Chasen Donner: golden boy, hockey star, dimples that should be illegal in at least three states.
Rory Claymor: my best friend since childhood, the boy whose eyes see straight through me, hiding things he's apparently been hiding the whole time.
Dodger Claymor: Rory's stepbrother. Always intense, always too protective. Always brother. Right up until he wasn't.
Tru Redforne: Dodger's best friend, one more boy I filed under family. Except Tru's never pretended not to want me. And lately the teasing's lost its punchline.
 
Four new reasons my life stopped making sense.
 
Here's the thing none of them know: I've played before. The last prize spit me out on a back road in rural Oklahoma — barefoot, bleeding, breaking. I crawled out of that and swore I'd never ante up again.
 
So no. I don't care how gorgeous they are. I don't care that they all chose me at once, like the universe coordinated it just to ruin me.
 
I know how this game ends.

And I'm not willing to roll the dice on my sanity.