Page 28 of Masters of Play

Dr. Santos bristled, his chest puffing up like an irate peacock whose feathers were only black and white. Beside him, Dean Hernandez scratched at his salt and pepper chin. Dr. Wroth said nothing, only licked at her parched lips.

What surprised me most was Sinead. For someone who always had all the answers, he wasn't speaking up on his own behalf.

"There's still the complaint," Dr. Santos pointed out.

"An anonymous complaint," I counter pointed. "Where I've given you the facts of what occurred and showed that Sinead did nothing wrong."

"Rules are rules," Dr. Santos went on, but he was speaking to Dean Hernandez, not me. "We still need to investigate the veracity of the complaint."

"That's utter bullshit."

"Watch your language, Ms. Prince."

"It's Dr. Prince. And my two hundred pages of excellent language earned me one of the highest degrees in the world. Yet you're going to take away the career of the most brilliant man here because of unsubstantiated words from an unverified source? Based on what evidence? Someone's word? You mean their lived experience? But I thought lived experiences were widely regarded as the bargain basement form of data in academic studies, especially when they're anonymously given."

Dr. Santos's lips pinched together like a child who was about to throw a temper tantrum. Behind him, I could see a small crowd gathering. Chad's greasy hair was the first person I recognized. He stood to the side of a redhead I vaguely recognized.

"The anonymous report," said Dr. Hernandez, "said Dr. Sinead went to a sex club with a student."

Behind me, I heard Sinead let out a low sigh. It sounded like defeat. Back in front of me, I recognized the only other person who could've put the two of us at the BDSM club together.

"Ginger."

The girl jerked at the sound of her name. Her eyes found mine. There was no love lost in her gaze.

I'd had little to no interaction with her on campus. I'd had only a smidge more interaction with her inside the club. That was mainly impatient foot-tapping when she was taking too long to vacate the platform that the Carson twins used to bind and suspend their clients.

"If you're pissed at me because I'm sleeping with the twins, you don't need to take it out on Sinead."

There was a collective gasp and actual clutching of pearls at that revelation. I heard the word slut being bandied about from the peanut gallery. Both Dr. Santos and Dean Hernandez looked at me as though I was yesterday's trash.

It didn't matter what they called me. So long as they added Doctor in front of any slur. I always took responsibility for my actions, and I had no shame in my kink. But I would be damned if I'd let anyone else be used and hurt over my choices.

I took a step forward, ready to bring Ginger to her knees, if that's what it took to get a confession. I liked being on the bottom. When I had a partner or partners who could handle me. But I was a boss bitch Dominant at heart. Ginger didn't stand a chance.

That single step forward I tried to take didn't get me far. Looking over my shoulder, I saw Sinead holding me back.

"It wasn't her," he said.

"How do you know?"

"I know."

Sinead said it as though he was giving a lecture. He said it in that tone that told his students that this question would be on the final exam. He said it like he knew the answer to the question that was posed.

"You know who the anonymous source is?" I asked.

There was a choked sound that came from those gathered outside the door to the classroom. When I looked up, I couldn't tell who it came from. Both Dr. Santos and the dean still wore their expressions of contempt. Chad looked like he was getting off, watching the demise of another person. Ginger looked smug, like she was watching her greatest enemy get their just desserts.

"It doesn't matter," said Sinead. "There's nothing more here that I want to do."

"Now, Chase," said Dean Hernandez, "don't be hasty. I'm sure there's something we can work out."

"You think so?" Sinead asked as he came to stand beside me. He curled his fingers around mine, giving my hand a tight squeeze that felt like solidarity.

Dean Hernandez took one glance at our entwined hands and pursed his lips. When he glanced back up at Sinead, there was censure in his eyes. "Think about your career. Don't throw it away over a… a…"

"A what?" I asked. "A sex therapist? Or a slut? Doesn't matter to me which one you call me because I'm both."