The Score (Off-Campus Book 3)

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—”

“Then you’d better hand it over,” Dean interrupts. “Because there’s no way I’m aiding and abetting a minor.”

His sister snorts. “Don’t give me that shit. You were getting drunk when you were thirteen.”

“I was very mature for my age.”

“You’re not mature for your age now.”

“At least I didn’t get kicked out of Brown for setting togas on fire.”

“I didn’t get kicked out of Brown, and I did not set anything on fire.”

“How would I know? I have no idea what you even did to get kicked out, because nobody in the family will fucking tell me.”

“I didn’t get kicked out!”

My head is spinning from moving back and forth between them. Is this what all siblings are like? If so, I feel fortunate that I’m an only child. All this bickering seems like it would be exhausting.

“And if you quit yelling at me,” Summer is grumbling, “then maybe we can sit down like adults and I’ll tell you why I’m on probation.” She waves a manicured hand. “But let’s save that for later. I’m in the mood for a party. You think one of the frats is hosting one tonight? Wait, what am I saying? Of course there’ll be a party on Greek Row. It’s the only way those pervos ever get laid, right?”

I choke on another laugh.

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.

The last message came in around eight o’clock. Good. I hope that means Allie and Summer are tucked under a blanket in the living room watching a movie and not out causing trouble.

Huh. And Allie was right. It is snowing. Once the bus crosses the state line into Massachusetts, there are suddenly white flakes dancing outside my window. I love winter, so I wholly approve of the sight.

It’s close to midnight when we arrive at our own arena. I ride home in the Beemer with Tuck, while Garrett and Logan head for the dorms to spend the night with their girlfriends.

Ten minutes later, I pull into our driveway. Not a single light flickers in any of the windows, but I catch flashes from the television flickering behind the living room curtains.

The front hall is pitch-black when we step inside. I walk ahead of Tucker, kicking off my shoes as I fumble for the light switch.

I don’t get the chance to flick it, because a bloodcurdling shriek suddenly slices through the silence.

Before I can react, I’m showered from head to toe with what feels like a tidal wave of lukewarm liquid. Another scream shatters my eardrums, and I’m still struggling to figure out what the fuck is going on when something hard connects with my left temple.

Crack.

Pain swims in my head, and I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes.