“I have a boyfriend,” I say, ducking my head to focus on the papers in front of me. Do you? I think. Because it’s looking like he spent all summer feeling up some blond Yale genius when you were supposedly dating. “And I score on defended nets all the time.” Freddy shrugs, then leans across the now-too-short table to peer up at me with playful eyes and a pretty smile. “The goalie makes scoring more difficult, not impossible.”
