Page 81 of The Chase

Nate gives a low whistle. “Da-yum. They really are the hottest girls in this place.”

“Everyone wants to kick our asses,” Matt agrees, smiling ruefully.

“Eh. We can take them,” Hunter assures him. That’s not an exaggeration. Summer and Brenna might be the hottest girls in the bar, but we’re the biggest guys in the bar.

From the corner of my eye, I see the girls approach the counter. Another shadow crosses my peripheral. I glance over and hide a frown. Some guy in a black polo shirt is chatting up Brenna, who touches his forearm and says something that makes him guffaw loudly.

“She is smokin’,” Hollis says with a heavy, soul-sucking sigh. His blue eyes are locked on Brenna.

“Aw, why so glum, chum?” Nate mocks.

“Yeah, you should be wearing a perma-smile because that gorgeous chick actually fooled around with you,” Hunter pipes up. “That’s probably how Jesus felt when he turned water into wine.”

Matt and Nate snicker.

Hollis flips up his middle finger, but he doesn’t offer his characteristic douchebag response. He simply picks up his glass.

I lift one eyebrow. “What, you’re not gonna say that it wasn’t a miracle because you’re such a stud, et cetera, et cetera?”

Rather than answer, he chugs the rest of his beer, as if he needs the liquid courage to speak his next words.

“Guys. I think maybe she only hooked up with me that night because she was bored.”

Everyone goes dead silent.

Hunter’s the first to laugh. I can’t help it—I do too. Then Nate and Matt join in.

Hollis buries his face in his hands. When he lifts his head, he’s scowling. “You guys are the most unsupportive assholes I’ve ever met.”

“Dude, she cuts you down every time she sees you,” Hunter finally says, but I don’t miss the way his tone has softened. He’s trying to let Mike down gently.

I feel bad letting Hunter do this alone, so I speak up too. “It’s not gonna happen,” I tell Hollis.

“It might,” he protests.

We all look to the bar again. Brenna flips her long, dark hair over one shoulder. She’s still with the frat boy. I can tell he’s in a frat not just because of the polo shirt, but because a couple of his friends have joined him, and one is wearing a hoodie with the Sigma Chi logo on it. The other one is talking to Summer.

I notice Hunter’s shoulders stiffening as he watches Summer and the guy. Luckily, the bartender finally gives the girls their drinks. I didn’t see any money exchanging hands, which tells me the male barkeep is as enamored with them as everyone else in this bar.

They return with a second vodka cranberry in Summer’s hand, and a bottle of Harpoon in Brenna’s. This time Brenna squishes in beside and not on me, while Summer settles next to Matt on the end instead of between him and Hunter. Hunter flicks a contemplative look at her.

“Frat boys are the worst,” Brenna tells us as she raises herbeer to her red-painted lips. “They have a sense of entitlement that really pisses me off. Even the poor ones.”

“Are there poor ones?” Nate cracks.

“Of course. Anyone can pledge.” She rolls her eyes. “You just have a better chance of getting in if you’re rich.”

Summer shrugs. “Those guys weren’t too bad.”

Jealousy stabs at my gut. Luckily, Brenna’s reply ensures that I don’t have to worry about Summer going home with one of those dudes.

“Polo Douche tried to slide his hand in my shirt and cup my boob, Summer.”

Her eyebrows fly up. “Seriously? Oh my God. Gross.” She shakes her head. “I thought the one in the salmon shirt was really nice.”

“Pink,” Hollis grumbles at her. “Just fucking say pink, Summer.”

“There are different shades of pink, Mike.”

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