Sacking the Quarterback Read Online Free

but there’s something else going on here. Something he’s not saying.
    It isn’t my job to save Grayson from a guilty charge—it’s my job to give it to him. But I’m also not someone who will charge blindly. More than that, I like to know all the facts before I try someone. And I feel like I don’t know all the facts here. Grayson’s clearly hiding something.
    “So, you’re telling me you don’t know the name of the person you bought that large quantity of drugs from?”
    He lowers the bottle to the table, looks me in the eye, and says, “I told you, I don’t know. He was some guy in the club that I bought drugs from. End of story.”
    “But you said you bought the drugs from a dealer in a bar, not the club.”
    “Club, bar. They’re the same thing.”
    “No, they’re not.”
    “Whatever. Jesus. Look,” he says, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. He stares me in the eye as if that will make me back off. “I was in a bar. I went up to the guy because I knew he was a dealer—”
    “How did you know he was a dealer?”
    “Because I just knew.”
    “How?”
    “Because he looked like a dealer.”
    “He looked like a dealer? How do dealers look?”
    “Jesus! I don’t know!” He’s getting flustered. And he’d only be flustered right now if he were lying.
    “But you just said you did. You said he looked like a dealer.”
    He clenches his jaw, and a frustrated breath leaves him.
    “Grayson, I can’t help you if you aren’t truthful with me.”
    His eyes flash to mine. “I thought it was your job to put me inside—not to help me,” he says, and I have to admit that he has a point.
    So why do I feel the incessant need to do it?
    “You’re right. And based on what you’re telling me, there’s no plea deal that I can offer you.”
    “So we’re done here?” he says without meeting my eyes.
    I put my pen down, sigh, and say, “Yes. We’re done.”
    Grayson stands. I feel a weird pull at the thought of him leaving right now. Once he reaches the door, he stops and looks back at me over his shoulder. “Thank you for your time. See you, Mel.”
    His words and stare hit me in the gut. And then Grayson Knight is gone, my door closing softly behind him.

Chapter 8
    “Pass the salt,” Tori says to me.
    “Who puts salt on pasta al forno?” I say, frowning.
    “I do,” she says, giving me a cocky smile. “Now pass it over.”
    Tori is my best friend. I met her at law school. She works at a private practice, specializing in family law. Honestly, I don’t know how she does it, dealing with people getting divorced, fighting the custody battles.
    As a child of divorced parents who hated each other and fought over who got to see me the most, I’ve had my fair share of that pain. No way would I want to deal with it on a daily basis like she does.
    Give me criminals any day. But I’m not really sure what that says about me.
    I hand the salt to her and say teasingly, “Does my cooking not taste good enough for you?”
    I had made dinner, and though I’m not the best cook, I can rustle up some decent al forno. Tori and I make sure to have dinner together at least once a week. Tonight we were supposed to go out, but I didn’t much feel like being social, so I changed our plans and said that I would cook.
    “It tasted just fine,” she says with a grin, bringing a forkful of some salt-covered pasta to her mouth. “But now it tastes even better.”
    Picking up my wineglass, I give her a sly middle finger, grinning as I do.
    “So classy,” she says, laughing.
    “I learned from the best.”
    Then it’s her turn to flip me off, causing us both to laugh. And it feels good to laugh, after the past few days I’ve had. After the laughter has settled, I tuck back into my pasta.
    “So why didn’t you want to go out tonight?” Tori asks.
    “Just didn’t feel up to it,” I say, lifting my shoulders.
    “Work getting you down?”
    “You could say that.” I put my fork down on my