Page 102 of The Score

Dean’s expression is darker than a storm cloud. “I should’ve failed that fucking course, but the Di Laurentis name bought me a pass, and Sabrina never lets me forget it. She thinks I’m a rich asshole who gets whatever he wants.” His tone grows dismissive again. “Whatever. She can think what she wants. Only matters what I think, right?”

I see right through the careless smile he flashes. It bothers him that people think he’s a wealthy playboy who has everything handed to him on a silver platter. And yes, I do recognize that side of him—the Life of Dean is pretty fucking sweet—but I’ve also seen other facets of his personality this past month.

He’s tenacious. Seriously, this guy never, ever gives up when he wants something.

He cares about his friends and teammates. Hell, I didn’t see him on Monday and Tuesday this week because he’d requested extra ice time so he could help some guy named Hunter hone his skills.

He owns more books than the public library in Brooklyn, and I can tell from their wear and tear that he’s actually read all of them.

He—

“Your purse.”

My head lifts up. “What about it?”

Dean gestures to the black clutch on the bench seat between us. “It’s vibrating.”

I shake myself out of the bizarreWhy Dean Is So Greatlist I was composing, and snap open the clutch to find my phone buzzing.

I set down my rum and Coke. “My friends are here. Will you come get them with me? I might need you to talk to the bouncer again.”

He gives an exaggerated sigh. “I knew it. You’re just using me for my connections.”

“Yep,” I answer cheerfully.

We head back to the staircase, and I squeal when I spot a familiar face behind the rope.

“They’re with us,” Dean tells the bouncer.

A moment later, there’s a teeny, equally excited brunette hurling herself into my arms. “Oh my God! It’ssogood to see you!” shrieks my best friend from high school. “You don’t fucking call me enough!”

I grin and say, “It takes two to tango,” and then we’re happily hugging again until I notice the shadow looming over us.

Dillon disentangles herself from our embrace and introduces us to her boyfriend. “This is Roy.”

Last time we spoke on the phone, she mentioned she was dating a football player. I would’ve guessed it even if she hadn’t told me. At least six-seven, with arms as thick as tree trunks and thighs that are bigger than my torso. And either I’m imagining it, or he looks exactly like?—

“Dude, anyone ever tell you that you look like ayoung Samuel L. Jackson?” Dean demands, stealing the words right out of my mouth.

“I get it all the time.” Roy breaks out in a huge grin. “I won ten grand last summer at a celebrity impersonation contest—first place for my Sam Jackson. I did the speech fromDeep Blue Sea, right before the shark gets ’im.”

“Nice. Great film.”

Roy slaps Dean on the arm and says, “You’re all right.”

Just like that, they’re best friends, talking animatedly as theycharge ahead.

Dillon links her arm through mine. “Roy likes to scare people,” she apologizes.

I snicker. “Don’t worry, Dean doesn’t scare easily.”

“Dean, huh?” Her eyes light up. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a new boyfriend?”

“Because I don’t. We’re just having some fun. Nothing serious.”

“Ha! Yeah right, AJ. With you, it’salwaysserious.”

Not this time, I want to say, but we’ve reached the table and the guys’ voices drown out our conversation. Beau and Roy are already talking football, and because the latter is so damn enormous, he takes up at least three people’s worth of space on the bench-style seat. Dillon slides in beside him, which leaves zero room for me.

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