“You’re right,” I concede. “It’s not worth stressing over. I’ll be out of here soon enough, right?”

“Yup. But let me know if he gives you any trouble, okay? I’ll try to come up with a good reason to sic a lawsuit on him.”

I chuckle. “You don’t practice civil law.”

“For you, baby brother, I’ll make an exception.”

I’m in a far better mood after we hang up. My friends like to mock me about being a rich kid from Connecticut. I’m sure they think my parents are snobs and my siblings are spoiled, but truth be told, my family is awesome.

Both my parents are high-powered attorneys, but they’re the most down-to-earth people you’ll ever meet. Don’t get me wrong, my siblings and I definitely had a ton of perks growing up. We had a nanny and housekeeper. We went to private schools and got a cushy weekly allowance. But we also had to do chores and finish all our homework before we ever saw a dime. If our grades slipped, we’d be grounded in a heartbeat. And if we tried pulling that gimme-whatever-I-want-because-we’ve-got-oodles-of-money crap, we were punished for it. The one and only time I demanded money from my dad, he turned around and donated my entire college fund to a charity for underprivileged kids. Then he made me clerk at his firm for the whole summer to earn it all back.

“What’d Coach want?” Garrett asks when I stride into the living room fifteen minutes later.

“To introduce me to the new defensive coordinator.” I flop down in the armchair and glance at the flat screen. G and Logan are battling each other in a game of Ice Pro, and judging by the score, Logan is getting his ass handed to him.

“We have a new defensive coordinator?” Logan instantly pauses the game. “And why did you need a private introduction?”

I choose my words carefully. “His name’s Frank O’Shea. He was my high school coach, so Jensen figured we’d want to catch up before O’Shea is officially introduced to the team.”

Logan furrows his brow. “Okay. But why is he just coming in now? Season’s already started. Seems weird to bring in a DC after we’ve already played our first game.”

“And lost,” Garrett mutters.

“Still just one game,” Logan insists. “It’s not like we’re in such bad shape that we need a new coach to turn shit around. This feels like a panic move on Coach’s part.” Frowning, he turns to me again. “What’s he like? Good guy?”

He’s the devil. “He’s decent,” I lie, then change the subject. “Where’s Tuck?”

“Not sure. Don’t think he came home last night.” Logan unpauses the game and refocuses his attention on the screen.

I wrinkle my forehead. Tucker hadn’t spent Friday night at home either. I wonder if he’s seeing someone new, because he doesn’t usually stay out two nights in a row.

Since my roommates are distracted by the video game, I go upstairs and force myself to catch up on the course readings I’d fallen behind on. I spend the rest of the day alternating between reading and napping, only going downstairs to steal a few slices of the pizza Garrett and Logan order in the evening. I don’t know why I’m feeling so antisocial. Maybe I’m still edgy about O’Shea showing up at Briar. Or maybe it’s because every time I closed my eyes for a nap today, I pictured Allie’s sexy mouth wrapped around my dick. Her smooth, golden curves pressed up against me. Her tits filling my palms.

Why can’t I get this girl out of my mind? Yes, the sex was phenomenal. Yes, I find her attractive. But phenomenal sex and attractive girls aren’t exactly an anomaly in my life.

Get over it, I order my dick when it yet again hardens at the thought of Allie.

It twitches in response. Taunting me.

“Goddamn it,” I growl. Then I fumble on the bed for my phone and bring up the number I’d dialed last night.

Allie picks up after four rings, her wary voice sliding into my ear. “Hey. What’s up?”

I let out a ragged breath. “I want to fuck you again.”

“Is this a thing now? You’re going to call me every night and say that?”

“Maybe?” Shit. I’m cranky and horny and as confused as she is. “Say yes, baby doll. Just say yes and put me out of my misery.”

“I already told you, it was a one-time thing. I’m not into casual sex. We had fun, sure, but—shit, I’ve gotta go. Call one of your puck bunnies and I’m sure they’ll take care of you, okay?”

For the second time in two days, she hangs up on me.

*

Allie

“Who was that?”

I jump nearly two feet in the air at the sound of Hannah’s voice. I disconnected the call when I heard her footsteps in the hall, but I hadn’t expected her to appear in my doorway this fast.

“Uh, it was no one.” Brilliant answer.

She raises one dark eyebrow. “No one?”

“Telemarketer,” I amend. “Which is the equivalent of no one.”

She grumbles in annoyance as she heads for my bed. “How do they even get our cell phone numbers? When I signed up with my phone provider, they had this whole section in their policy about how they’ll never, ever give my number to a third party. Well, I call bullshit, because guess what? I get daily calls from airlines and clothing stores and all these companies telling me about their awesome sales and saying I won some bogus prize. Oh my God, and the worst one? This stupid cruise ship promotion that starts the call with an automated foghorn! It’s awful.”

Hannah’s tangent lasts for several minutes, and I’m grateful for it because it means she’s too riled up to figure out I lied to her. And she’s so caught up in her rant that she doesn’t notice when I discreetly check the text message that pops up on my phone.

Dean: U really need to stop hanging up on me.

I text back, U really need to stop propositioning me. I know I’m a great lay, but get over it already.

Him: I can’t. Trust me, I’ve tried.

Me: Try harder.

Him: C’mon, baby doll. Just 1 more time. Think of how good it will be…

Of course it’ll be good. He’s a sex champion. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m not comfortable with casual sex.

Me: Go away. I’m running lines w/ Hannah.

Him: Text me when ur done and I’ll sneak into your dorm. Wellsy won’t even know I’m there.