“After today’s practice, we all need it,” he says darkly.

I give a wave to Jesse Wilkes and his girlfriend, Katie, who are shooting pool at one of the far tables. Katie waves back enthusiastically.

“That was brutal,” Nate agrees.

I shift my gaze back. “Yeah, my dad said there was some tension today.” I fix a knowing look at Hunter.

“Aw, is Coach trashing me behind my back?” he mocks.

“I’m pretty sure whatever he said to me, he also said right to your face. I know my father, and he doesn’t mince words.”

“Oh, Coach reamed him out good today,” Nate confirms, his eyes twinkling.

“What’d you do to deserve it?” I ask Hunter.

He shrugs. “I was ten minutes late.”

“I think he was more pissed that you had a chick in the locker room,” Hollis argues.

My jaw drops. “You brought a girl into the locker room? Don’t tell me he caught you two hooking up?”

Hunter shakes his head irritably. “Dude, it was so harmless. I crashed at her place last night and she dropped me off at the arena, wanted a quick tour of the facility. Which is what made me late for practice.”

“What chick is this?” Hollis asks. “The one from Jesse’s party? Or Pierre’s cousin who’s visiting from Montreal?”

“Wow, look at you, Hot Stuff,” I crack. “It’s a veritable girl parade in the life of Hunter.”

He grins at me. “Who doesn’t love a good parade?”

“I love parades,” Hollis agrees. “When I was a kid we lived in San Francisco, and the Pride parade there was so—” He stops when his phone lights up. He whips it to his ear. “You can’t call me every five minutes, Rupi. That’s not how life works.”

When her high-pitched voice ripples out of the phone, I bury my face against my forearm and start to laugh. Beside me, Summer is giggling.

“What do you want to do, put a GPS in my phone? I’m with the guys, okay?” He pauses. “Brenna and Summer are here, too.” He pauses again. “If you’re so fucking concerned, come and hang out with us. I invited you.”

He did? He’s inviting her places now?

“Then get a fake ID!” he growls. “You know what? I don’t care if you’re mad. There. I said it. I don’t care. You’re always mad about something and it’s driving me insane.”

And yet oddly enough, I don’t hear a trace of genuine hostility in his tone. It almost seems like he’s into this toxic tornado we inadvertently—okay, deliberately—placed in his path.

“Fine…” He halts every few seconds to listen. “Fine… Fine… Fine… Nope, I will not. Nope, I’m not gonna apologize. You can come here if you want. I’m not coming to see you. Bye Felicia.”

He hangs up.

My eyebrows shoot up. “Did you hang up on her?”

Hollis ignores me. His brawny shoulders hunch over as he frantically types on his phone.

“Texting her?” Nate guesses dryly.

“Apologizing for saying ‘Bye Felicia,’” Hollis mumbles, except the phone rings in his hands and he picks it up again. “I told you, I can’t talk right now. I’m sorry I said ‘Bye Felicia,’ but seriously. Bye Felicia.”

He hangs up and instantly starts texting again, I assume to apologize for the second “Bye Felicia.”

Nate glances around the booth. “This is my new favorite thing in the world. Is it just me?”

Summer is still tittering like crazy. “It’s a train wreck and I love it.” She tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder before sliding out of the booth. “I’m going to change up the music. Actually, I’ll order our drinks while I’m up. What are you in the mood for?” she asks me. “Tequila? Fireball?

“Vodka,” I decide.

Nate makes a gagging noise. “Girls and their vodka.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you require something yummy and fruity for your delicate palate?” I ask in a polite tone.

Hunter snickers.

“Vodka shots for the booth,” I tell Summer.

As she bounces off, I don’t miss the way Hunter’s eyes linger on her ass. Summer can rock a pair of skinny jeans like nobody’s business.

“Still have a thing for her, huh?” I say, nudging his arm.

“No.” He sounds completely truthful.

