Despite Briar’s victory over Yale, I’m still disappointed with how the weekend turned out. I got home around midnight, courtesy of an obscenely expensive Uber ride, and woke up this morning to about ten texts and three voicemails from Tansy apologizing profusely and begging for my forgiveness. I texted back to say I require at least a full month of groveling before I can grant my complete forgiveness, but since it’s hard for me to stay mad at the people I love, I told her we’re good and that she owes me a girls’ weekend.
Now I’m having Sunday brunch with Summer at the diner, where I fill her in on the weekend from hell. Leaving out the parts involving Jake Connelly, obviously. Summer would snatch onto those bits like a dog with a bone. Except unlike the dog, who’d eventually drop the bone or go bury it somewhere, Summer would discuss and dissect every detail of my Connelly encounters until the end of eternity.
“I’m sorry, but your cousin sounds like a total bitch,” Summer says as she munches on a strip of bacon. Her golden hair is arranged in a messy braid, hanging over the shoulder of her white cashmere sweater. She isn’t wearing a stitch of makeup, and doesn’t need it. Summer Heyward-Di Laurentis is disgustingly stunning. Ditto for her older brother, Dean. The two of them resemble Ken and Barbie, although Summer hates being called the latter. So of course, I do it just to piss her off.
“Eh, she’s really not,” I answer, referring to my cousin. “But she sure acted like one this weekend.”
“She ditched you both nights? That’s savage.”
“Well, we were together the first night. Kind of. She and her boyfriend got into an epic fight, so I spent most of the time hanging out with his friends.”
I skip what came before that—my ambush of Connelly and his teammates at the dive bar. And I don’t even dare bring up the concert. I easily could, without mentioning Jake’s role in it, but I’m afraid I might slip and reveal something I shouldn’t.
Like how warm his lips felt when they touched mine.
Or how he slid his hand under my dress and nearly put it between my legs.
Or the sheer relief that crashed over me when he moved that hand, because if he hadn’t, I would’ve been revealed as a liar. I wasn’t dry as a desert, like I’d mocked. I was wetter than I’d ever been. In that moment, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anybody more.
And that is not good. Not good at all. Jake is too unpredictable. I can never figure out what he’s thinking, what he’s going to say or do next, and that’s unacceptable to me. How are you supposed to protect yourself when you don’t fully understand a person’s motives?
“I repeat, she sounds like a bitch…” Summer wags a piece of bacon at me. “Just saying.”
“It’s that toxic relationship she has with Lamar. She didn’t used to be this selfish.” I pour maple syrup on my second pancake. “I hate saying this, but I really hope they break up.”
Summer takes a sip of her herbal tea. “Well, the good news is, you’re home now, and I’m going to make sure you finish your weekend off right. Do you want to come to Malone’s with us tonight and watch the Bruins game?”
“Definitely.” I swallow a bite of my pancake.
“And I can help you practice for your follow-up interview if you want. That’s tomorrow morning?”
I nod. “It’ll probably be as crappy as the first one.”
“Don’t say that. Positivity breeds positivity, Bee.”
“Did you just make up that saying?”
“Yes. And you know what else?”
“Negativity breeds negativity?” I supply.
“That, too. But what I was going to say is, I’ve decided I’m lending you my Prada boots to wear tomorrow. The black suede ones my grandmother sent me. They’ll bring you good luck.”
“Uh-huh. You have scientific proof of that?”
“You want proof? It’s called Prada. Fucking Prada, Bee. Nobody can wear Prada and not feel invincible.”
I still can’t grasp how I became best friends with this girl. Summer is the complete opposite of me. Bubbly, girly, obsessed with designer clothes. Her family is filthy rich, so she can afford those designer clothes. But me, I’ve never cared about labels. Give me my lipstick, my favorite leather jacket and boots, some skinny jeans and a tight dress or two, and I’m good to go. And yet despite our differences, Summer and I just…fit.
