“Don’t sweat it,” Noah murmured. “In truth, some of that baggage was ours anyway.”
“Yeah.” I nodded, avoiding looking at them both.
“We were thinking . . .” Dante began.
The three most dangerous words ever uttered, I decided.
“What now?” I groaned.
“Sav wants to find the blogger. Hadley? It’s likely she didn’t stop looking into the program, and we want to know what she found out. If anything.”
Noah was looking my way.
Fuck.
“Really? Maybe. Or she could have stopped.” I would not make eye contact with Noah, I vowed. Which would have worked if he hadn’t bounced a balled-up napkin off my head. “Asshole!”
His look was pointed, and I groaned, drawing Dante into the one-sided conversation. “Not cool, man.”
“What’s not cool? What’s going on?” All hilarity had left him, and he was once more in QB10 mode, eyes sharp, assessing, waiting for your tell. “Dust?”
I rubbed the back of my neck as I avoided direct eye contact. There was a reason he had a reputation for being cool as ice; the guy’s stare was frigid.
“Just... it’s nothing to freak out about, okay?”
“Not liking how this is starting,” Dante muttered, looking over at Noah, who’d sat down again.
“I met a hot brunette.”
Dante looked confused. “And?”
“She’s smoking hot. Like, you have no idea.”
I watched him glance again at Noah, clearly having no inkling of the bombshell I was about to drop. “Okay? And?”
“I went to the bar tonight to see if she was there. She was.” I glared at Noah, who sat impassively. “Until he took me outside.”
“Why? Trouble?” Dante looked even more on alert. The last time I’d seen that look of complete concentration on his face was the final drive of the Championship game that took us to the end zone.
“It was Hadley.”
His brow furrowed in confusion for a split second, and then that laser-sharp focus was on me. “Dust—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. He already said it earlier.” I looked away from them both. “I said nothing to her. About anything. Honestly, all I did was flirt and kiss her.” I sniffed. “Maybe grabbed her ass.” I told the truth. “Never asked her name, hardly spoke to her at all.”
“Does she know—”
“Who we are?” Noah asked gruffly. “Yeah. She asked us if the football program was still rotten.” He threw me an olive branch. “In his defense, he really didn’t know who she was. I told him tonight.”
Dante was silent for a moment, looking down at his hands. “You think she targeted you?” he asked quietly.
I considered it. Really considered it. Not whether she was a spy, or something else that Dante’s paranoia would imagine. But that she’d known exactly who I was when she walked out onto that patio. So when she’d pulled away, was it actually hesitation, or a calculated move to get me to go back?
I didn’t like that I couldn’t answer that, or the fact that if it was the latter, it had almost worked.
I scoffed, more at myself than Dante’s question. “Fuck, D, she isn’t a spy or anything.”
His gaze held mine. “She’s a reporter.”