The Play (Briar U, #3)(77)

“Dean Di Laurentis,” I answer. “He’s a former teammate, graduated a couple years ago. Oh, and he’s Summer’s brother.”

“Eek. Does that mean he’s as…dramatic as Summer?” Her tone is the epitome of tactful.

“Nah, he’s definitely more chill. They could be twins, though.”

For once, Demi lets me listen to my own music library during the ride. I think we’re both remembering what happened the last time we used her Bluetooth. Still, she makes sure to skip any song she can’t dance to or doesn’t know the words to.

Neither of us brings up the kiss. I’m thinking about it, though. I wonder if she is. I sneak glances at her, but she’s too busy singing along or bopping her sexy torso to the beat. She’s the cutest fucking thing and I want to kick myself for rejecting her.

Dean’s girls are playing at a community center near Chestnut Hill. The parking lot is surprisingly packed and costs twenty bucks to enter. I can afford it, but it’s the principle of the matter.

“Twenty bucks,” I mutter under my breath as we get out of the Rover. “That is a travesty.”

“You’re a travesty.”

Snickering, I check my phone to read an incoming text from Dean.

DEAN: G and Logan are here too. Behind my bench.





Huh, really? How are they swinging that? Garrett is one of the most recognizable hockey players in the country. Last time I saw him, he admitted he scarcely goes out anymore because he’s constantly getting recognized. Logan is in his rookie season, so he can probably still maintain a low profile, but G’s the star of the team.

When we arrive at our seats, I discover that the two Boston players are terrible at disguises. They’ve opted for baseball caps, and Garrett’s wearing a pair of square hipster glasses on the bridge of his nose.

I burst out laughing. “Fake glasses? Seriously?”

He smirks. “Worked, didn’t it? You did a double take.”

“Not because I didn’t recognize you—because you look stupid.”

Logan snickers.

I introduce them to Demi, who, thanks to her complete ignorance of the sport, doesn’t make a big fuss over them.

“Are Hannah or Grace coming?” I ask. I hope the answer’s yes, because it would be nice if Demi had some chicks to chat with during the game. I doubt she’ll pay a lick of attention to what’s happening on the ice.

“Gracie’s writing a paper,” Logan replies. “She wanted to get it done before winter break so she doesn’t have to work over the holidays.”

“And Hannah’s still at the studio,” Garrett says. “She said she’d try to meet up with us afterward, if we go out anywhere. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, Hunter’s been super busy,” Demi answers for me. “He got arrested, got his ass kicked…busy busy bee.”

Logan snorts. “I didn’t want to ask about your lip, but now that the subject’s been brought up…”

“My ex-boyfriend beat him up,” Demi informs him. “I take full responsibility for it.”

“Yeah, and you should take full responsibility for the jail thing, too,” I say in accusation.

“You’re the one who made me wear the big hoops!”

“This is confusing to me,” Garrett says frankly.

We don’t get a chance to elaborate—Dean just spotted us and he’s slapping a palm on the Plexiglass to say hello.

“That’s Dean,” I tell Demi, who for once is speechless.

“Oh,” she finally remarks. “Wow.”

I narrow my eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’s insanely attractive.”

“Yeah, and he knows it,” Garrett says with a sigh.

The first period kicks off, Dean’s army of fourteen-year-olds taking the ice. The puck drops, and the center wins the faceoff, deking out two opponents before passing to one of her defensewomen. Dean’s girls are good. Very, very good. The refs, on the other hand, are hot garbage.

“What the hell was that?!” Logan shouts, flying to his feet. “They were offsides!”

On the bench, Dean is red-faced from outrage. “Offsides!” he thunders, but the ref merely skates past him.

“Lord, he’s even beautiful when he’s angry,” Demi breathes. “Guys, how are you not acknowledging this?”

“We lived with him for four years,” Garrett says dryly. “We’re well aware of his appeal.”

“Do you think life is different when you’re that attractive?”

I lean over to pinch her side. “We should ask you that. You’re the supermodel.”

“Aw, thanks, Monk.”

“Monk?” Garrett echoes.

“Because he’s celibate,” Demi clarifies.

G grins. “That’s still going on?”

“Yup yup—”

“Don’t say yup yup,” Demi interjects.

“—you know me, willpower of steel.”

The rest of the game, while fast-paced, is not at all competitive. Dean’s team crushes their opponent, scoring five goals to the other team’s one. I note that Dean is a terrific coach, praising his players each time they return to the bench. With one girl, he leans in to whisper in her ear for a long time between line changes, dispensing his wisdom. When she’s back on the ice for her next shift, she almost scores off a teammate’s rebound. Even without a goal under her belt, she’s beaming at Dean when her line skates off. That’s the mark of a great coach—he can make you feel invincible whether you win or lose.