The Shameless Hour: A Sports Romance (The Ivy Years Book 4)

I AGED about twenty-seven years on the day of the football game.

Bella and Lianne had begun their day by renting a van and parking it at the edge of the tailgate lot. As far as I could tell from their plan, they wouldn’t be in any danger until halftime. But I showed up about two hours before game time anyway, because I wanted to be present if any assholes arrived on the scene.

When I found the girls, Lianne was busy signing autographs for all the models they’d hired, and Bella was handing out matching V-neck Beta Rho sweatshirts.

I could see how this would go down. Those assholes in the Beta Rho section were going to take one look at those models’ tatas and do anything they asked. And then when they discovered they’d been tricked, they were going to be pissed. At Bella.

Que desastre.

Marching over to the van, I saw Bella look up in surprise. “Hi,” she said. “You know this game doesn’t start for a while, right?”

“Then you have plenty of time to listen to me.”

Bella gave me a look. But then she followed me around to the back of the van. “What’s the deal?” she asked, folding her arms. Her cheeks were flushed in typical Bella style, her eyes flashing with mischief. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for this girl. But apparently I hadn’t convinced her. Or worse — she didn’t care.

“Please don’t do this,” I said, my voice low. “It’s not a good idea.”

Her eyes flared. “It’s an amazing idea. You said so yourself.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to be calm. “It’s just not safe. I know you want to make your point, but anything could happen.”

Bella squared her shoulders. “I’m doing this my way, and I’m going to say what I came here to say. But thank you for your input.” With one more irritated glance, she disappeared around the nose of the van.

Dios. I’d been dismissed. How utterly familiar.

So of course I spent the next three hours standing at a distance, watching for trouble and thinking of all the ways it could all go wrong.

Over at Bella’s mission control center, the crowd of models around the van had swelled considerably. Each of them was taller and more stunning than the last. They were all wearing the type of full-on makeup that a guy didn’t usually see at a Harkness football game. If only my stomach would stop churning, I might be able to enjoy the show.

Bella sat inside the rental van, aiming a pair of binoculars into the Beta Rho tent where the anniversary party was held. When the football game started, partiers began streaming into the stadium. I watched them walk past me, faces red from the November chill and from drinking a few too many beers.

The Beta Rho guys were the drunkest of the lot. I wasn’t sure whether that made things easier or more perilous for Bella’s big plan.

Please let this work, I kept saying to myself. Because bargaining with God was always an effective strategy for success. And if things went bad, the phone jammed into my pocket was the only weapon I had.

There was only one saving grace — Beta Rho was a football frat. And since Bella intended to pull off her stunt during halftime, that meant that a good portion of the current membership would be in the locker rooms when it went down.

So that was something.

After the Beta Rho tent had emptied and I’d heard the crowd in the stadium roar quite a few times, Bella and Lianne got busy. They lined up the tall women they’d hired to help them and spent a good long time explaining their plan. Lianne kept checking her phone, probably keeping an eye on the game clock. Announcements echoing from inside the stadium let me know that the second quarter of the game had already begun.

Bella and Lianne pulled two long rolls of fabric from the back of the van. Each roll was mounted on poles. They were obviously banners of some kind, though I couldn’t see their design. Each banner was assigned to a pair of models. The tricky part came next. Bella handed out burgundy-colored file folders to each of the remaining girls. With animated hand motions, she explained what to do. And then she explained it again.

I couldn’t decide if I was more worried that Bella’s plan would fail, or more worried that it would succeed. If it failed, she’d be crushed. If it succeeded, she’d be in danger. My stomach was in knots now.

After the pep talk, the tall girls shed their sweatpants, revealing tiny little shorts underneath. Then Lianne passed out Beta Rho baseball caps, which they donned. Finally, all the women picked up a shopping bag from the back of the van and began walking toward the stadium entrance. I waited for them to pass me, and then I jogged to reach Bella. “Hey,” I said. “Good luck in there.”

When she turned her face to mine, there was a soft expression on it. “Thank you.”

I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Please don’t take any chances. If this goes bad, just get the hell away.”

“Okay.” Her eyes dipped, then met mine again. “I promise.”

“Go get ’em.”

Bella held up a hand. “Hold up. I need to make a call.” She yanked her phone out of her pocket and dialed. “Graham? You’re in the press box, right? I need you to get yourself somewhere you have a good view of sections six and seven. That’s where all the Beta Rho guys are sitting together. And bring a video camera.” There was a pause. “I can’t tell you why. But the minute you see people passing out papers over there, start filming right away. This is important.” She listened again. “I know I’m a pain in the ass, Graham. But get over there, okay? You’ll get a great story out of it. And if anything goes wrong, I need that on video, too.”

My stomach gave another lurch.

