The Score (Off-Campus #3)(98)
“I do live here,” I growl.
Allie avoids my furious gaze. “I thought it was an intruder.”
“An intruder with a key to the house?” I say sarcastically.
The cops glare at me again. I close my mouth.
“I threw the bowl at his head and grabbed the first weapon I could find.” She points to the Gretzky paperweight we use to hold down the mail on the hall table so it doesn’t fly away whenever someone opens the front door. Now it’s on the hardwood floor next to a massive puddle of tomato soup. I’m surprised the cops didn’t put little evidence flags around it.
“It wasn’t Dean’s fault,” Allie insists. “Seriously, it’s all on me. I freaked out for no reason.” She finally looks over at me. “See? This is why I don’t like horror movies! You watch one scary movie when you’re a kid and suddenly everyone who comes to your door is a serial killer.”
“Are you kidding me right now? You’ll watch a horror movie with my sister but not me? We have to watch the cancer movie?”
“Dicky,” Summer chides. “You’re being grumpy.”
I glare at my sister with enough force to make her wince. “Not one word out of you,” I snap. “And don’t think I didn’t feel you kick me right before I passed out. Who does that, Summer? Who kicks a man when he’s down?”
From the corner of my eye, I see Tucker sink to the floor. He buries his face in his hands, shaking with laughter.
The EMT blocks my line of sight by squatting in front of me. “I need to examine you for a concussion.”
Oh for fuck’s sake.
He whips out a penlight and blinds me with it. Allie appears behind him, worry etched into her forehead. “Oh no. Does he have a concussion?” She kneels down and touches my arm. “Do we need to call your coach?”
Her question captures the attention of the cop in charge. “Your coach? Shit. You’re one of Jensen’s boys?”
I give an irritable nod. I still want to throw down with these assholes for treating me like a suspect instead of the victim.
“What’s your name again?”
“Dean Di Laurentis.”
“Oh yeah, I recognize you now.” He sounds excited. “That was some Frozen Four win last season, kid. You played a good game.”
Mustache Cop strides up. “The team’s not looking too good these days. What’s going on over there?”
“But that Davenport kid is fast,” another cop raves. “Any chance Jensen will put him on Graham’s line?”
For the next ten minutes, the cops badger me about the team and our chances for another national title, while the paramedic forces me to endure his unnecessary concussion protocol until finally determining I don’t need to go to the ER. He gathers up his supplies, and then he and the cops file out of the house. The moment they’re gone, I shoot to my feet.
My wet socks squish uncomfortably with each step. My entire torso is stained red, and tomato soup drips from my hair as I advance on the girls. Well, namely Allie, the person who’d wielded the weapon that knocked me out.
“I’m taking a shower,” I announce. “And when I get out, you and I are going to have a little talk about how fucking crazy you are.”
Her cheeks redden. “I’m sorry, okay? I already admitted I overreacted.”
“You think?” I hop on one foot, then the other, to peel off my disgusting socks. “I’m serious. I’m not done being angry at you, so you better be waiting for me in my room when I’m out of the shower.”
“What are you going to do, spank me?”
I growl. “Don’t fucking tempt me, babe.”
“Gross,” Summer pipes up. “Please don’t discuss your BDSM sex games in front of your sister.”
I point my finger at her. “Not. Another. Word.” I glance at Tucker, the traitor who was getting so much joy out of my misery. “Please escort Summer to Garrett’s room and figure out a way to lock her inside it.”
Tuck snickers. But he reaches out his hand to her. “Come on, little sis, let’s leave the poor man alone. He’s already taken enough of a beating tonight.”
*
Allie
I’m not too proud to admit when I’ve screwed up.
Tonight? I screwed up royally. Not only did I attack my boyfriend with a paperweight, I then proceeded to call the police, because for a second there I was genuinely worried I might have killed him.
I feel awful. Awful enough that I’m willing to let Dean yell at me for as long as he wants, which is why I’m sitting at the edge of his bed just like he’d ordered.
“Look at that—she listens,” Dean mocks as he enters the bedroom.
He drops his towel and walks toward the dresser. As he puts on a pair of black boxer-briefs, I dutifully wait for a lecture that doesn’t come.
“I thought you were going to yell at me,” I remind him.
He rubs the side of his head, groaning softly. “I changed my mind. My head is killing me.”
Alarm shoots through me. “That’s not good. Should we go to the emergency room?”
“Naah. I’m fine, Allie-Cat.” Guilt continues to twist in my stomach as I watch him rub his temple. “I haven’t been hit that hard in years and I play hockey,” he grumbles. “You’re freakishly strong, you know that?”