“Here’s to crushing Harvard in the finals,” Nate toasts.

The vodka burns a fiery path down my throat on its way to my belly. Whew. I forgot how potent vodka is for me. For some reason, it’s the liquor that hits me the hardest.

“Ugh, that tastes like ass,” Hollis whines. “I hate vodka. And I hate this song. Is that what you picked?” he asks Summer, as Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” starts playing in the bar.

“What’s wrong with T-Swift?” she protests. “We love T-Swift.”

“No, we don’t love T-Swift,” he reminds her. “We love Titanic. We love the Kardashians. We love Solange. But we sure as hell don’t love T-Swift—”

He’s interrupted by the arrival of Jesse and Katie. Jesse’s in his hockey jacket, and Katie is wearing a spring coat, so I assume they’re coming over to say good night. Instead, Jesse address Nate in an outraged tone. “Come outside. Right now.”

I’m instantly on guard. You don’t usually hear the younger guys barking orders at their team captain.

“Everything okay?” Summer asks in concern.

“No. Come see this.” Without another word, Wilkes spins around and stomps toward the door.

I glance at Katie. “What’s going on?”

She simply sighs and says, “You don’t mess with a boy’s car.”

Uh-oh.

When our group steps outside, Jesse is already ten yards away, his black-and-silver jacket flapping in the evening breeze. Even if I didn’t have him as a point of reference, I’d still be able to pick out his car.

It’s the one that looks like a fluffy, white marshmallow square.

“Oh boy,” Summer murmurs.

Jesse’s car used to be a black Honda Pilot. Now it’s completely white, thanks to the shaving cream. Or maybe it’s whipped cream? When we reach the car, I dip my pinkie into the white substance and bring it up to my nose. Smells sweet. I pop the finger in my mouth and confirm that we’re dealing with whipped cream.

“Those Harvard fuckers did this,” Jesse announces, his features creased with anger. “And we can’t let them get away with it. I’m driving out there.”

“Absolutely not,” Nate commands.

The sophomore’s eyes flash. “Why not? They can’t mess with my property!”

“It’s a stupid prank, Wilkes. If you drive out to Cambridge and throw a tantrum, or worse, if you retaliate with a dumb prank of your own, then we’re stooping to their level. And we’re better than that. We’re grown men.”

Jesse’s face is tomato-red. He doesn’t resemble a grown man right now. He’s a nineteen-year-old-kid whose car was vandalized. I get it. It sucks. But Nate is right. Retaliation is never the answer.

“How do you know it was Harvard?” I can’t help but ask.

Jesse thrusts a piece of lined paper into my hand. “This was sticking out of the windshield wipers.”

Summer peers over my shoulder as I unfold the note. I suppress a sigh, because the message couldn’t be any clearer.

Can’t wait to cream you in the finals!

20

Brenna

Ping ping ping.

I ignore the rain beating against my bedroom window. I don’t remember when it started, but it was sometime after I got home from Malone’s. I’ve been focused on my assignment since then, but now the noise is starting to annoy me. On the bright side, the rain will wash away the whipped cream on Jesse Wilkes’s car and maybe he’ll quit crying over it.

Ping ping.

Then my phone buzzes.

JAKE: Please tell me I’m not throwing rocks at Chad Jensen’s bedroom window.

I fly up into a sitting position. What the hell is he talking about?

I immediately call him. “Are you standing outside my window?” I demand.

“Okay, so you can hear me,” he grumbles. “And you’re just ignoring me.”

“No, I kept hearing pinging noises on the window but I thought it was the rain.”

“Why would the rain ping? Rain makes more of a pitter patter sound.”

“Take your pitter patter and shove it up your butt, Jake.”

His husky laughter tickles my ear. “Are you going to let me in or what?”

“You couldn’t ring the doorbell like a normal person?”

“Cool, you want me to ring the doorbell?” he says mockingly. “Sure, I’ll go do that—”

“Oh shut up. My dad is in the living room watching TV.”

“Well aware of that. I saw him through the window. Hence the rocks.”

