“Whatcha working on?” Indie plopped herself down on the other side of my desk. She lifted her legs and sat Indian-style, even though she was wearing a skirt.
“Nice undies.”
“You can’t see my underwear.”
“Sure I can,” I bluffed.
“I’m not wearing any.”
“I hope you sat like that in the department-head meeting you just came from.”
“Of course I did.” Indie leaned forward and swiped a pile of papers off my desk before I could stop her. She thumbed through a few of the articles I’d printed. “Brody Easton, huh?”
“It’s research.”
“For what? An interview with Cosmopolitan magazine? I don’t see any sports-related articles here.” She spread the papers out with her fingers and fanned herself.
“For this week’s game.”
“Really?” Indie stopped fanning and plucked a page out of her fan. “What did
