Just then my phone buzzed. A text from Keaton.

I had great difficulty focusing on the show tonight, it read.

Play it cool, play it cool. And why is that?

Because songs don't feel as good on my tongue as you do.

And whoosh went the air out of my lungs. Keaton, you devil. If your songs sounded that good, I'd have listened to your band years ago.

He texted back a smiley face, I returned with a winky, and then promptly decided texting was very juvenile for conversations like this. These words were meant to be whispered, with loaded silences, breathless sighs, and stifled laughs.

I want to see you again, he wrote. I can't stop thinking about you.

I wanted to continue this, but I also had to keep my distance. He was a rock god and I was a basketball star who didn't want to get her heart destroyed. Especially during tournament. Same.

Do you like surprises? he asked cryptically. Always with the cloak and dagger, this one.

Depends.

Maybe I'll see you at your next tournament round? he asked.

I hope so was all I could manage. I wanted to write so much more, but I knew in reality I shouldn't get my hopes up. He was a rocker with a crazy schedule and I was devoted to the team, and we were also pretty much under lockdown when we were there.

For a moment, neither of us said anything else. I didn't know what to add, and all I heard from his end was silence. Then one final text.

Curious to see what you pack, Goddess.

Once Callie and I had returned to school, I stared at an empty duffel bag, ignoring the fact that I had two weeks to pick things out. I mean, just in case I see him.

I wouldn't know what to pack in that situation, I realized. Other than tape, of course.

I rarely gave any thought to packing.

Away games just meant throwing together a few shirts and shorts and maybe some textbooks. That's not packing, it's just routine. Packing, at least packing for this, would require strategic decisions.

Decisions involving underwear. Panties, even! That is, if Keaton's cryptic suggestion meant what I think it did, and that we'd be alone again. I knew meeting again would be up to our crazy schedules and fate, but I wanted to make it happen. Maybe if I strategized, I could figure something out. But for now, it was a different kind of strategizing: the undergarment variety.

My bag sat opened on the floor, ready to be stuffed and kept under my bed for two long weeks. I had nothing to feed it. I opened my drawer and found sports bra after sports bra. Nothing lacy, nothing shiny. Shit. If I really was going to hook up with Keaton, I was going to need to look the part.

Black, I decided.

I needed a black bra. He wants me to be in charge, right? What says I'm going to dominate you like black lingerie?

Again, an image of the Red Devil flashed through my mind.

Red. Red's possibly more intimidating.

Maybe now isn't the best time to pack, I thought. I left the bag on the floor and wandered down the street toward the captains' multi-unit home. I wanted to see the team and for them to see that I was both on campus and feeling well enough to practice and play. In other words, suck up.

To occupy myself, I plugged the week's homework schedule into my phone. Classics was a fun, light major at first, before it got into the heavy classes, ones taught completely in Latin and Greek and sometimes Hebrew. Right now I was taking Philosophy, Roman Civ, Latin 201, and Lyric Poetry. Lots of reading, not so much writing. Which was good for me. I liked acquiring knowledge, not regurgitating it. They were never "my own words," they were chewed up and spit out versions of what I had read. I can't say it better than Ovid, so why ask? No, it was the facts that got to me. The history.

I stopped short when I arrived at the house. The Red Devil was loading up a little black convertible full of boxes. I wondered if there were tawses in them. Or if any had accidentally fallen on the ground, abandoned, and I'd have to shove it in my backpack for use with Keaton. Eep!

"Hey you," she said, spotting me. I froze. "Give me a hand."

No please or thank you in her vocabulary.

"Okay," I said, hefting a box from the steps and loading it into her car.

"It's Scarlett, you know," she said, placing another box inside.

"Huh?" I asked.

"My name," she answered, tucking her hair behind her ear. It was straight today and the color reminded me of the red copper pots my dad kept in our kitchen. "It's not the Red Devil. It's Scarlett."

I nodded. "Right, I know that. I'm Thea."

She smirked. "I know."

My hand rested on the box, itching to know what was inside. Was it more kinky items?

"I didn't mean to scare you the other day," she said, slamming the trunk and looking me boldly in the eye. Did this woman ever blink? "I just thought you were curious and maybe a little too shy to say something."

