Dean is more on edge than I’ve ever seen him, his fists balled against his sides as if he’s trying not to throttle his sister. “We’re not going to a party tonight. I already told you, I’ve gotta be up early to meet the bus. Which means we’re staying in. A nice, quiet night in,” he says firmly.
Of course, he says this right as the front door opens again and four hockey players trudge inside. Or maybe three players and a civilian, because while I know Logan, Fitzy and Hollis, I don’t recognize the fourth guy. He has dark spiky hair and looks too small to be a hockey player.
“Hey.” Logan nods in greeting and shrugs out of his jacket. The hallway isn’t big enough to accommodate so many people, and I find myself being squashed up against the wall as the guys push their way inside.
“This is my sister,” Dean says in a resigned tone that makes me hide a smile.
The guys nod and say hello, but they’re in a big hurry to get to the living room. Logan glances at us over his shoulder. “Morris got his hands on a demo version of the latest Mob Boss. Hasn’t even hit the market yet. We’ll probably be up late.”
Beside me, Summer breaks out in a broad smile.
“Don’t make it too late. Bus leaves at eight tomorrow,” Dean reminds his roommate.
Logan shrugs. “I’ll sleep on the bus.” Then he disappears into the living room.
Summer is practically vibrating with excitement now. She sidles close to me and hisses, “Who was that?”
I wrinkle my forehead. “You mean Logan? He lives here. But don’t get any ideas. He has a girlfriend.”
“No, not him.” Her hand flutters dismissively. “The big guy with the tats. I didn’t catch his name.”
“Oh. Fitzy. Colin Fitzgerald,” I clarify. “One of your brother’s teammates.”
Summer’s green eyes twinkle. She flips her hair again and announces, “I want him.”
“Summer!” Dean says in exasperation, while I desperately try not to laugh.
“What? I’m just being honest.” His sister blinks innocently. “Be honest or be a jerk—that’s what you taught me when I was twelve, remember? After I stole your favorite shirt and then accidentally dropped it in the sewer?”
“How do you accidentally drop a shirt in the sewer?” I blurt out.
“I wasn’t wearing it. It fell out of my backpack.” She smirks at Dean. “And then I lied about what happened and you gave me a speech about honesty, remember? Well, congratulations, Dicky. I’m super duper honest now.” She points her finger at the living room doorway. “That was the hottest piece of man meat I have ever seen. And I want him.”
“I’m going to murder you in your sleep one day,” Dean tells his sister. “Swear to God.”
Her smile is the epitome of sweetness. “Aw, Dicky, you would never, ever do that. Wanna know why?”
“Why?” he grumbles.
“Because you love me.”
Honestly? I think I love her, too.
*
Dean
I am terrified of what I’ll find when I get home tonight. I’ll only be gone for sixteen hours, but Summer Heyward-Di Laurentis is capable of doing earthquake-level damage in sixteen minutes.
When she was thirteen, Nick and I were home alone with her. We turned our backs for twenty minutes, tops, and when we walked into the living room, the liquor cabinet was overturned, broken glass was everywhere, and Summer grinned at us and said, “Oops.”
She said she’d wanted a taste of alcohol to see what all the fuss was about. Destroying thousands of dollars’ worth of liquor in the process.
Granted, she’s twenty now. But do I trust her? Absolutely not. I’m just hoping Allie can find a way to control her. And yes, I recruited my girlfriend into babysitting my sister today. No way was I letting Summer loose on campus without a chaperone.
During the five-hour bus ride to Scranton, Allie sends me updates about their day, along with running commentary about how great my sister is, and OMGs! every time Summer reveals an embarrassing detail from my childhood.
Having breakfast at the diner.
OMG—your first word was ‘booby’? Why does this not surprise me??
Taking S to the salon. She wants a mani.
You’re scared of tattoo needles?? S just told me u almost got a tat when u were 18 but had to leave b/c u were scared. Bwahahahahaha.
I fucking hate my sister.
My phone stays in the visiting team’s locker room during the game, and not even O’Shea’s cold glares and snarled criticism can bring me down today, because we skate off the ice after third period with an actual W under our belts.
My good mood follows me out of the arena and onto the bus, and I settle in for the long ride, relieved by the latest batch of messages I find.
Driving 2 Boston for lunch. S wants to do some shopping.
Awesome lunch. Heading home now.
Oooh it’s snowing! S and I are taking a walk.
Home. Chilling and girl talk. Tell Tuck his tomato soup is da bomb.
Saw on twitter u won the game! FUCK YEAH!
Movie marathon. Putting phone on silent. See u when u get back.