Drew deadpans as she joins the circle our group has formed in the center of the room. With Jessie and Dad engaged in a debate over expansion teams and their importance in the league, I focus my attention on Drew and Marley.
“Here’s a little tip for you, Jones.” Drew squeezes her thumb and forefinger together until there’s a tiny space between them. “When you arrive in Minnesota in August, try and work on that cocky attitude. A twenty percent reduction should render you tolerable.”
I burst out laughing. If there’s one thing I’ll miss when I head off to college, it’s the banter I’ve always had with Jessie and Mia’s oldest daughter. Maybe it’s because I’m only eighteen months older than her, but that still doesn’t explain why she’spretty much the only female friend I have—or would at least keep if we hadn’t been thrown together through circumstances surrounding our parents.
Drew’s the total opposite of me. We share dark-colored hair, and that’s the extent of our similarities. But if I were the jelly, she’d be the peanut butter. Together, we just … get along. Although I’m not all that sure she’d agree with me. Not based on the condescending way she’s looking at me right now.
I smirk because it’s fun to rile up someone who has their shit together twenty-four/seven. Anyone who graduates high school a year early is well ahead of the game, and Drew is exactly that person. At almost seventeen, she’ll be staying in Seattle to study public relations while I geek out over math for four years.
What can I say? I’m smart, good-looking, and amazing at hockey.
With Jessie and Mia living mainly in Seattle, we only really get together when they stay in their New York apartment during the holidays and sometimes for the summer break, although I wasn’t expecting to see her this time around.
“I thought you were staying behind in Seattle with your boyfriend,” I say to Drew, taking a diet soda from Mom as she hurries around with drinks and snacks before Jessie and Dad break off to help her.
Drew drops her blue eyes to the floor, and Marley leans into her.
Fuck.
“I ended things with Boyd.” Drew shrugs, and I feel like shit for the sad look on her face right now.
Unlike her sister, Drew always carries a stoic expression. She’s self-assured, and she keeps her thoughts and emotions well hidden.
“He’s heading to Texas for college, and I didn’t think a long-term thing would work. Plus, we’ll both be too busy with school.”
I take a sip of soda, wishing Drew were still ripping the shit out of me. At least she sounded happy then, even if it was at my expense.
“Whatever the reason, breaking up sucks.”
Drew chuckles low, throwing her wavy chocolate hair over one shoulder. “How would you know? Eighteen and never had a girlfriend.”
“Ew, Drew,” Marley announces, “I don’t want to think about Will kissing anyone.”
I waggle my brows at them both, and Marley looks disgusted.
“There’s only one thing I’m better at than hockey.” I laugh.
Arms folded across her chest, Drew tries to suppress a smirk and fails. I’m way too funny for her to succeed, and I love that.
“Let me guess … making out.”
Marley spins on her heel and is out of the room in seconds, leaving me and Drew alone with the voices of everyone else filtering from the kitchen.
“So, you’re telling me that girls actually stick around you long enough for you to kiss them?”
My eyes fall to her full lips and—fuck, what the hell is wrong with me?This is Drew Callaghan. Our parents have photo albums of us playing together in the backyard when we were babies, wearing nothing but diapers.
That said, it’s been way too long since I actually did kiss a girl, never mind got laid.
Two weeks too long.
Drew waves a dismissive hand in front of her. “Scratch that. I already knew you were the playboy around high school.” She groans. “That’s another thing you need to cut down on when you go to college and especially now that you’ve been drafted.” She pins me with a serious expression. “Stop putting your whole life on social media.”
I go to reply, but she starts counting on her fingers, like a teacher reaming me out for turning in shoddy homework.
“What you’re wearing, where you’re going out that night, who you’re going out with, who you kissed, what you ate for dinner that day, who you consider to be a first-rate asshole, and who you’d like to punch on the ice …” She draws in a deep breath. “You have to start acting like a professional.”
I balk at her. “I am a professional. Always.”