"Something?" I asked. I had been touching a leather whip-like thing. What else could I want to say?

She pursed her full lips. "You're like me."

My eyes widened. Was she hitting on me? Was this officially the week of superbold and powerful people making me feel confused?

"How?" I asked dumbly.

She reached into her purse and pulled out what looked like a dog toy. It was a clear strap with a rubber ball in the middle. "You're kinky. And dominant. But, unlike me, you have no idea how to handle it."

The feeling was similar to when Callie punched me in the gut. The wind spurted from my body and my stomach clenched. "Don't pretend you know me." I surprised myself with my brazen words. This woman brought the team to tears on a daily basis, and I was giving her an attitude.

Her lip curled in a half-sneer, half-smirk. "That's right. I don't know you, but I know your type. And your type silently broods while the older girls boss you around, am I right? You clench your fists and wish for a voice. Or someone to smack around. I bet you took care of bullies when you were a kid, eh?"

She was not wrong about the bully part. Poor Garrett McHugh was tied to that telephone pole for an hour for giving Anthony a wedgie.

It was hard forming a response. On one hand, I couldn't stand not being able to speak my mind around the team. But, smack someone around? "I'm not the violent type." I eyeballed the thing in her hands and realized it wasn't a dog toy at all. "And does that go in a person's mouth?"

She nodded. "It's not about violence, it's about control. And trust me, they like it. This is in my purse because someone likes it. And he's going to like it in about ten minutes. If you'll excuse me."

It's about control. Someone likes it.

Scarlett totally understood me. And I understood Keaton.

She opened her car door and sat inside. I stood above her, and she straightened.

"Can I ask you more sometime?" I said, throat tightening at the question. She was right about me, and dammit, I didn't want to be caught unawares around Keaton. He knew what we both wanted . . . I just didn't know how to go about it. And although I didn't know this woman, I felt a connection to her. She felt like an old acquaintance.

Scarlett nodded. "Tomorrow I want you to come to my shop."

"Okay," I said. "Are crystals used for kinky purposes?"

She laughed and added, "Come to the room behind the pink curtains."

I forgot to ask if she sold bras.

CALLIE ACCOMPANIED ME TO THE mall for bra shopping, since I doubted Scarlett would have what I needed. Clothing wise, of course.

"You are hopeless," Callie said after I rejected the tenth pair of panties today.

"They're going to feel like a wedgie the whole time! I can't concentrate on being sexy while wanting to pick my butt."

She rolled her eyes. "You won't notice after ten minutes. I promise."

I eyeballed a pair from a different section. No lace, just satin fabric. They were low and rectangle shaped. "These okay?" I asked, holding up a black pair with red trim. "They're called cheekies."

Callie cackled. "You are certainly cheeky," she said, snatching the panties from my hands and squinting at them. "And you have a bit of a bubble booty and the bottoms of your cheekies will be showing just enough."

I groaned. "I hate this."

"You're going to love it," she lectured, nabbing a bra in the same style and colors. "Do you want me to see if they have any matching rope?"

I covered her mouth with my hand and muffled her speech.

"See? You're already getting the hang of this!" she said after prying my hand off.

I realized her words meant something lighthearted, but the sentiment darkened my mood. She thought I was crazy. That there was something wrong with wanting to do the things Keaton suggested. The things I wanted to do so badly.

"Thea? Hello?" Callie said, waving her hand in front of my face.

I shook my head. "This was a mistake," I said, placing the bra and panties back where they were.

"Wait, what?" she said, trailing after me.

I stopped. "This is stupid. It's weird and it's perverted and not normal. He's just some rock star who wants to mess with a college kid. I'm not going to let him. I have the freaking tournament to think about right now, not this shit."

Callie looked at me, stunned. "It was meant as a compliment! You know you have a strong personality, Thea, and I think you'd be perfect to put a jet-setting rocker in his place. I think you're scared to admit you want it just as much as he does. And as for the tournament, I think you're motivated as ever. Don't worry."

I frowned, looking at the bra and panties. All my life I ran from guys, even good ones.

It was time to hunt. Now. I picked up the lingerie.

"Fine. Let's do this."

"I'm sorry," I said, hands up in defense, "but I think it's creepy."

