“Can. You. Frigging. Believe. This.”

Rage twists Summer’s beautiful features into something dark and primal. She looks as if she’s prepared to drive to Erik Laurie’s home and strangle him with her bare hands.

I don’t blame her.

“A scheduling conflict?” she screeches. “The day before the event? He did this on purpose. He’s trying to fuck me, literally and figuratively”

I don’t laugh, because I’m furious on her behalf. When she’d emailed Laurie reminding him that half her models won’t be available until this earlier show is well underway, she’d gotten a cold response stating that she’d simply have to redo the independent study next year.

Which is a slap in the face after she’d worked her ass off all semester.

“Are you sure he knew that Rex and the guys wouldn’t be available until eight?”

“He knew,” she says tightly. “I mentioned it several times during our check-ins. He wanted me to open the show, and I told him I’d prefer a later slot to give the football guys time to regroup after their retreat. Plus, it’s a lot of pressure to go first.”

“Can you go over his head?” I ask.

“To who? My academic advisor? Richmond can’t stand me. And he’s in love with Laurie.”

“Maybe he’ll see reason. It’s not like you didn’t do any of the work. You still have six models.”

“I told all this to Laurie,” she reminds me. She tosses me her phone.

I read over their email exchange again. After his rude reply, Summer pleaded her case, saying she has six models ready to walk in the show, and asking if she could simply not show the men’s line. Laurie tells her that either all twelve models need to be there, or none of them. He once again reiterates that she will need to repeat the independent study.

Spiteful bastard.

“What am I going to do?” Her expression is dismayed, but she’s not crying, which tells me she hasn’t admitted defeat yet.

“There’s gotta be a solution. You talked to Rex—there’s no way they can make it back early?”

“Nope. Coach Deluca has them on lockdown. Apparently this hippie-dippie retreat is in the middle of the woods, miles from civilization. The bus doesn’t collect them until five. They’ll get back a couple hours after that.”

I think it over. “Okay. So we’ve got six dude bathing suits.”

“Eight. Rex and Lockett were going to walk twice.”

“But you only need six bodies.”

“Yes, but…” She shakes her head in frustration. “The suits are tailored for these bodies. That’s why we had fittings.”

“But,” I counter, “we have their measurements, and I’m sure we could find guys who generally fit those measurements.”

“Where are you going with this?”

Yeah, where are you going with this? a little voice squawks.

I exhale slowly. “We’ll do it.”

Her brows soar. “We?”

“Well, they,” I amend. “I’m going to recruit my teammates.” I’m already swiping my phone off my desk. “Hollis will definitely be on board, you know what a showoff he is. Hunter—” I stop. No, Hunter’s out. He’s barely spoken a word to us in weeks. “Nate, I can see saying yes.” I scroll through my messages list. “We need someone a bit slimmer to replace Lockett.”

“Jesse!” Summer suggests.

“If Katie lets him.” I bypass Jesse’s name and search for his girlfriend’s. “Know what? I’ll just text Katie directly. She wears the pants in that relationship.”

“True.” She purses her lips. “But who’s going to fill in for Rex? Please don’t get mad at me, but…he’s got a huge package.”

I close my eyes briefly. “Seriously? No guy wants to hear his girlfriend say that, Summer.”

“I told you not to get mad,” she protests. “Anyway, don’t worry. He’s not much bigger than you. You’re almost the same—” Her eyes light up like it’s Christmas morning.

“No way,” I growl, reading her mind. “I’m recruiting for you, not volunteering as tribute.” The thought of sashaying down a runway while a crowd of people stare at me makes me want to vomit.

“Fine. Then you’ll need to poll your teammates about their penis sizes. Try to find me a big one.”

I fight hard to contain my laughter. God. This girl.

“I’ll see what I can do,” I promise.

The good thing about not having a game the following night is that, in theory, most of my teammates should be available.

The bad thing about not having a game tonight is that nearly all of them already have plans. Half the guys went to a strip club in Boston. A few others don’t pick up their phones. A couple of them consult their girlfriends, who say no fucking way.

Katie, luckily, is not one of them. She loosens the reins and gives Jesse permission to do it. Hollis, as always, is more than happy to help. It took some arm-twisting to get Nate and Matt on board, until Summer promised that the after-party would be teeming with hot sorority girls. The French-Canadian on our team, Pierre, is a huge, hairy fellow who’s about the same size as the huge, hairy tight end, Bibby.

In twenty-four hours, I’ve scraped together five bodies.

I’ve yet to find a replacement for Rex, he of the big package.

In my desk chair, I glance down at my own crotch. I never thought I’d see the day where I’d be cursing the generous size of my cock. But I’m running out of both options and time. Summer left for the venue an hour ago to help with setup. She also signed up for cleanup, though apparently she agreed to this before Erik Laurie tried to stick his tongue in her mouth.

She emailed Laurie this morning telling him she’s found replacements for her male models.

I desperately don’t want to let her down, but I’m not sure who else to call. My gamer friends aren’t exactly model material. Morris, Ray, Kenji…they’re all short and scrawny, not to mention complete introverts.

I’m scanning my brain for other candidates when my phone rings. Private caller. I waste no time answering, because I’d told my friends that if they know anyone who’d be interested, to please pass my number along.

But when I answer the call, I’m hit with a sense of déjà vu.

“Please hold for Kamal Jain.”

Seriously? Why is he calling me? I haven’t heard from him (nor wanted to) since our showdown at the Heyward Plaza last week.

“Colin!” he barks in my ear. “I hope I caught you at a good time! Would’ve called during business hours, but I was in meetings until six.”

His rapid manner of speaking irritates me tonight. “What do you need, Mr. Jain?” I ask, unable to stop from being curt.

“We’ve been through this! Please call me KJ or—”

“No,” I interrupt. “I’m not going through this song and dance again. Tell me what you want, otherwise I’m hanging up.”

Silence crashes over the line.

I can’t believe I just snapped at a billionaire.