“Really?” I frown. “So why are you being such a dick to her?”

“I’m not being a dick to her. I’m just living my life, Brenna.”

“By boning a different girl every night?”

“So what?” He rests his muscular arms on the tabletop and clasps his long fingers together. I like his hands. He might be acting like a jackass lately, but he does have good hands. “I’m in college. If I want to sleep around, then I’m allowed to sleep around.”

“Of course. But did you know there’s such a thing as sleeping around and also not being a dick to your friends?”

“I’m not being a dick,” he repeats. “But I’m also not going to pretend that Fitz didn’t make a complete fool out of me. I asked him if there was something going on with them, and he flat out said no. And then he let me ask her out on a date, all the while knowing she was into him. And then on the date, she left in the middle of dinner and went home to have sex with him.” Hunter chuckles softly. “But somehow I’m the asshole?”

“He’s got you there,” Nate says.

Yes, I can’t deny Hunter has a point. But I’m Summer’s friend, and I know she didn’t intentionally set out to hurt him.

Hunter’s hand curls over my shoulder. “Move over. I gotta get out of here.”

“Don’t leave on my account.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m hitting the head.”

After he disappears in the crowd, Nate scoots into Hunter’s spot and slings his arm over my shoulders. “So what do you think about the finals? Any tips on how to stop Connelly?”

I falter. Why would I have tips about how to stop Jake? I study Nate’s expression. Does he know I went out with Jake this weekend? Did somebody see us?

“Why are you asking me?” I mutter.

“Because you know your hockey?” he prompts. “Because you’re currently living with Coach and I’m sure he’s making you watch hours and hours of game tape?”

Oh. Talk about paranoid. “Yeah, he is,” I admit.

“So give me some ammo we can use against Harvard.”

“Well. I don’t know if anyone told you this, but…Jake Connelly is really fast.”

Nate snorts and tweaks a strand of my hair. “Gee, I was completely in the dark about that. Someone told me his nickname was Lightning, but I assumed it’s because he’s into storms.”

A laugh flies out. “I heard he’s an avid storm chaser.” My voice turns serious. “In all honesty, Connelly is sort of unstoppable. He’s the best college player in the country.”

“Thanks,” Nate grumbles.

“Look me in the eye and tell me you think you’re better than him.”

After a beat, Nate scowls at me. “Fine. He’s the best college player in the country.”

“All you can do is try and slow him down. As for Brooks Weston, just don’t fall into his trap.”

“Easier said than done.” Hollis rejoins the conversation. “When you’re hopped up on adrenaline and that asshole is taunting you in the faceoff? You want nothing more than to clock him one.”

“It’s true,” Nate agrees. “He’s such a prick.”

“Who’s a prick?” Summer asks, returning to the booth.

“Brooks Weston,” I reply. “You know, your best friend.”

“He’s not my best friend. We just went to high school together.”

Hollis lobs an accusation at her. “You partied with him a couple times this year.”

“So?”

“See this, folks?” Hollis points his index finger at Summer. “This is the face of disloyalty.”

“Who is he talking to?” I murmur to Nate. “Are we the ‘folks’?”

“I think so?”

“Oh my gosh,” Summer exclaims when Hollis starts texting again. “That girl has you completely whipped. You know you don’t have to keep texting back, right?”

“Oh really.” His blue eyes gleam in challenge. “Do you want that hurricane blowing into our house and yelling at me all night?”

“What do I care? She wouldn’t be yelling at me.”

“Oh reeaallly,” he repeats, dragging out each syllable this time. He waves his iPhone around. “All it takes is one text from me saying you said something nasty about her, and she’ll be blowing up your phone.”

Summer pales. “Don’t you dare.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Our waiter brings over the vodka shots, but we don’t drink until Hunter comes back. He flops down beside me and reaches for his glass. We all raise our shot glasses, even Hollis, though his gaze keeps darting to his phone. Whipped, all right.