Page 8 of The Chase

Me, I can barely make the rent on the townhouse I share with two other dudes. We’re still on the hunt for a fourth roommate, though, so my share will go down once we fill that empty room.

I’m not gonna lie—the fact that Summer lives in penthouses and owns clothes that cost thousands of dollars is slightly unsettling.

“Anyway, hipsters suck, Fitzy. No thank you. I’d way rather—oooh! Ilovethis song! I had backstage passes to her show at The Garden last June and it wasamazing.”

The ADHD is strong with this one, my friend.

I hide a smile as Summer completely drops her death-to-all-hipsters tirade and starts bobbing her head to a Beyoncé song. Her high ponytail swishes wildly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to dance?” she pleads.

“Positive.”

“You’re the worst. I’ll be right back.”

I blink, and she’s no longer beside me. Blink again, and I spot her on the dance floor, arms thrust in the air, ponytail flipping, hips moving to the beat.

I’m not the only one watching her. A sea of covetous eyes ripples in the direction of the beautiful girl in the white dress. Summer either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. She dances alone, without an ounce of self-consciousness. She is completely comfortable in her own skin.

“Jesus,” Hunter Davenport rasps, coming up to the table.Like most of the men around us, he’s staring at Summer with an expression that could only be described as pure hunger.

“Guess she hasn’t forgotten any of those old cheerleading moves.” Hunter slants another appreciative look in Summer’s direction. When he notices my quizzical face, he adds, “She was a cheerleader in high school. Member of the dance team too.”

When did he and Summer engage in a conversation long enough for him to learn these tidbits?

The uncomfortable prickling sensation returns, this time traveling up my spine.

It’s not jealousy, though.

“Cheerleading and dance, huh?” I ask lightly. “She tell you that?”

“We went to the same prep school,” he reveals.

“No shit.”

“Yeah. I was a year behind her, but trust me, every hetero guy with a working dick was familiar with Summer Di Laurentis’s cheer routines.”

I’ll bet.

He claps me on the shoulder. “Gonna hit the head and then grab another drink. Want anything?”

“I’m good.”

Not sure why, but I’m relieved that Hunter’s not around when Summer returns to the table, her cheeks flushed from exertion.

Despite the frigid temperatures outside, she chose not to wear tights or pantyhose, and, as my old man would say, she’s got legs for days. Long, smooth, gorgeous legs that would probably look so hot wrapped around my waist. And the white dress sets off her deep, golden tan, giving her a glowing, healthy vibe that’s almost hypnotizing.

“So, you’re…” I clear my throat. “You’re coming to Briar this semester, huh?” I ask, trying to distract myself from her smokin’ body.

She gives an enthusiastic nod. “I am!”

“Are you going to miss Providence?” I know she spent her freshman and sophomore years at Brown, plus one semester of junior year, which makes up half her college career. If it were me, I’d hate starting over at a new school.

But Summer shakes her head. “Not really. I wasn’t a fan of the town, or the school. I only went there because my parents wanted me to attend an Ivy League and I didn’t get into Harvard or Yale, their alma maters.” She shrugs. “Did you want to go to Briar?”

“Definitely. I heard phenomenal things about the Fine Arts program. And, obviously, the hockey program is stellar. They offered me a full ride to play, and I get to study something I’m really into, so…” I offer a shrug in return.

“That’s so important. Doing what you love, I mean. A lot of people don’t have that opportunity.”

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