Page 137 of The Chase

I swallow a sigh, because I know exactly where this is going. “Yes.”

“Okay, then.” He rakes one hand through his blond hair. “You ready?”

My sigh slips out. “Let’s get it over with.”

Summer’s head swivels from me to Dean, confusion swimming in her expression. “What are you guys talking about?”

Dean gets to his feet. So do I.

“Sorry, Boogers. It needs to be done.”

“Needs to be done,” I echo guiltily.

When Dean cracks the knuckles of his right hand, understanding dawns in his sister’s eyes. “You’re going to hit him?” she exclaims, jumping to her feet. “What the hell! No way!”

“Fitz knows the code. He didn’t follow it. Therefore…”

Dean’s right. There is a code. Other teams might have rules about not dating a teammate’s sister or ex or whoever else is off-limits, but our team never strictly adhered to anything like that. Our rule was much simpler—ask before you go there.

Even if the other guy sayshell no, you could probably do what you want anyway, since there’s no way for him to enforce anything. But that’s not what the code is about. It’s about respecting your teammate.

Dean cracks the knuckles of his left hand.

“You’re insane. Don’t you touch him, Dicky!”

She tries to throw herself between us, but I gently move her to the side. “Just let it happen,” I tell her. “It’s really not a big de—”

The fucker doesn’t throw a punch.

He knees me in the balls.

I drop like a stone, stars flashing in my field of vision as the pain twists my gut. I curl over and grip my junk, tryingto catch my breath. “Jackass,” I croak, staring accusingly up at Dean.

“Dicky! Why would you go for his balls! We need them to make your future nieces and nephews!”

“Nieces and nephews plural? How many kids you planning on having?”

“A lot!”

“You’re not allowed to get pregnant until you’re at least thirty. I’m not ready to be an uncle.”

“Oh my God. Life isn’t always about you!”

They stand there bickering as if I’m not bent in half on the marble floor, gasping for air. “I’m not having kids with you,” I wheeze at Summer. “I don’t want to be part of your insane family.”

“Oh hush, sweetie. It’s too late. I’ve become attached.”

You’d think it would be impossible to laugh while I’m writhing on the floor in agony.

But Summer Heyward-Di Laurentis makes everything possible.

30

SUMMER

MY LAST CHECK-IN WITHERIKLAURIE TAKES PLACE THEMonday before the fashion show. I would’ve liked to talk to him after our History of Fashion lecture this morning, but he had a line of students waiting to speak to him. So I killed two hours on campus and then walked over to his office during his official hours.

I hate meeting in his office. I find he’s always extra smarmy behind closed doors. He’s already winked about four times, made one flirty comment about how I should walk in my own show, and now his hand grazes mine (intentionally, I suspect) as he passes me the schedule for Friday night. It’s the equivalent of a band’s set list, with the names of each student designer and the order in which they’ll be debuting their lines.

---