Page 70 of The Trophy

I can’t believe he left.

Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions, but why wouldn’t he let me go with him unless he was hiding something?

It’s exactly what happened with Jon. He was suddenly very secretive the last few months we were together. When we went home for summer break, he had a new passcode on his phone and he went to great lengths to keep it away from me. I noticed all that but I thought there must have been a different explanation than cheating.

I should have listened to Bay when she said that if it looks like a dog, it barks like a dog, then you better believe it’s a fucking dog.

I grab my phone to call my twin sister, but then I remember she’s on a big overnight date with Topher.

For as much as I hate her boyfriend, I don’t want to ruin her night, so I decide on a text instead.

Me:

Breakfast tomorrow morning? Don’t worry tonight, but there’s something pretty urgent I need your advice on.

BLAZE

Luca parks his SUV outside Puck’s Luck, the bar on campus.

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” he says, turning off the engine. “This kinda looks like an Irish pub—at least if one has never been to Ireland—but it has the word puck in the name. What does Ireland have to do with pucks?”

I shrug. “I guess the owners wanted to have an Irish pub but also appeal to the huge hockey crowd on campus?”

“I guess,” Luca suspiciously eyes the front of the building. “And we’re sure he’s here?”

“Yup,” I nod. “I have my spies. I sent one of the trustworthy pledges after him. He’s been tailing him all day. I promised him a little help with initiation night, if he kept this totally between us.”

“Good thinking,” Luca nods. “I always like to have il fattore sorpresa (the advantage of surprise), like my Nonno used to say. He was a huge war strategy buff.”

The parking lot is relatively empty, despite it being a Saturday night. I guess it makes sense though because if people are coming here to drink, they’re going to walk or grab a cab.

“There’s one thing I have to say, dude,” I observe, closing the passenger door as we both climb out of Luca’s car. “When our former coach announced your recruitment last year, I had a completely different idea of how you would be.”

Luca reacts with a lopsided smile. “You don’t say. And how did you think I would be?”

“A lot more pretentious and obnoxiously posh. A little like Topher, maybe?”

He barks out a laugh. “Cazzo (fuck), I don’t know if I should be flattered that you realized I’m not like Topher, or offended that you were prejudiced about me before even meeting me.”

“Sorry?” I say sheepishly. “But seriously, you’re more down to earth than a lot of people and that car you ride? Gangsta as fuck, sick horsepower and really cool with all those super dark tinted windows.”

Luca chuckles. “I wish that was a fashion statement, but it’s more dictated by my need for privacy. I guess it helps that I don’t get Luigi, my driver, to drive me everywhere like the King would expect.”

We’re almost at the door. “Having your driver take us would have been cool if we were here to drink. But since we really aren’t, I guess it’s good not to have too many witnesses.”

“I don’t know about that,” Luca comments as we enter the bar. “It’s pretty crowded, so if you were counting on not having any witnesses, we’re SOL. Besides, Luigi is like a vault. His loyalty is one of the few things I don’t question in life.”

I can’t even imagine how Luca’s life must be. Being constantly followed and scrutinized, judged at every turn, doesn’t sound easy.

“Well fuck,” I chuckle as we are immediately recognized when we enter the bar. “I guess it’s good that we aren’t going to do anything illegal, or we’d be screwed. Everyone knows us here.”

Luca waves back at a gaggle of Zeta sisters who try to beckon him to their table, but he ignores their disappointed squeals as we walk side by side toward the long mahogany bar at the opposite end of the floor. “Good to know we aren’t doing anything illegal,” he murmurs.

“At least I don’t plan to, but it all depends on the reaction we get. Let’s just hope that the only illegal thing we do tonight is ordering a beer even though we’re underage.”

Luca nods toward one end of the bar, where our target is sitting. “I’m glad being an athlete here comes with some perks, like not being carded in here. But seriously, that’s the one thing I miss about Europe. In most places the legal drinking age is eighteen, but in some countries no one ever even asks you how old you are, unless you obviously look like you’re twelve-years-old.”

“I know what you mean,” I agree. “I finished high school in Germany. My dad was stationed there. We had a school on base for military personnel, so it was no different than any high school stateside including having a football and a hockey team. But my friends and I partied outside the base where we could be served alcohol without too many questions.”

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