The Score (Off-Campus #3)(95)
Says the man who almost drove someone to suicide.
The painful memory grips my heart, conjuring up the image of Miranda, and her tears, and the harrowing late-night phone calls where she threatened to kill herself and accused me of ruining her life.
Christ. I feel sick every time I allow myself to think about it, so I shove the unwelcome reminders aside. She never accepted my friend request, I realize. I guess that’s not much of a surprise.
Allie and I walk into the cramped front hall of the townhouse, which smells almost as good as the restaurant we just came from. Tucker must be home.
“Tuck? Where you at?”
“Kitchen,” is his faint reply.
I shrug out of my coat and toss it on one of the hooks in the wall. Allie does the same before bending over to unzip her leather boots. I smack her ass, then grin when she scowls at me. “Whatcha making?” I call out to Tucker.
“Soup,” he calls back. “And baking some bread.”
I sigh. “Sometimes I worry about him,” I tell Allie. “The more domestic he gets, the bigger the risk of his penis falling off.”
She tsks in disapproval. “Sexist bastard.”
“I think you mean sexy bastard,” I say helpfully.
“No, I got it right the first time.”
We move toward the living room just as the front door swings open behind us. I turn around, and I literally have one second to react before a blond tornado flies toward me and launches herself at me.
“Surprise!” the tornado shouts, flinging both arms around my neck. “Guess who’s spending the weekend!”
I’m so dazed and taken aback that I return the hug on instinct. From the corner of my eye, I see Allie’s mouth twist in a deep frown. Shit. I know the conclusion she’s jumping to right now, and I need to squash it, pronto.
When Allie clears her throat purposefully, the intruder swivels her head and says, “Oh. Hi. And you are?”
“Dean’s girlfriend,” Allie replies tightly. “Who are you?”
Rather than respond, Summer whirls toward me again. “You have a girlfriend? What the hell, Dicky! Why am I always the last one to know these things?”
Allie makes a noise. I think it might be a growl. “Did you just call my boyfriend Dicky?”
“Yeah, so what?” Summer challenges.
I quickly intervene before a catfight breaks out. I mean, catfights in general are hot as fuck, but not when I’m related to one of the pussycats. “Summer, this is Allie. Allie, Summer.” I sigh. “My little sister.”
27
Allie
I’m annoyed with myself for not realizing it sooner. Of course this stunning, vibrant girl is Dean’s sister. Now that my claws have retracted, I can clearly see the resemblance—
Summer’s hair is the same shade of blond, her eyes the same vivid green. She’s a lot shorter than Dean, but far taller than I am. At least five-nine, if I had to guess.
“What are you doing here?” Dean directs the demand at his sister, who isn’t put off in the slightest.
“I told you I was coming to visit, remember?”
“No, you told me you wanted to visit.” He makes an aggravated noise. “You can’t just show up at people’s houses without giving them any warning, Summer. What if I wasn’t home?”
“But you were.” She beams. “And now I’m here. See? The universe always gets shit right.”
He arches a brow. “And did the universe happen to mention that I have an away game tomorrow? And that the bus leaves at eight in the morning? And that I probably won’t get back until midnight?”
Disappointment fills Summer’s eyes. “Fuck. And I’m leaving early on Sunday morning.” She goes quiet for a moment, and then her expression brightens. “That’s fine. It just means we need to do all our catching up tonight. Where should I put my bag?”
I press my knuckles to my mouth to smother a laugh. I get the feeling there’s nothing on God’s green planet that can bring Summer Di Laurentis down. She seems like the kind of chick who falls asleep wearing a smile.
Dean speaks in a strained voice, as if he views his sister’s surprise visit as a major inconvenience. “I kinda had plans tonight, boogers.”
Boogers?
“Plans change?” she says flippantly. “And your plans now include me.” Her green eyes flick in my direction. “You’re cool with me hanging out with you and Dicky tonight, right, girlfriend?”
The laugh I was trying to hold in pops out. Actually, it’s more of a howl, because oh my God, why does she call him Dicky?
“I don’t mind at all,” I assure her. I meet Dean’s irritated gaze and add, “Are you going to explain the nickname, or should I create my own backstory for it?”
Summer grins at me. “It’s one of my least interesting anecdotes, actually. I couldn’t pronounce his name when I was little. And our older brother Nick, I called Nicky, so I just replaced the first letter and voila—Dicky.” She winks conspiratorially. “He hates it.”
I don’t blame him. I can see a minx like Summer having way too much fun tormenting her big brother with an embarrassing nickname like that.
“So what are we doing tonight?” Summer asks eagerly. She tosses her long blond hair over one shoulder and does a little twirl. Sweet Jesus. This girl is far too energetic. “Is there a club anywhere around here? A bar? I have my fake ID with me, so—”