Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 129354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
“He’s being a douchebag,” Nate admits, which is alarming coming from the captain. It tells me that Hunter’s behavior is affecting the team. “Short of an intervention, there’s not much we can do. He’s playing well, and all the partying and hookups aren’t slowing him down during games.”
“Yes, but two teammates having beef is not good for morale,” Fitz counters.
“So squash the beef,” Nate says, rolling his eyes. “It’s your beef.”
“I’m trying,” Fitz repeats.
Summer squeezes his arm. “It’s okay. He’ll calm down eventually. I still think maybe I should move out…?”
“No,” Fitz and Hollis say immediately, and that’s that. She doesn’t bring it up again.
We watch the game for a while. I drink a beer, joke around with Nate, and ignore Hollis’s advances. During the first intermission, we discuss the semifinals results.
“Corsen and I watched a live stream of the Harvard-Princeton game,” Nate says darkly. “It was such fucking bullshit.”
I frown. “How so?”
“Goddamn Brooks Weston. He dished out two of the dirtiest hits I’ve ever seen. First one was leaping into a Princeton defender from the blindside, drove him headfirst into the boards. It completely flew off the ref’s radar, which is unfathomable—like how did he miss that? Second hit was a slash to a guy’s knee. Weston took a penalty for that one.”
Fitz shakes his head at Summer. “I hate that you partied with him in high school.”
“He’s a cool guy,” she protests.
“He’s a goon,” Nate says tightly. “A goon who doesn’t play fair.”
“Then the refs should call him out on it,” Summer points out.
“He does it in a way that escapes their notice,” Fitz says. “It’s a tactic for some teams—purposely fouling other players so that they retaliate and take a penalty. Harvard is really good at it.”
“That’s why my dad hates Daryl Pedersen so much,” I tell Summer. “Coach Pedersen fosters that kind of gameplay.”
“Didn’t your dad and Pedersen play together back in the day?” Nate asks.
“They were teammates at Yale,” I confirm. “They can’t stand each other.”
Summer looks intrigued. “Why?”
“I don’t know the exact details. Dad’s not much of a talker.”
His players snort in unison. “No shit,” Hollis cracks.
I shrug. “I think Pedersen played dirty back then, too, and Dad just didn’t like him.”
“I don’t blame Coach for hating him,” Nate mutters. “Pedersen’s a total fuckhead. He encourages his guys to be as brutal as possible.”
“Shit, people can get hurt,” Mike says, and there’s such sincerity in his tone that I can’t help but laugh. Something about Hollis is very endearing. He’s like a big kid.
“Not sure if you know this,” I solemnly tell Hollis, “but…hockey’s a violent sport.”
Fitz chuckles.
Before Hollis can issue a comeback, noise blasts out of his phone. He’s got the most annoying ringtone, a hip-hop track with a bunch of guys shouting nonsense. Suits him to a T, though.
“Yo,” he answers.
My attention returns to the Bruins game. Briefly. It’s quickly diverted back to Hollis as he provides the most bizarre half of a conversation.
“Slow down…what?” He listens. “Do I have a car? No.” Another long pause. “I mean… I guess I could borrow one? Wait, who is this?”
Nate barks out a laugh.
“What’s happening right now?” Hollis sounds bewildered. “Who is this? Ruby? What pee? Did we meet at Jesse Wilkes’s party?”
Summer makes a strangled sound and covers her mouth.
I look over and we exchange a huge grin. Not Ruby. Rupi. The energy tornado from the diner made her move. She hadn’t wasted any time, either.
“I don’t understand this… Um okay…listen. Ruby. I don’t know who you are. Are you hot?”
Fitz snorts loudly. I just roll my eyes.
“Yeah, okay… I don’t think so.” Hollis is still wholly baffled. “Later,” he says, and then hangs up.
Summer’s lips are trembling like crazy as she asks, “Who was that?”
“I dunno!” He picks up his beer and chugs nearly half of it. “Some crazy chick just called and said to pick her up for dinner on Thursday night.”
Summer buries her face against Fitz’s shoulder, giggling uncontrollably. I don’t have a boyfriend to shield my laughter, so I bite my lip and hope Hollis doesn’t notice.
“This is weird, right?” he says in confusion. “Strange chicks don’t call you out of the blue and ask you on dates, right? I must’ve met her before.” He glances at Nate. “Do you know a Ruby?”
“Nope.”
“Fitz?”
“Also nope.”
Summer laughs harder.
“Do you?” Hollis accuses her.
“No,” she lies, and I can tell she’s making a conscious effort not to look my way. “I just find this incredibly hilarious.”
I unhook my teeth from my bottom lip. “So are you going out with her?” I ask as casually as I can muster.
He gapes at me. “Of course not! She wouldn’t tell me if she’s hot, told me I’d find out Thursday night. So I said I don’t think so and hung up. I’m not in the mood to get murdered, please and thank you.”