Brenna completely ignores the fact that we’ve arrived. It’s like she’s talking to herself. “Yeah, of course it was Hunter. I can’t see you hooking up with Hollis—he’s so annoying. He’d probably be whispering the douchiest things the whole time.”

I sigh. “So you know Hunter and Hollis too?”

She rolls her eyes. “I know all of them. My dad’s Chad Jensen.”

I blank on the name. “Who?”

“The head coach of the men’s hockey team? I’m Brenna Jensen.”

“Coach Jensen is your father?”

“Yup. He’s—” Her jaw opens in outrage. “Wait a minute—did you say they were skiing this week? Those assholes! They’re not allowed to be doing that in the middle of the season. My dad will kill them if he finds out.”

Dammit, that’s totally on me. I hadn’t expected Brenna to know who I was talking about when I mentioned the ski trip.

“He’s not going to find out,” I say firmly. “Because you’re not going to say anything.”

“I won’t,” she assures me, but her tone is absentminded. She’s busy staring at me again, this time in complete bewilderment. “I don’t get it. How on earth did a sorority girl from Brown end up moving in with three hockey players? Who, by the way, are eligible bachelors with a capital B. Every puck bunny in a fifty-mile radius is in serious pursuit of a Briar hockey player, ‘cause so many of them end up in the NHL.”

“They’re friends with my older brother. He played hockey here last year.”

“Who’s your brother?” she demands.

“Dean Heyward-Di Lau—”

“Laurentis,” she finishes with a gasp. “Oh my God, I totally see the resemblance now. You’re Dean’s sister.”

I nod uneasily. I hope to hell she’s not one of Dean’s former hook-ups. He was a major player before he fell for Allie. I don’t even want to know how many broken hearts he left in his manwhore wake.

Brenna blanches as if she’s read my mind. “Oh, no. Don’t worry. I never went out with him. I didn’t even go to Briar before this year.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. I did two years of community college in New Hampshire,” she explains. “Transferred here in September. I’m a junior, but technically a freshman since it’s my first year.” She suddenly jerks in her seat as if her purse just bit her. “Hold on. Phone’s vibrating.”

I wait impatiently as she checks her phone. I need more details from this chick—ASAP. What are the chances that of all the random strangers I could’ve offered a ride to, I picked the daughter of Fitzy’s hockey coach? And this might be her first year at Briar, but clearly she knows a lot about her father’s players, including my brother, who she hasn’t even met.

Brenna types out a quick text. “Sorry. My friends are demanding to know where I am. I should get going.”

I glare at her. “Are you for real? You can’t just drop the coach’s-daughter bomb on me and then leave. I want every last bit of information you have on these guys.”

She grins. “Well, duh. Clearly we need to hang out again. I’d invite you to have lunch with us right now, but I’m not an enabler.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you need to go home and face your roommates. Get the big awkward confrontation out of the way.” She plucks my phone out of its dashboard stand. “I’m texting myself from your phone so you have my number. Come to the game with me tomorrow night?”

“Game?”

“Briar’s playing Harvard. My dad expects me to be at all the home games and any away games that are within an hour’s drive of campus.”

“Seriously? What if you have other plans?”

“Then he cuts off my allowance.”

“Are you—”

“Fucking with you? Yes.” She shrugs. “If I’m busy, I don’t go. If I’m not busy, I go. He doesn’t ask much of me, and I love hockey and cute boys, so it’s not exactly a hardship on my part.”

“Good point.”

Her phone buzzes again—this time from the text she’s just sent from mine. “There. We’re in each other’s phones. We’ll start planning the wedding next week.”

I snicker.

“Thanks for the lift.” She hops out of the car and starts to close the door, but then abruptly pokes her head back in. “Hey, whose jersey should I wear tomorrow night? Fitzy’s or Davenport’s?” She blinks innocently.

With a scowl, I flip up my middle finger. “Not funny.”

“That was hilarious and you know it. See you tomorrow, crazy girl.”

I watch enviously as she dashes into the diner. I’d love to be having lunch and eating pie right now. But Brenna’s right—I can’t keep putting it off.

It’s time to go home.

7

Fitz

There’s a shiny Audi in the driveway when we pull up. My shoulders tighten, and I hope Hunter doesn’t notice the reaction. I don’t glance at the driver’s seat to gauge his reaction, because I’m sure he’s thrilled to see Summer’s car. At least I assume it’s Summer’s. I stowed my beat-up Honda in the one-car garage before we left for Vermont, so there’s nowhere else she could’ve parked.

Besides, it’s a fucking Audi.

Hunter parks the Land Rover behind the silver car and addresses us in a stern voice. “This stays between us.”

“Obvs.” Hollis yawns loudly and unbuckles his seatbelt. He slept like a rock in the backseat the entire drive home.

“I’m not joking. If this gets back to Coach…”

“It won’t,” Hollis assures him. “This trip didn’t happen. Right, Fitz?”

I nod grimly. “Didn’t happen.”

“Good. But let’s go over our story in case he asks at practice tomorrow?” Hunter kills the engine. “We were in New Hampshire with Mike’s folks. We chilled by the fire, sat in the hot tub, played Monopoly.”

“I won,” Hollis pipes up.

I roll my eyes. Of course he has to be the winner of this fictional Monopoly game.

“Naah, I won,” I say smugly. “I bought Boardwalk and put eight hotels on it.”

“Screw that. I owned Boardwalk.”

“Nobody owned Boardwalk,” Hunter grumbles. “We didn’t play Monopoly.”

He’s right. We were skiing, aka the stupidest thing we could ever do, seeing as how we’re midseason. But Hollis, Hunter, and I are not exactly the best influences on each other. We all grew up on the East Coast and love winter sports, so when Hollis suggested a secret ski trip over break, it sounded like too much fun to miss out on.

Coach will be livid if he finds out, though. As hockey players, we can’t do anything that might jeopardize our bodies or our season. A drunken ski weekend in Vermont? Cardinal sin.

But sometimes you’ve got to prioritize fun, right?

And no, I didn’t agree to the trip just to delay seeing Summer. Because that’s pitiful and stupid, and I’m neither pitiful nor stupid.