Free GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) by Bianca Sommerland

we’re being included, for whatever reason, I want to know why. Now.”
    The locked clicked. The door opened a crack. Oriana peeked out at them and spoke so quietly Sloan had to hold his breath to hear her. “Don’t blame Max; he’s doing this for me. I need something I can use against my father. He threatened to cut me off if I break up with Paul. Changing his mind shouldn’t take much—he won’t risk me going as far as my sister did—”
    “What does Silver have to do with this?” Sloan’s sharp tone had all the men staring at him, but he didn’t give a damn. He’d known Silver for all of a month—couple of years after Delgado acquired the team. She had to be the most self-centered, high-maintenance woman he’d ever met. Not his type at all, and she hadn’t taken it well when he’d say so.
    Tough. He didn’t perform on demand.
    Oriana gave Perron a helpless look. Perron held up a hand and shook his head, probably having guessed where Sloan’s thoughts had gone. “No one has to do anything. She’s just gonna walk out of here with all of us; make it look like something was going on by getting out of her clothes—”
    “I’m liking this idea so far.” Vanek sidled between Sloan and Mason and pulled off his jersey. He bunched it up to toss it to Oriana. “Even if this don’t work, imagine what the guys will say—”
    “You’re not gonna look like some big stud if that’s what you’re thinking, Vanek.” Sloan snatched the jersey, feeling Oriana’s eyes on him as he paced to the sink. He fisted the jersey in his hand and rested his knuckles on the edge of the sink. “As a matter of fact, she’s just going to use us to get what she wants—should be something in this for us, but there won’t be.”
    The stall door opened all the way. He watched Oriana’s reflection as she slipped out and moved to stand next to Perron.
    “What do you think should be in it for you, Mr. Callahan?”
    Sloan shrugged. “At least a little show . . .” Her bottom lip quivered, and he groaned. “Shit. I’m kidding. Don’t start blubbering.” He tossed the jersey to Perron. “Help her get changed; I wanna get this over with.”
    Expecting Perron to take her into the stall, Sloan hefted himself up on the counter to sit and wait. Oriana crossed the room and bent down to pick up one of her boots.
    He had a second to wonder why before she flung it at his head. The sharp heel nicked the arm he shielded himself with, then clattered on the floor.
    “What the hell!”
    She came at him so fast he thought she’d claw at him like an angry cat. She stopped a foot away and dug those very sharp-looking nails into her palms. Fists pressed to her sides, she stared at him, opening her mouth twice before she finally spoke.
    “I don’t use people and I don’t ‘blubber.’ I would really appreciate your help—I know I’m not much to look at, but still . . .” She blinked fast and held her hand up when he pushed off the counter and stepped forward. “Please don’t make fun of me anymore. I don’t like it.”
    Make fun of her? What the . . . “I wasn’t—”
    “Shut up.” Perron glared at Sloan like he’d just called the girl some nasty name and rubbed Oriana’s arms. “You are beautiful. But you don’t have to—”
    “Please get it off me.” Oriana turned her head away from the men. Perron slung the jersey over his shoulder and went to work on the knotted ribbon of her corset.
    Sloan studied her stiff posture and frowned. “Perron—”
    “Not now, Callahan.” Perron murmured something to Oriana, and she nodded.
    The corset opened wide, revealing soft round breasts covered by sheer black lace, quivering with the rapid rise and fall of her chest. Lovely—but the girl looked ready to hyperventilate.
    Taking hold of the bottom of her dress, Perron gave Oriana a bracing smile. “Arms up.”
    Oriana put her arms up. Her face was sickly white.
    Sloan couldn’t take it any longer. “Perron, stop.