Page 102 of The Chase

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But it’s not Hunter’s Range Rover that pulls up behind my Audi thirty minutes later. It’s Fitz’s beat-up sedan.

My brother sent Fitz to meet me?

Ha.

If Dean had so much as an inkling of what Fitz and I did in the locker room this weekend, he never would’ve dispatched him to Elmhurst Avenue.

I don’t know which one of us looks more uncomfortable as we approach each other. Fitz’s hands are shoved in his coat pockets, and his eyes don’t quite meet mine as he says, “Hey. Dean sent me.”

“I figured.” My tone is probably harsher than necessary, but—

It is absolutely necessary!Selena assures me. True. He did come in my mouth and run away.

“You, ah, had class this morning? History of Fashion?” he says awkwardly.

He’s making small talk?

Is he for real?

“Yes, Fitz, I had class,” I say. I shift my tote to my other shoulder and march toward the driveway of the detached Victorian we’ve parked in front of. According to Dean, there are, like, eight football dudes living here.

“How’s the essay going?”

I stop in the middle of the paved drive. “You mean the one you agreed to help me with?” I can’t help but snipe.

Unhappiness clouds his expression. “I’m sorry. I know I dropped the ball. I’ve been…”

“Busy?” I supply.

“Yeah.”

“And don’t forget about the headaches,” I say sarcastically. “All those terrible, terrible headaches you’ve been suffering from.”

Fitz lets out a quick breath. He lifts his hand to run it through his hair, then halts when he remembers he’s wearing a Red Sox cap.

“Don’t worry,” I mutter, gulping down the bitter taste in my mouth. “I’ve got the essay covered.”

We resume our walk up the driveway. His legs are longer than mine, so he shortens his strides to match my pace. “Are you sure? Did your prof approve the thesis? Give you any notes?”

At the mention of Laurie, I momentarily forget that I’m pissed off at Fitz. “He made a few suggestions, but I was so eager to leave, I didn’t fully listen to what he said. I’ll read over what he wrote in the margins when I get home.”

Fitz studies my face. His own expression is inscrutable. “Why were you eager to leave?”

“Honestly? He makes me uncomfortable.”

A frown tightens the corners of his mouth. “In what way?”

“I don’t know. He’s very friendly.” I pause. “A little too friendly.”

“Has he tried anything?” Fitz demands.

“No. Oh no, he hasn’t,” I assure him. “I…I don’t know. Maybe I’m being overly sensitive. I get a weird vibe from him, that’s all.”

“Always trust your gut, Summer. If something feels off, it usually is.”

“My gut isn’t exactly the most accurate barometer,” I say flatly. “I mean, it told me to track you down in the locker room this weekend, and look howthatturned out.”

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