My Lyric Poetry professor asked: "Why, Thea?"

A couple of the other girls in the class looked at me incredulously. They had been rapt by the story of Eros and Psyche.

"Because she sleeps with him every night assuming he's a monster?" I responded. "Cause that's totally normal."

Serena, a girl who lives in my dorm, huffed. "The stories say she was completely amazed by their nights together. I believe the term endless pleasure had been mentioned a few times. Monster rumors or not, Psyche was crazy to mess with a good thing."

I shrugged. "I'd have taken that candle to him before anything was consummated."

"It's about faith," Professor Moffat retorted. "She learned to trust him, to love him, but when her faith was challenged, she lost everything."

My eyes rolled and I decided to let more opinions loose. "She was a sheep. Yes, she was the prettiest girl in town, but she wasn't the smartest. I was glad when she finally got the guts to look at him. I don't care how good Eros himself was in bed, getting swept off your feet and seduced by a god and not even giving it a second thought is idiotic."

I started and blushed at my own words. In a way, I had resisted this same temptation. Keaton was a rock god, but when he tried to sweep me off my feet, I kept my legs steady. I wanted to be in charge. Not like Psyche, who just let Eros do whatever the hell he wanted to her.

Plus, Keaton couldn't hold a candle to this guy. Rock gods trump love gods every time. Mmm, candles. Wax. Dripping wax onto Keaton's abs.

Shit, you're in class. Snap out of it, Kinkster.

No, this myth wasn't for me, but the ideas it was giving me about Keaton had to be contained in my head. I'd save my fantasies for when I wasn't running my mouth about some ancient legend.

"Well aren't you just a hopeless romantic?" another student taunted. I think his name is Evan. I had an answer for him, of course. I was starting to get very good at combating boys.

"This isn't romance! It's stupidity. If she wanted a god, she should have gone out there herself and wooed him. Or at least let him try to win her over with the lights on."

The professor tapped her chin. "We're not talking about Athena here. Psyche was a human woman, and her fate was tied to that of her village. She did what she thought was the right thing. She was lucky she ended up happy for that short time."

The girl next to me snorted. "So, be grateful for what you're given because this is as good as it gets? That's BS. I'm with Thea on this one."

Professor Moffatt chuckled. "Well, be grateful you don't live in ancient Greece, ladies. And be grateful for Sadie Hawkins. Now, can we get back to the thematic preoccupations regarding fate and free will?"

We grumbled in assent and the scintillating discussion gave way to more academic discourse. I was irked by the myth, and it wasn't the first time. Girls being flighty and ignorant while boys played them was something that had always bothered me. On my high school team, I had been the shoulder to cry on for so many girls that it made me lose faith in mankind . . . emphasis on the man. Why were they always trying to be so damn aggressive, possessive, and obsessive? Why couldn't they just let us take the reins once in a while?

I glanced down and saw that I had doodled KEATON on my notebook. I circled it with a loop that looked a bit too much like a lasso for my liking. I swallowed hard and decided I needed a nap after class to clear my head. I did, after all, have double-session practices coming up the rest of the week, and I needed to be loose.

Although to cure this kind of pent-up frustration, I'd need more than just zzzzs.

KEATON KNELT AT MY FEET as I circled him.

Only it was Keaton, but it wasn't. His hair was longer and bound at the nape of his neck, held there with a leather tie. Behind him, turquoise waves crashed. We were in some sort of clay building with a wide-open door that looked out over the ocean. I fingered an arrow that hung at my hip, skimming the soft feathers at the end.

"Mistress Athena," he said, blue eyes searching me. "Please."

The words made my body tingle. The way he said them, begging. I wanted to hear more pleas.

His shirt was off, and his tattoos were nowhere to be seen. It was just smooth, unmarked muscle and flesh. He wore a pair of white linen pants and the way his body looked in such skimpy clothing made my body shiver. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but knew I had to keep him waiting.

In my hand were long pieces of braided leather, but unlike the tawse, they were loose and had no rigidity. I was wearing a white cotton sheath bound at the waist with a hemp cord. Not very intimidating, but the way he looked at me made me feel like a queen. I touched my scalp and felt a circlet of flowers there.