Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 116028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116028 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
“No. But we’re friends. Well, friendly. Fitzy’s a hard guy to be friends with.”
“Why’s that?”
“Mysterious, the strong, silent type, et cetera et cetera.” She pauses for a beat. “He’s also not someone I could ever see talking trash about a girl. Or anyone, for that matter.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m not making it up, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Didn’t think you were,” she says lightly. “I can spot a liar from a mile away, and you sound genuinely beat up about this. I don’t think you would’ve made out with the other one if—oh man, is Davenport the other one? Hunter Davenport, right? He’s the one you hooked up with?”
I’ve never felt more uncomfortable in my life. I grit my teeth as I pull up in front of the diner, stopping at the curb without killing the engine. “Here we are.”
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.”