I scan my brain, wondering how I can let him in. You can’t access the stairs without passing the living room. And even if he did manage, this Victorian is old and squeaky, and the fourth and fifth stair treads creak like a haunted house. It’s our alarm system.

“Um, yeah…I think the only way you’re getting in is if you climb the drainpipe up to my window.”

“Are you serious? You’re really making me Romeo and Juliet this? Can’t I come in the back door?” He chortles. “That’s what she said.”

“Your maturity levels astound me. And no, you can’t. The living room looks onto the back door. Dad’ll see you.”

“Here’s a great idea,” Jake says cheerfully, “you could come outside.”

“Then he’ll ask where I’m going. Besides, it’s raining. I don’t want to go out there.”

“It’s raining! I don’t want to be out here!” A loud, aggravated sigh reverberates through the line. “You are so fucking difficult. One second.”

He hangs up. For a moment I wonder if he’s calling it and going home. I hope not, because I don’t want to be with a man who gives up so easily.

A grin touches my lips when I hear the creak of metal. It’s followed by a rustling noise that grows louder and louder, until finally a sharp knock shakes the windowpane, and a blurry fist appears in the rain-streaked glass. As I approach the window, a finger pops out of the fist like a Jack-in-the-Box. Jake is giving me the finger.

Fighting laughter, I quickly open the window. The screen ripped years ago, so I have a perfect view of Jake’s wet face. A streak of dirt mars his sexy cheek.

“I can’t believe you made me do that,” he accuses.

“I didn’t make you do anything. You’re the one who showed up without warning me. You wanted to see me that bad, huh?” I feel guilty all of a sudden. Not because he scaled a drainpipe for me, but because of the ripples of happiness the sight of him evokes.

I just spent several hours with a group of Briar hockey players, listening to them indict Harvard for the juvenile bullshit with Jesse Wilkes’s car. Meanwhile, I sat there, harboring secrets. Knowing I’ve been in contact with Jake, that I’ve gone out with him, kissed him…

It feels like a betrayal of my friends, but at the same time, we’re not in middle school anymore. I’m not going to stop seeing somebody because my friends might throw a hissy fit.

“Come in,” I order. “If anyone drives by and sees half your body hanging out the window they’ll call the police.”

Jake climbs over the ledge, his boots gracefully landing on the pine floor. “Let me get rid of these so I don’t get mud all over your floor.” He unlaces his boots and tucks them directly beneath the window. Then he shrugs out of his jacket and shakes his wet head like a dog that just had a swim.

A cascade of moisture splashes my face. “Thanks,” I say sarcastically.

“You’re welcome.”

The next thing I know, his hands are on my waist. No, scratch that—his cold, wet hands are sliding underneath my tank top.

“You’re so warm.” He sighs happily, then rubs his damp hair against my neck.

“You are so obnoxious,” I inform him as I try to squirm out of his grip. “I really hate you right now.”

“No, you don’t.” But he does release me and conducts a quick examination of my very plain bedroom. “This is not what I expected.”

“I was already living on my own when Dad bought this house. Neither of us bothered to give my room a personal touch. Now, are you going to tell me why you showed up out of the blue? Actually, wait. First I’d like to know what the hell was up with that stunt you pulled at Malone’s tonight. That was incredibly immature.” I texted him about it when I got home from the bar, but he hadn’t provided an explanation. Or a response, come to think of it.

“Hey,” he says defensively, “don’t lump me in with my idiot teammates. I investigated after you texted. Turns out the Whipped Cream Bandits are two of my sophomores—Heath and Jonah. They were in the Hastings area tonight, off their faces. They claim it was just a joke.”

“Dumb joke. I could’ve come up with something way more diabolical.” I give him a stern look. “You should keep a better eye on your guys. Jesse Wilkes wanted to drive out to Cambridge tonight and exact his revenge. Me and Nate talked him out of it, but that boneheaded stunt nearly started a prank war.”

Jake’s expression becomes pained. “Thanks for doing that. Last thing I needed was a brigade of angry Briar boys storming the Dime. Don’t worry, I’ll have a talk with them tomorrow.” He walks toward the bed and falls onto it, making himself comfortable.