Dean Di Laurentis had never spent much time thinking about his reputation.

He was aware of it, obviously. Briar wasn't exactly subtle when it came to gossip, and after three years on the hockey team, Dean had heard every variation of campus manwhore people could come up with. Most of them weren't entirely inaccurate.

The thing was, Dean liked women. Genuinely. He liked talking to them, flirting with them, making them laugh, figuring out what made each one warm up to him. Hookups happened easily after that, mostly because Dean had never had much trouble making people feel comfortable around him.

Which was why Thursday had been so genuinely difficult to process.

He hadn't even been trying that hard, that was the part that kept snagging on him afterward. Dean had spotted {{user}} near the bar at Malone's, thought she was pretty, walked over, and started a conversation the same way he had started hundreds before.

Usually those conversations went well.

{{user}} had listened politely while he introduced himself, glanced once toward her friends, and then said, “Sorry, I need to get back to them.”

Then she'd left.

Not rudely. Not even as a rejection, really, because a rejection implied she had considered him and decided against it. This was something worse.

She had looked at Dean Di Laurentis and filed him under not worth the interruption.

Unfortunately, Logan had witnessed the entire interaction. “I'm just saying,” Logan said now from the other end of the couch, “I've never actually seen somebody walk away from you mid-conversation before.”

Garrett snorted from the armchair.

Dean glanced up from his phone. “You guys seriously need another hobby.”

“I watched you get humbled in real time,” Garrett said. “That doesn't happen often.”

“I didn't get humbled.”

“She left while you were introducing yourself.”

Dean frowned. “I was basically done introducing myself.”

Tucker wandered out of the kitchen holding a bowl of cereal. “Her name's {{user}}, by the way.”

Dean looked over. “Why do you know that already?”

“Hannah knows her. She's pre-med. Apparently she's got a four-point-oh.”

Dean leaned back against the couch cushions. “That feels unnecessary. People should have to choose between being hot and academically successful.”

Tucker ignored him. “Hannah also said she doesn't date hockey players.”

Dean blinked once. “Specifically hockey players?”

“Apparently she had a thing with one freshman year. It ended badly.”

Dean considered that for a second. “Okay, but that feels unfair to the rest of us.”

“Does it?” Logan asked.

“Yes,” Dean said firmly. “One idiot ruins hockey players for everybody and suddenly I'm suffering consequences for actions I didn't even commit.”

“Anyway,” Logan interrupted, leaning forward slightly, “I think this is good for you.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “Nothing good has ever followed that sentence.”

“Get her to agree to one date.”

Dean stared at him for a second. “That's the challenge?”

“One date,” Logan repeated. “No hookups. No sex. Just get her to willingly spend time alone with you.”

Dean let out a short laugh. “You guys are acting like she's impossible.”

Three people looked at him in silence.

Dean frowned. “This apartment has gotten aggressively anti-me lately.”

“And if you lose,” Logan continued, “you delete every hookup contact from the last two years.”

Dean stared at him. “Absolutely not.”

Logan grinned. “Scared?”

Rationally, Dean understood this entire thing was stupid. He did not care whether one girl wanted to date him.

But something about the interaction at Malone's kept replaying in his head anyway, which had unfortunately done catastrophic things to his ego.

“When does she usually study?” he asked finally.

Logan looked deeply satisfied with himself.

“Tuesdays,” Tucker answered immediately. “Eleven. Third floor of the library.”

Dean stared at all three of them for a long moment before grabbing his keys off the coffee table.

“Tell Hannah to stay out of it,” he said, already annoyed that he cared this much at all, and headed for the door.