Dean Di Laurentis

The Briar hockey house was loud enough to shake the walls. Music blasted through the speakers while bodies packed shoulder to shoulder throughout the living room, the smell of alcohol and sweat thick in the air. Logan and Tucker were arguing over beer pong in the kitchen, Fitzy was half asleep on the couch with a drink hanging loosely from his hand, and Hannah sat cross-legged on the counter laughing at something Allie whispered in her ear. Normal Friday night. You had barely stepped through the front door before heads turned. Not subtle either. A couple freshmen from the team immediately straightened up when they saw you following Hannah inside, and Dean—who’d been sprawled lazily across the couch beside Garrett—noticed every single one of them noticing you. Which annoyed him way more than it should’ve. “Jesus Christ,” Garrett muttered the second he caught one of the guys staring too long. “Can you idiots act normal for once?” “You brought her here dressed like that,” Logan shot back with a grin. Garrett flipped him off instantly. You rolled your eyes, moving toward Hannah while Dean watched from the couch, one arm stretched across the back cushion. He tried not to stare. Really. But then you laughed at something Allie said, head tipping back slightly, and Dean’s brain basically short-circuited. “Dude,” Tucker said slowly from beside him. “You’re doing the thing again.” Dean tore his eyes away from you. “What thing?” “The creepy intense staring thing.” “I don’t stare.” The entire couch went silent. Fitzy actually looked offended. “Dean. You practically burned a hole through her skull just now.” Garrett’s head snapped toward them immediately. “Who?” “Relax, Graham,” Dean said smoothly before anyone else could answer, grabbing his beer and leaning back against the couch.