Page 43 of Half Truths (Secret Society 1)
“I think women should definitely get paid equally,” he said. “However, I do think it depends on the sport and the revenue it brings in. I’m not saying that because I’m a man and I know I’ll get paid top dollar. According to Forbes, the revenue the NHL brings in is 1.5 billion. The international soccer club brings in 9.4 billion, so I know I can’t demand Ronaldo money even if I am the Ronaldo of hockey.”
“But you do believe in equal pay?” one of the students up front asked.
“Of course I do.”
“What if the women’s team brings in more revenue than the men’s team? Do you think they should still get paid equally or more than the men?”
“If they bring in more money, they should get paid more money.” His lips curved into a lazy smile. “I’m all for equal opportunity.”
Everyone seemed to quiet all at once. I wondered if they were all mesmerized by the way he seemed to transform with something as simple as a smile. The professor continued talking. Logan turned to me and winked. I glanced away quickly, knowing I’d start blushing any minute.
“Aren’t you supposed to take pictures of our practices?”
“Yeah. I’m going tonight. I’ll be behind a camera lens and trying to be as quiet as possible, so I doubt you'll notice me."
“Impossible. I’m always aware of your presence.”
I felt myself blush. The professor chose that moment to dismiss us and tell us to read the first chapter of our textbook by Thursday. Everyone got up and collected their things. I realized then that Logan had never taken anything out of his bag. I eyed him closer.
“You don’t even have a book bag?”
“No.”
“Where do you carry your books?”
“What books?”
“Your textbooks.”
“They’re at home. I only go to classes to listen to my lectures. If I wanted to stare at my books, I would sign up for online classes.”
I couldn’t really argue with that logic. We walked down the steps of the auditorium. As we passed the professor, she turned to us.
“Fitzgerald, are you planning on signing up for this class or should I expect you to waltz in here every week so you can hit on Miss Bastón?”
“I was just making sure the course was worth my time before I signed up.”
“And?” She raised an eyebrow. “Did we meet your expectations?”
“I have to think about it, but yeah, I think you did.” He flashed a prize-worthy smile. “See you Thursday.”
“So you aren’t in this class.” I pushed him lightly.
He chuckled. “Not yet. Still thinking about it.”
“So you were stalking me.” I was smiling. I didn’t know why I was smiling.
“Not stalking. Just . . . biding time.”
“Before what? Your actual class?”
“Nah, I’m done with classes. I’m going home to take a nap before practice.”
“Sounds heavenly,” I sighed. I felt like I was running on seventy-two hours of no sleep and twelve gallons of caffeine.
“You want to join me?”
I eyed him sideways. “I’m not one of your—”
“Groupies. I know. I meant just to sleep.”
I gnawed on my bottom lip.
“I can tell you’re tired, Amelia. You look tired.”
“I am.”
“So, come sleep with me.”
“Quiet down.” I looked around. “People are going to think you mean you want to—”
“Fuck you?” His eyes danced.
“Logan.”
“What? You don’t want people to think we’re fucking?”
“Oh my God, can you stop saying that?” I covered my face, which felt like it was one thousand degrees hotter than the rest of my body.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who doesn’t want people to think I’m—”
“Stop.” I got on the tips of my toes and reached up to slap my hand over his mouth.
He laughed harder, pulling my hand away from his mouth and stopping. We were now standing there, blocking the exit, so that people had to walk around us on either side, and my hands were in his as he looked down at me. His expression slowly turned serious. I just stared, heart at my throat.
“Come on.”
“You said you don’t let anyone in your bed,” I whispered.
“You’re not just anyone.”
“We’re not hooking up.”
“We’re not hooking up,” he repeated.
I shrugged and started walking because what the heck. The library could wait a couple of hours.
Chapter Eighteen
“What’s your major?” I asked as we waited for the crosswalk to give us right of way.
“Business, with a minor in journalism.”
“Journalism?” My brows rose. “Really?”
“I have to do something once I’m done playing professionally, don’t you think?”
“I guess so.” I eyed him with a new appreciation. “Why don’t you work for the paper?”
“No time. Sadly. I’m a little jealous of Paper Boy’s job, but I can’t complain about being on the ice.”
“Right, because you would be great at asking people questions. Whenever I see you, outside of people begging you to party with them and stuff, you’re quiet and you look like you’d kill someone if they tried to talk to you.”
