Page 125 of The Chase

We stare at each other. Hunter’s legs slide apart as he gets ready to skate, and the seniors tense, prepared to break us apart again. But he doesn’t move toward me—he skates backward for several feet, eyeing me in thought.

Then he offers another shrug and rotates his body, leaving his discarded gear scattered on the ice behind him. He glances over his shoulder at me. “Don’t worry, Fitz. I’ll get over it.”

I’m not so sure about that.

27

FITZ

THREE WEEKS LATER

SIX HALF-NAKED FOOTBALL PLAYERS COMPETE IN A TWERKing contest while “It’s Raining Men” blasts out of the wireless speakers.

No, that’s not the setup for a raunchy joke.

It’s what Hollis and I come home to on this chilly Tuesday morning. We’d just finished practice and then grabbed breakfast at the diner in Hastings, because Summer said she needed the dining room and living room for her final fittings.

Hollis’ jaw falls open as he takes in the scene before him. “Is this the wrong house?” he asks me.

“Yeah, Rex!” Brenna is shouting from her spot on the armchair. She waves a dollar bill in the air, while Summer and a girl I don’t recognize laugh uncontrollably from the couch.

The star wide receiver of the Briar football team shakes his ass before sauntering over to Brenna and proceeding to give her a lap dance.

“Nope,” I hear Hollis mutter. “Nope, nope, nope.”

A second later, he’s in front of the entertainment unit, powering off the speaker.

The music stops.

Rex’s dance comes to an abrupt end. At first the big guy looks disappointed, but then he notices me in the doorway and says, “Fitzgerald! Whadda ya think?” He points both index fingers at his Speedo.

Well, technically not a Speedo, but a Summer Lovin’ original. Rex is wearing navy-blue briefs with silver stripes on the sides, and when he does a full turn, I grin at the S stitched on his ass.

“It’s nice,” I tell him. But it’s a bathing suit, and I have no opinion one way or the other about bathing suits. I’ve owned the same pair of trunks for like five years.

Summer rolls her eyes. “Don’t bother with Fitzy. He doesn’t understand fashion.” She gets up from the couch and approaches Grier Lockett. “Don’t move for a sec. Something’s not right with this seam.”

And then my girlfriend drops to her knees in front of another man’s junk and starts fondling him.

“Summer,” I say politely.

She pokes her head from around Lockett’s crotch. “What is it, sweetie?”

“Do you need help jacking him off?”

Rex and the others break out in gales of laughter. Summer gives me the finger, and my jaw drops when she reaches around and pats Lockett on the butt.

“Okay, take these off and put on real clothes. I’m gonna need to take that apart and restitch it.”

Lockett hooks his fingers under the waistband.

“In the bathroom!” she squeaks before he can yank his trunks down. “Jesus!”

“Well, you’re no fun.” Pouting, Lockett lumbers out of the living room.

“The rest of you can get dressed too. Everything looks great.” She turns to address Rex, who I know is the unofficial leader of the offense. His quarterback, Russ Wiley, might be the actual captain, but I hear Russ is an egomaniac. Rex, meanwhile, is universally loved.

“So we’re all set for next week? The show starts at nine, but I’ll need you guys there at least an hour before.”

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