“Oh, and I confirmed with Fitz before I got here—he can drive me to campus in the morning, so you’re good to borrow my car.” Summer drives a flashy Audi, and she offered to let me drive it to Boston tomorrow, sparing me from taking a million trains and buses. At noon I’ve got a Communication Theory lecture that I can’t miss, so I need to return to Hastings as fast as possible.
“Are you sure you don’t mind?”
“Not at all.” She picks up her teacup.
“Thanks. You have no idea how much time you’ll be saving me by—”
“Hi!!!” a happy voice interrupts.
Before I can blink, a whirlwind of brown hair and luminous skin and big, big eyes streaks across my field of vision.
A girl I’ve never met in my life slides into our booth next to Summer and plops her butt down as if we’ve all been friends for years.
Summer’s jaw drops. “I’m sorry…what…” She drifts off, speechless. A rare state for Summer Di Laurentis.
I sweep my gaze over the newcomer. She’s wearing a white, collared shirt with red buttons. Waves of chin-length hair hover over the lacy collar.
“Hello,” I say politely. “I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the word etiquette, but typically it means you can’t crash someone’s brunch, particularly when they don’t know who you are.”
“It’s okay. You’re about to know me.” She smiles broadly, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. She’s rather cute, actually.
But just because someone is cute doesn’t mean they’re not insane.
“I’m Rupi. Rupi Miller. And yes, that’s a Hindi first name and a completely white-bread last name, but that’s ’cause my dad is super white bread. He’s really, really bland. He’s a dentist, you guys. Like, the definition of boring. My mom is awesome, though. She used to be a huge Bollywood star!” Rupi’s tone ripples with pride.
Beside her, Summer blinks in confusion. “That’s really great…” Her voice trails again.
I bite back a laugh. “Rupi?”
The girl beams at me. “Yes?”
“Why are you in our booth?”
“Oh. Sorry. I talk a lot, I know. Let me start over. I’m Rupi, and you’re Brenna Jensen and you’re Summer Heyward-Di Laurentis.”
“Yes, thank you for informing us of our names,” I say dryly
Summer finally remembers how to finish a sentence. “Don’t be mean to Rupi,” she chides, and I can tell by her twinkling green eyes that she’s warming up to this pushy little girl.
“I’m a freshman,” Rupi explains. “I know, that sounds lame, but I swear I’m not. Lame, that is. I’m so much fun—you’ll find out, I promise. But the thing is, I don’t really have a lot of connections with the upperclassmen. Don’t worry, I’m not stalking you or anything. I was sitting over there with my friends when I noticed you guys. That’s Lindy and Mel.” She points to two girls sitting a few booths down the row. One of them is blushing profusely, while the other gives an enthusiastic wave.
I spare them a look before turning back to Rupi. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re interrupting our brunch.”
“I wanted to put in a formal request,” she announces.
“A formal request for what?” Summer sputters.
“I want an introduction.”
My brow wrinkles. “To whom?”
“Mike Hollis.”
I set my fork down.
Summer puts down her tea.
Several seconds tick by.
“Mike Hollis?” Summer finally says.
“Yes. He’s your roommate,” Rupi replies helpfully.
“I’m aware that he’s my roommate.” Summer shakes her head. “But why on earth do you want an introduction? To him.”
Rupi releases a long, dreamy sigh. “Because he’s the most beautiful man in the world, and I think he’s my soul mate, and I’d like to be introduced to him.”
Another silence falls. I’m not one to declare anything a hundred percent, so I’ll say I’m ninety-nine-point-nine-nine-nine percent certain that this is the first time in the history of the planet that anyone, at any time, has referred to Hollis as the most beautiful man in the world and/or as someone’s soul mate.
Summer appears to be as stunned as I feel. But we both recover fast, sharing a telepathic moment that brings a grin the size of Boston to Summer’s lips. She pats Rupi’s arm and says, “I would be honored to make that introduction.”
“Actually, I’ll do you one better,” I chime in. “I’ll give you his phone number, and you can contact him directly.”