She stowed her phone and clapped her hands. “Okay. Let’s go!”

I followed fourteen of the most attractive women in the zip code through the stadium arches. An usher ripped my ticket, and I was inside. But where to stand?

I settled on a spot beside the end-zone bleachers. I could see the stands from there yet was also quite mobile. Half time had just begun, and the Harkness band was marching onto the field.

When the models first approached the regular student section I was confused. They dipped into their shopping bags and began handing out empty plastic cups — the kind that were often sold as souvenirs at a sporting event. They were burgundy, though, which probably meant they were Beta Rho swag.

After passing out all the cups, the models took places in front and along the sides of the Beta Rho sections.

Meanwhile, Bella had tucked herself onto the end of a bench in the student section, while Lianne did the same a few rows up.

Then Lianne put a coach’s whistle to her lips and blew.

Immediately, the models bent over whichever guy was seated on the end of the nearest stadium row. With animated hands, they explained what they wanted, and then they passed a stack of cards into each man’s willing hands. After only a small amount of prodding, I saw those cards begin to travel down the row, some burgundy and some white…

My heart thumped like crazy.

On the ground level, two models had recruited a couple of people to hold the ends of a banner which read, SINCE 1915. And at the very top of the stands, a similar banner was unfurled, this one reading, BETA RHO FRATERNITY.

Now came the tricky part of the operation that would only work if Bella and Lianne had executed their graph-paper design perfectly, and if most everyone sitting in those twenty rows of seats held up his card as he’d been told to.

When all the cards had made it across all the rows of seats I heard Lianne give another blast on her whistle. That’s when the models began lifting their folders into the air, pantomiming the action they wanted to see down the row. They did this with come-hither smiles on their faces. It was quite a sight—and one that several decades worth of frat boys did not fail to notice.

As my breath stuck in my chest, several hundred white and burgundy sheets of cardstock were raised into the air.

For a heart-stopping second, I couldn’t decipher a pattern. But as two hundred fraternity members and their dates raised their arms into position, it became obvious that the card mosaic formed letters. Bella’s message was unmistakable. Together with the banners, the frat boys had unwittingly spelled out:

Beta Rho Fraternity

THINKING w/

OUR DICKS

Since 1915

Several things happened at once.

There was a roar of surprise and laughter from the opposite side of the stadium and a scramble as everyone reached for his or her phone. In the student section, people were holding up the souvenir cups and passing them around for inspection.

Lianne’s models began their speedy getaway, jogging quickly down the stairs. But their progress was slowed by all the other people crowding those steps, coming and going from the bathrooms and concession stands. Bella and Lianne stayed put, watching their girls retreat, like captains willing to go down with the ship.

“Come on,” I whispered to myself. The sooner Bella was out of there, the better. I saw her rise to follow the last model down the steps, and I tracked her progress as she wove through the crowd. I found myself walking slowly toward the staircase, as if to meet her at the bottom.

That’s when I saw him — a guy I recognized from the Casino Night party at Beta Rho. He was wearing his football jacket slung over his shoulders because one of his arms was in a sling. The jacket had “Whittaker” printed on the arm. In his good hand he held a molded tray with three drinks on it.

His face broke open in shock as he took in the sight of his fraternity’s declaration. And then his features morphed into rage. “What the FUCK?” I heard him yell. “Guys! Put those down!”

Now I was moving faster, weaving between people, trying to get to Bella.

“Hey, watch it!” somebody said as I swerved past.

There was no time to apologize because Whittaker was sweeping the stands with his eyes, his mouth still open from shock. He was turning… toward Bella, who had almost made it down to ground level.

I ran the last few paces, deciding not to slow down as I approached him. Instead? I collided with his drink tray, smacking right into him. The result was an instant curse, followed by the splash of soda all over my upper body.

“You asshole!” Whittaker yelled. “What the…”

“Oops,” I said quickly. I righted what was left of the tray in his hands. “Hey, I’m sorry about that. Can I buy you another one?” As I apologized, I braced myself for a punch. I’d gotten him all wet, too.

But the dude couldn’t decide where to put his eyes or his temper. His baffled gaze kept jumping between the soda running down his arm and the horrors of his fraternity’s unfortunate public statement. “Hey!” he yelled toward someone in the stands. “Who did this?”

He tried to step around me, but I blocked him, because I couldn’t see whether Bella was clear of the place yet.

“Look,” I said, taking a ten out of my pocket. “Take this, I’m sorry about the drinks.”

“Whatever, asshole. Just move it.”

I tucked the ten in his shirt pocket and then cut around him, heading for the exits.

Neither Bella nor Lianne was anywhere in sight. By the time I made it out to the tailgate lot again, the van’s engine had started, its taillights glowing cheerily in the evening light.

Feeling the first whiff of relief, I watched it drive away.