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Chapter One

Trent

D ean Whittaker’s skin turns an odd shade of red, and I think he might explode. He leans forward, hands folded on his desk, the life draining from his knuckles.

“We do not tolerate behavior like this at Strickland University,” he growls.

Tucker bites back a smile while I slap on a straight face.

“We won’t do it again,” Tucker lies.

“It won’t happen again,” I say. “You have our word.”

We started switching places when we were kids.

We would swap for the day if we needed help passing a class and the other was decent at the subject.

Almost no one can tell us apart. We’re both six feet three inches of solid muscle and have the same white-blond hair, except Tucker’s is spiky in the front.

“You’ve said this before.” Dean Whittaker sucks in a deep breath and blows it out, causing a few papers to flutter to the floor. “I’ve given both of you more leeway than other students because of your father.”

The mention of our dad makes my stomach knot. He will kick our asses if he finds out we swapped places again.

“We appreciate all of your help,” I say. “But please don’t involve our dad. We will do anything to make this right.”

I always have to talk our way out of trouble.

“You two are not getting away with this. Not this time.” The dean takes a sip from his coffee mug and glares at each of us, his eyes cold and severe. “Hockey is the only thing you care about… So maybe you need to have it taken away from you to understand your actions have consequences.”

Tucker gasps.

“Please don’t,” I beg. “This is our last year. We need all the playing time we can get if we will make it pro.”

Since birth, my father groomed us to become hockey players. We’ve never wanted to play another sport. Hockey’s it for us, and the game loves us back.

“Missing a few games won’t hurt either of you, not when your father is the general manager of the Flyers.” Dean Whittaker’s tone is serious, his voice level. “I bet he can pull a few strings, just like he does every time you two mess up.”

His words slice deep into my chest. We worked hard for our spots on the Strickland Senators. Coach Bryant didn’t hand us a jersey or place us on the first line because our dad made a phone call.

Our dad is Tyler Kane, the legendary center for the Philadelphia Flyers, two-time Stanley Cup Champion, winner of the Hart Memorial Trophy, and now the general manager for the Flyers. Our dad is always there to swoop in and help us whenever we get into trouble.

Dean Whittaker pushes his chair out from the desk and rises to his full height, staring at us with a wicked grin. “You’re suspended two games each.”

We both groan, pissed off about the turn of events. Of all the times to get caught, it had to be at the start of our final season.

“Don’t even try to talk your way out of this.” The dean shoves his hands into his pockets. “My decision is final. I’ll let Coach Bryant know you’re not allowed anywhere near the rink until you’ve served your punishment.”

“Can we at least practice with the team?”

Tucker remains quiet, a hopeful expression on his face. For the few seconds, the dean takes to think over my question, neither of us move or breathe.

He scratches his dark beard, his fingers tugging at the longer hairs that could use a trim. “I suppose that would be all right. But that’s it. Practice only. No games until I lift your suspension. Understood?”

I straighten my back and smile. “Yes, sir. You won’t regret this.”

“One more condition,” the dean says. “You can practice with your team, but I want you to attend at least one school function, and it cannot be a sporting event or anything directly related.”

“Okay,” I mutter. “What do you have in mind?”

“You will help Kappa Delta build the booth for their annual Kisses for Cancer fundraiser. You will report to the chapter house on Sunday at nine o’clock sharp. No exceptions. No excuses. And don’t be late.”

Irritated, we agree to arrive on time, and Dean Whittaker nods. “Now, get out of my office. I don’t want to see either of you in here again this semester.”

“So, we’ll see you next semester,” Tucker says under his breath, laughing as he exits the office.

Once outside Liberty Hall, I slap Tucker on the back. “How did we get caught? You said you had it under control.”

He shrugs. “How was I supposed to know your crazy stalker is in my class?”

I shake my head, not the least bit amused. “I don’t have a stalker.”

“What are we going to do now? Two games. That’s harsh.”

I shrug. “There’s nothing we can do. Coach won’t let us play.”

“Dad will kill us if he finds out.”

“Then we better make sure he doesn’t find out,” I quip.

“He’ll know if he comes to the game and we’re not there.”

“The Flyers are playing their next three games at home. Dad won’t even notice. Not unless Coach Bryant opens his mouth.”

“You know he’ll find out from someone.” He groans in frustration, blowing out a puff of air. “And now we have to build shit for sorority chicks.”

“Shannon’s in Kappa Delta,” I tell him.

“How do you know?”

“She wears shirts with their letters on them.”

Tucker snorts. “Like I know how to read Greek letters.”

“Maybe if you paid more attention in class, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” I snap.

He leans in to punch my arm, but I move to the side before his fist can contact my skin.

“Don’t be a dick, Trent. I wouldn’t have passed that test without your help.”

“Well, now you get an incomplete. And we’re both being punished. If you spent more time studying, you could pass this class on your own. I’m not switching places with you again. Don’t even ask me.”

“We never had a problem until now. How was I supposed to know that girl would tell on us? I didn’t know her name until Professor Cox called us into his office.”

“Uncle Carter will most likely be at our games,” I point out.

“Shit. We better tell Dad before he does.”

Our friend and teammate, Drake Donovan, is the son of Carter Donovan, our dad’s former teammate and best friend.

“This blows,” I mutter. “But we can figure it out later. I have to get to class.”

Tucker nods. “I’m meeting the guys. We’re grabbing a pizza from Gio’s.”

“Save me a slice.”

Tucker snickers. “That’s if Drake doesn’t eat it all.”

As I walk through the crowded courtyard, a group of girls run toward me, laughing and shouting. They look like a new sorority pledge class. Girls from various sororities scatter across campus every fall semester for ridiculous scavenger hunts, among other silly tasks.

The girls split up, veering in different directions, all headed for a guy in particular. A girl with long, red hair and huge tits rushes toward me and latches onto my arm. I haven’t seen her on campus, but I’d like to know her.

Our eyes meet for a split second, and bright green eyes stare back at me. She’s gorgeous, a perfect fucking ten with curves that fill out every inch of her jeans and top.

“I need a favor,” she says against my lips.