Page 22 of The Chase

“Game?”

“Briar’s playing Harvard. My dad expects me to be at all the home games and any away games that are within an hour’s drive of campus.”

“Seriously? What if you have other plans?”

“Then he cuts off my allowance.”

“Are you—”

“Fucking with you? Yes.” She shrugs. “If I’m busy, I don’t go. If I’m not busy, I go. He doesn’t ask much of me, and I love hockey and cute boys, so it’s not exactly a hardship on my part.”

“Good point.”

Her phone buzzes again—this time from the text she’s just sent from mine. “There. We’re in each other’s phones. We’ll start planning the wedding next week.”

I snicker.

“Thanks for the lift.” She hops out of the car and starts to close the door, but then abruptly pokes her head back in. “Hey, whose jersey should I wear tomorrow night? Fitzy’s or Davenport’s?” She blinks innocently.

With a scowl, I flip up my middle finger. “Not funny.”

“That was hilarious and you know it. See you tomorrow, crazy girl.”

I watch enviously as she dashes into the diner. I’d love to be having lunch and eating pie right now. But Brenna’s right—I can’t keep putting it off.

It’s time to go home.

7

FITZ

THERE’S A SHINYAUDI IN THE DRIVEWAY WHEN WE PULL UP. My shoulders tighten, and I hope Hunter doesn’t notice the reaction. I don’t glance at the driver’s seat to gaugehisreaction, because I’m sure he’s thrilled to see Summer’s car. At least I assume it’s Summer’s. I stowed my beat-up Honda in the one-car garage before we left for Vermont, so there’s nowhere else she could’ve parked.

Besides, it’s a fucking Audi.

Hunter parks the Land Rover behind the silver car and addresses us in a stern voice. “This stays between us.”

“Obvs.” Hollis yawns loudly and unbuckles his seatbelt. He slept like a rock in the backseat the entire drive home.

“I’m not joking. If this gets back to Coach…”

“It won’t,” Hollis assures him. “This trip didn’t happen. Right, Fitz?”

I nod grimly. “Didn’t happen.”

“Good. But let’s go over our story in case he asks at practice tomorrow?” Hunter kills the engine. “We were in New Hampshire with Mike’s folks. We chilled by the fire, sat in the hot tub, played Monopoly.”

“I won,” Hollis pipes up.

I roll my eyes. Of course he has to be the winner of this fictional Monopoly game.

“Naah,Iwon,” I say smugly. “I bought Boardwalk and put eight hotels on it.”

“Screw that. I owned Boardwalk.”

“Nobody owned Boardwalk,” Hunter grumbles. “We didn’t play Monopoly.”

He’s right. We were skiing, aka the stupidest thing we could ever do, seeing as how we’re midseason. But Hollis, Hunter, and I are not exactly the best influences on each other. We all grew up on the East Coast and love winter sports, so when Hollis suggested a secret ski trip over break, it sounded like too much fun to miss out on.

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