Boyfriend Material (Hawthorne University, #2)(12)

I yell out to no one in particular. “Who keeps putting empty cereal boxes back in the cabinet?”

A voice from the couch responds. “Stop putting your dirty hands in the box and we’ll stop putting empty boxes on the shelf.”

I find Boone in the den on the couch, wearing nothing but plaid boxers and playing video games. Oddly enough, that’s the exact same position I left him in six hours ago. There’s cheese dip drizzled on his chest and two empty bags of chips next to him. A grease-stained McDonald’s bag and an empty two-liter Mountain Dew are on the coffee table. He’s chewing on a Snickers bar as dark brown hair falls in his face. He’s a good guy. Kind of innocent.

“Jesus, Boone. Have you been up all night?”

He gives me an irreverent grin as he chews. A sophomore center on the hockey team, he was on the second line last year. He was Z’s back-up and took his place when he graduated.

“We’re lifting today at one instead of ten this morning. Got it?” I tap him on his forehead. “One o’clock. Workout. As your captain, I’m commanding you to get some sleep.”

“Uh-huh.”

I sigh. The kid keeps telling me that he’s the first O’Brien to go to college, but I’ve never seen him crack a book. Lean with a muscular build, he’s not the biggest guy on the ice, but what he lacks in size, he makes up for in cunning and hustle. I’ve seen him take down players no one else could and come out on top.

Trouble is, he thinks he knows everything already.

“This conversation has been fulfilling. I’m off to get some sleep.” I turn to go up the stairs.

“Wait, one o’clock?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said. I have to be somewhere this morning.”

He shoves floppy hair out of his face. “Yeah? Where?”

“The LSATs. Again.” Sure, I get decent grades to stay eligible to play hockey, but my brain chokes on tests.

He pops an eyebrow.

I shrug. “I have to get into the right law school. My brother went to Harvard. Big shoes to fill.”

He squints. “I don’t see why you have to be a lawyer to work at your dad’s hedge fund.”

“My dad expects me to be a lawyer.” The words feel like sawdust in my mouth.

Reece comes into the den, rolling his neck as he stalks around wearing tiger print bikini bottoms. Dude looks shredded from all his workouts. With broad shoulders and a stocky build like his brother Z, he’s a brick wall you don’t want to run into.

I lean on the banister, glad for the distraction. “Morning, precious. Did we wake you?”

“My bedroom is right off the den, and you two won’t shut the fuck up.” He gives a casual stretch, then darts up the stairs fast as lightning, puts his hand on my head and rubs it vigorously.

“I pass the puck!” he calls then dashes away.

“Fucker,” I say as I rear back and fix my hair. “Was that puck in your hand the whole time?”

I checked but didn’t see it. I always check when we’re all in the house together.

You never know when one of them will jump you.

Reece laughs as he holds up a puck that has The Best Puck written on it in white paint. “This is yours now, bro. It was in my hand.”

The puck is from a game last season where we kicked ass. Of course, we saved it and created a game of tag with it. The holder of the puck can only force it on another player if they’re touching his head and saying, “I pass the puck”. The three of us must be in the same room to witness the pass, and there’s no passing while someone is sleeping or trashed.

I come back down the stairs and take it out of his hand. It’s mine now. “You could’ve done that to Boone at any time. He’s a sloth. He’s literally on the couch, eating his way through junk food. He’d trip before he got past the trash.”

Reece grins. “But it was more fun waiting on you. No passing it for forty-eight hours. The puck belongs to Eric.”

“Concur!” we say together.

Maybe it’s a stupid game, but it builds brotherhood. One night, Reece and I waited in Boone’s closet for an hour while he got ready to go on a date. He had his hair perfectly gelled and styled when he opened his closet and I jumped him. He actually fell to the floor and screamed like a girl. He said he peed a little. The memory makes me chuckle.

Glancing around, I notice a familiar red flier stuck to the refrigerator. I’ve seen them posted all over fraternity row. Rush Kappa, it says with a pic of the frat house with all the brothers in suits on the porch. My jaw clenches.

“What’s this?” I ask Boone. I know it’s not Recce’s. He’s been around me long enough to know how I feel about Kappa.

Boone shrugs. “Just considering . . .”

I frown. “Hockey players don’t pledge. The team is all you need.”

He gives me a look. “There’s no official rule against it. And why wouldn’t I?”

“Because—”

He cuts me off. “You might not want to be a Kappa. You don’t need to be. You’re gonna be the next billionaire hedge funder. The rest of us . . .”

I sigh. “Yeah, but—”

“Being a Kappa opens doors in the business world. Even our dean is Kappa.” He turns back on his video game, ending the discussion.