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Our house is crammed with ten guys, and even in such a big house, it still feels too small for all of us. There are video game controllers scattered on the coffee table in front of the oversized sectional couch. Mage Wars, the gaming universe Jamie’s father created, is flashing on the screen. Preston Parker, the captain of our team, is lounging on the couch with Drake Donovan.
Preston is the son of Alex Parker, a former defenseman for the Flyers and now the current head coach. When I was growing up, I idolized him. I wanted to be like him. Years later, I had no idea I would ever get the chance to meet him, let alone play hockey with his son. Preston is like his dad in every way. And no matter how hard I try, I can never surpass him. We’re both defensemen, Preston paired with Jamie and me with Harker.
Preston clicks the buttons on the remote, yelling about getting a sword to Drake. Drake is the starting goaltender for our team and the son of Carter Donovan, one of the best goalies to ever play for the Flyers. Their dads are legends, especially in this city.
“I don’t know how to play this shit,” Drake yells.
Drake is the only one who doesn’t play Mage Wars in our house. He hates video games. I’m surprised Preston is making him play with him.
Preston glances over his shoulder at us. “Anyone want to take Drake’s place? He’s acting like a little bitch because he’s getting his ass handed to him.”
I snicker.
“I will,” Knox says, hopping over the back of the sofa to plop down on the cushion next to Drake.
Before we enter the kitchen, Trent Kane flies through the dining room and almost knocks me over. He’s identical to his twin. The only difference is his messy blond hair that brushes his forehead, where Tucker spikes his in the front.
With a piece of garlic bread stuffed in his mouth, Trent grabs my shoulder. “Damn, sorry, bro. I didn’t see you.”
I shrug off his concern. “All good.”
“I’m running late,” he says between bites of the bread. “Jemma’s gonna kill me.”
“Where are you going?”
“Jemma’s first doctor’s appointment.”
Last semester, Tucker and Trent accidentally had sex with the same girl. Neither of them knew the other liked Jemma. She’s a transfer student who had no idea they were identical twins. It was a weird situation. And now, Trent is dating Jemma, who’s also pregnant with his baby. He was upset at first, mostly in denial about it, but now he seems like he’s coming to terms with the fact he’s going to be a father soon. I don’t know how I would react if it were me, but I give him a lot of credit. I didn’t have a loving supportive father. That’s something I never experienced firsthand.
“Take my car.” I remove my phone from my pocket. “Ramon will be out front in a few.”
Trent slaps me on the back. “Thanks. I can’t fuck this up…
again.”
My father had insisted his driver, Ramon, follow me to school. He had full control over my life while I lived on campus at York Military School. But when I got accepted into Strickland University, he knew it would be harder to keep tabs on me in the city. So, he makes Ramon drive me everywhere. It’s his way of watching over me. Like he cares.
“Who’d you guys win dates with?” Drake throws the remote to Knox, and then rests his arm on the couch, glancing over at us.
“Briana Bloom,” I say.
Drake pushes a hand through his dark hair and gives me a weird look. “Didn’t you date someone named Briana?”
“Yeah. She won the date.”
He roars with laughter. “You’re joking me?” Drake leans against the plush couch, his big body taking up an entire cushion. “Your ex bid on you? Why would she do that?”
“Because I asked her friend to help me,” I admit.
“Seriously?” Preston chimes, his focus on the massive flat-screen television on the wall in front of him. “You paid her friend to make sure she bid on you?” He shakes his head and mutters, “Must be nice to have more money than sense.”
Annoyed with the condescension in his tone, I shoot back, “No, I didn’t pay her friend. And don’t act like you know what you’re talking about.”
“Someone’s got his period,” Preston says with a chuckle.
Drake laughs. He pops a handful of pretzels into his mouth and stuffs his hand back into the bag on the table in front of him. “Idiot,” Drake mutters between bites, the pretzel crumbs falling onto his shirt.
Maybe I am an idiot.