Summer is quick to second that. “Yes, even better! And when I get home I’ll be sure to tell him that the daughter of a Bollywood star is going to be calling him.” She winks at me when Rupi isn’t looking.
Rupi’s brown eyes light up. “Really?”
“Oh, absolutely.” Summer pulls up her contact list. “Do you have your phone on you?”
Rupi produces an iPhone in a bubble-gum pink case, and Summer quickly recites Hollis’s number. After Rupi finishes entering the digits, she gives us a solemn look. “I want you to know that you’re both gorgeous and wonderful and I’m going to be seeing a lot of you once Mike and I start dating.”
I won’t lie—her conviction is downright inspirational.
“Anyway, I won’t take up any more of your time. Just know that I think you’re beautiful creatures and I’m so grateful for your help!”
And then, as rapidly as she appeared, she bounces out of the booth like a tiny ball of energy.
Later that night, I arrive at Malone’s at the same time as Nate Rhodes. “Hey!” I exclaim, slinging my arm through his muscular one. “I didn’t know you were coming.”
I’m a big Nate fan. He’s not only a skilled center with a wicked slapshot, but he’s also a stand-up guy. A lot of jocks have a reputation for being cocky jackasses. They strut around campus with huge chips of entitlement on their athletic shoulders, “honoring” women with their time and their wangs. Not Nate. Along with Fitzy, he’s the most humble, down-to-earth guy I’ve ever met.
“Yeah, my plans got canceled. I was supposed to meet up with a chick and she bailed.”
I give a mock gasp. “What! Doesn’t she know you’re the captain of the hockey team?!”
“I know, right?” He shrugs. “Probably a good thing she bailed, though. I’m still rocking a hangover from last night.”
“That was some game-winning miracle you pulled off in OT,” I tell him. “I wish I got to see it in person.”
“Most stressful overtime period of my life,” he admits as we enter the bar. “For a moment I thought we might actually lose the damn thing.” His light-blue eyes scan the main room, which is crammed with sports memorabilia, TV screens, and college students.
“There they are,” I say, spotting our friends in a far booth. “Ugh. Hollis is here? Now I’m even more glad you showed up. You’ll be my buffer.”
“He still trying to get in your pants?”
“Every time I see him.”
“Do you really blame him?” Nate gives an exaggerated leer.
“Knock it off. You’ve never once expressed any interest in my pants.”
“Yeah, because Coach would castrate me! Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it.”
“Perv.”
He grins.
We reach the oversized booth, a semicircular one with enough space to accommodate four hockey players and me and Summer. She’s snuggled up beside Fitz, while Hollis sits alone on the other side, his gaze glued to the Bruins game that’s already underway.
Hollis shifts his head at our arrival. “Brenna! Come sit.” He pats his thigh. “There’s room for you right here.”
“Thanks, big boy. But I’m good.” I slide in next to Summer.
Rather than sit with Hollis, Nate flops down beside me, which forces Fitz and Summer to shift closer to Hollis.
“I don’t have Ebola, you guys,” he grumbles.
I glance up at one of the television screens. Boston is on the attack. “Where’s Hunter?” I ask.
Almost immediately the mood shifts. Fitz looks unhappy. Summer’s face holds a touch of guilt, although I don’t think she needs to feel guilty. Sure, she and Hunter had a bit of a flirtation, but the moment she realized she had feelings for Fitz, she was honest with Hunter about it. He needs to get over it already.
“I dunno. He’s out and about, probably with some chick,” Hollis answers. “He’s a pussy posse of one lately.”
I purse my lips. I hope Hunter’s extracurricular activities aren’t affecting his performance on the ice. Then again, he scored both goals in the regulation periods last night, and got an assist on Nate’s OT goal, so it doesn’t seem to be a problem.
“Why don’t you two just kiss and make up?” I ask Fitz.
“I’m trying,” he protests. “Hunter’s not interested.”
“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.
“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.”
Why do I have a feeling Rupi Miller isn’t going to be satisfied with that outcome?
My grin nearly cracks my face in half. Summer was right. The weekend from hell did finish off right.
