Page 37 of The Chase

Only my parents know the whole story, but that’s because I’ve never been able to hide anything from them. One, they’re lawyers, which means they can extract information as skillfully as any Russian spy. Second, I adore them and don’t like to keep secrets from them. Obviously, I don’t tell themeverything, but there’s no way I could keep something as big as a sorority house fire from them.

“You have no idea how good it is to see you!” Weston says, hugging me again.

Oh yeah. The groupies hate me.

The temperature in the hallway becomes utterly glacial when another player approaches us. The covetous looks and hushed wave of whispers tell me that he’s the one most of them were waiting for.

“Connelly, this is Summer,” Weston introduces. “We went to high school together. Summer, Jake Connelly.”

The superstar who won the game for Harvard. Oh boy. I reallyamfraternizing with the enemy. This is the guy Brenna hates.

He also happens to be incredibly attractive.

I find myself speechless as I stare into eyes the darkest shade of green I’ve ever seen. And I swear his cheekbones are prettier than mine. He doesn’t look feminine, though. He’s chiseled as fuck, like a young Clint Eastwood. Which I guess would make him Scott Eastwood? Oh, who cares. All I can say is…yum.

I manage to shake myself out of it. “Hi,” I say, sticking out my hand. “What should I call you? Connelly or Jake?”

He gives me a long onceover, and I think he likes what he sees because his lips curve slightly. “Jake,” he says, and briefly shakes my hand before pulling his long fingers back. “You went to high school with Brooks?”

I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone call Weston “Brooks” before. Granted, it’s his first name. But even his own parents referred to him as Weston.

“Oh yeah, we go way back,” I confirm.

“We used to party,” Weston says, flinging his arm around me again. “Which is perfect, ’cause we’re hitting up a party now. And you’re coming.”

I hesitate. “Oh, I…”

“You’re coming,” he repeats. “I haven’t seen you in like three years. We need to catch up.” He pauses. “Just don’t tell anyone there that you go to Briar.”

Jake’s interest is piqued. “You’re at Briar?”

“Yup. I know, I know, I’m the enemy.” I glance at Weston. “Where’s this party?”

“A friend’s place west of Cambridge. It won’t be too rowdy. It’s a very chill crowd.”

I haven’t gone out since New Year’s Eve, so the idea of being social and having a drink or two sounds appealing.

“I’m here with my friend,” I say, remembering Brenna.

Weston shrugs. “Bring her.”

“I don’t know if she’ll want to come. She’s a rabid hockey fan, and by fan, I mean she roots for Briar and hates your guts.”

He snickers. “I don’t care if she roots for the devil himself. This isn’tGangs of New York, babe. We’re allowed to socialize with people from other colleges. I’ll text you the address.”

When I notice Jake still watching me, I ask, “Are you sure you don’t mind if we come?”

“Not my place,” he replies with a shrug.

I don’t know if he means it’s not his place physically or not his place figuratively, as in he has no right to object. But I’ll take it.

“Okay. I’ll find my friend and meet you guys there.”

11

SUMMER

“THIS IS BLASPHEMY,” BRENNA HISSES AS WE APPROACH THEfront door of a detached house with a white clapboard exterior. She twists around, longingly glancing at the Uber that’s speeding away from the curb.

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