Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125845 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 629(@200wpm)___ 503(@250wpm)___ 419(@300wpm)
“Actually, there’s a tournament here next month. I’ll let you know the dates. But you should definitely come. Allie showed up to the last game and the girls lost their shit. They love her show.” Dean’s girlfriend, Allie Hayes, is an actress on a popular HBO show. It even won a bunch of Emmys recently. Allie wasn’t nominated for her role, but they won for Best Drama, which is impressive as fuck.
“Is Allie here?” I ask, searching for her blonde head.
Dean nods. “She’s up in the box with Grace, chatting up a storm. All the girlie talk got too much for me, so I said I’d wait for you out here.” He gestures to the front entrance of the massive arena behind us.
The air is electric tonight, as it always is for a home game. All around us are black-and-yellow jerseys, interspersed with the red-and-white ones worn by the fans representing Detroit, tonight’s opponent.
It’s utterly surreal to think that I’m friends with not one, but two of the men on the ice tonight. Garrett Graham is the star of the team, the leading scorer in the entire league, and arguably one of the greatest hockey players of all time. I can’t believe I played one year of college with him.
The other friend is John Logan, another college legend. It’s Logan’s rookie season with the team. Before this, he was playing for the Bruins’ farm team, so this is like his big promotion. So far, he’s done well in the first few games of the season, and I’m excited to watch him and Garrett play live again. These days I catch their games on TV, but it’s not the same.
“Is Fitz still staying with you guys in Manhattan?” I ask Dean as we head inside.
“Not at mine and Allie’s place. He’s at my fam’s penthouse, doing work for that Brooklyn game studio. He has the whole penthouse to himself this time, which I think is a huge relief for him.”
“Oh, it is. He told me he was staying there with your dad last month.”
Dean chuckles. “Yup, the two of them living it up in the bachelor pad, while Summer’s in Boston and Mom’s in Greenwich. Jesus. I can’t imagine having to shack up with Allie’s father. He’d probably murder me in my sleep and bury my body in a block of cement under their brownstone. No one would find it until years later, when someone decides to rebuild the house and jackhammers the foundation.”
“Oh come on, I thought you and Allie’s dad were cool.”
“For the most part. But he still calls me ‘rich boy’ and always asks me what designer I’m wearing.” Dean sighs glumly. “So now I just wear rags when I’m there so that I don’t get made fun of.”
I swallow a laugh. Stories about Allie’s father never fail to entertain me. I haven’t met the man, but he sounds hilarious. “Does your dad like Fitzy?” I ask curiously.
“Are you kidding me? Dad will love anybody Summer brings home. She’s his princess and can do no wrong. She could legit bring home a serial killer and Dad would be sitting there asking to see pictures of the victims.” Dean imitates his father’s voice. “Oh, you used a hacksaw to chop off the head? Neat! Can you show me how to do that?”
This time I can’t contain my laughter. “You’re exaggerating.”
“Not exaggerating in the slightest, dude. Remember that guy in high school? You’d know him—you were in the same year. Rickie? Ronnie? The one with the face tattoo?”
“Lawrence,” I say with a groan.
“Man, I was way off.”
“That guy was such a loser. Summer went out with him?”
“It was during her rebellious stage. Mom told her she couldn’t do something, I can’t remember what, so Summer got all huffy and that weekend she brought Face Tattoo to our family picnic. Mom almost died. Meanwhile Dad’s asking him about the inspiration behind the face tattoo.”
“It was…stars?” I ask, trying to picture Lawrence’s tats.
“Birds,” Dean corrects with a snort. “Winding around his neck and going up to his cheek and forehead.”
“Sounds hot.”
Snickering, we take the escalators up to the private boxes reserved for VIPs. I flash the guest credentials Dean handed me downstairs, and the guards wave us through. Our box is the one for Wives and Girlfriends. I love it. We’re considered WAGs tonight, but the only actual girlfriend present is Grace Ivers, a senior at Briar. She and Logan live together in an apartment between Hastings and Boston.
I don’t know Grace very well. In fact, I don’t think we’ve ever had a conversation. But she greets me warmly and gives me a quick hug.
I know Allie a lot better because of Dean, and her hug is tighter and lasts much longer. “Hunter! You’re looking so good! You’ve gained like fifty pounds of muscle.”