“I just need to talk to you for a second,” I say, trying to sound casual. “Nothing major.”
Sebastian’s head snaps up at that, his gaze sharpening as he studies my face. Damn it. I forgot how good Maverick’s friends are at reading people. I guess it’s an occupational hazard of running in his circles.
“What’s wrong?” Rowan immediately folds his hand. “You look like someone just told you they’re canceling all sea lion research funding.”
“I’m fine,” I lie. “I just?—”
“Bullshit,” Sebastian interrupts, standing up from the table. “You’re as pale as a sheet, and your hands are shaking. What happened?”
I glance down and realize he’s right, my hands are trembling slightly. I shove them into my jacket pockets, trying to look more composed than I feel.
“Look, I really just need to talk to Bostic privately,” I say, my voice coming out tighter than intended. “It’s not a big deal.”
“If it’s not a big deal, then you can say it in front of us,” Rowan counters, crossing his arms. “We’re Maverick’s friends. If something’s wrong?—”
“Nothing’s wrong with Maverick,” I say quickly. Too quickly.
The silence that follows is deafening. Luke and Davis exchange glances, suddenly very interested in their beer bottles. Sebastian and Rowan stare at me like I just confirmed their worst suspicions.
“Uh-huh,” Sebastian says slowly. “And that’s supposed to make us feel better?”
Bostic pushes back from the table, his chair scraping against the concrete floor. “Guys, maybe give us a minute?—”
“No,” Rowan says firmly. “If something’s happening with Maverick, we need to know. We’re not just gonna sit here playing cards while his girlfriend has a panic attack in the doorway.”
“I’m not having a panic attack,” I protest weakly.
“You’re doing that thing where you talk too fast and your voice goes up an octave,” Sebastian points out. “It’s the same voice you used when you thought you’d accidentally killed Maverick’s laptop with that experimental smoothie.”
“That was one time, and it was kale overload, not attempted murder,” I snap, then immediately deflate. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m a little stressed.”
Bostic stands, walking over to me with that calm, measured stride that somehow makes everything feel more manageable. “What’s going on, kiddo?”
The concern in his voice almost breaks me. I look around at all these faces, Sebastian and Rowan, who’ve had Maverick’s back since freshman year; Luke and Davis, who’ve become weirdly protective of me ever since they decided I was good for their grumpy poker buddy; and Bostic, who’s been more of a father figure to me than I ever expected.
They all care. They all want to help. And I’m about to ask them to keep a secret from one of their own.
“If I tell you,” I say slowly, “you have to promise not to go running to Maverick. Not yet. Not until we figure out how to handle this.”
“Handle what?” Rowan demands.
I take a deep breath, then pull out one of the chairs at the poker table and collapse into it. “Carter Mills is blackmailing me.”
The temperature in the room drops about twenty degrees.
“What?” Sebastian’s voice is dangerously quiet.
“He has evidence,” I continue, the words tumbling out now that I’ve started, “about Maverick’s IOU system. About the exam stand-ins from last year, when Pops had his stroke. He’s threatening to take it to the dean unless I—” I swallow hard. “Unless I go to the Dean’s Gala with him. This Saturday.”
The silence that follows is so complete I can hear the hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.
Then Luke speaks up. “Did you say Carter Mills? As in, the dean’s son?”
I nod miserably.
“Holy shit,” Davis breathes. “That’s—that’s really bad.”
“You think?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “And it gets worse. Maverick punched him last night. At Spuds and Studs. In front of half the restaurant.”