-piercing sound of the fire alarm blaring infiltrates my eardrums and my phone lights up with another text.

Bianca: You owe me two favors now.