The Risk Page 9

  “Is that how you view yourself? As nice?” Brenna winks. “Haven’t you heard? Nice guys finish last.”

  “You still haven’t told me why you’re here. Wearing that.” I direct a pointed nod at her dress—and hope my expression doesn’t reveal my thoughts on it.

  Because, fuck, that dress. It’s indecently short, and cut so low my mouth runs dry. Where the hell is that beer? I’m dying here. The shimmery material clings to every tantalizing curve of her body, hugging a pair of high, round breasts that a man would give up his firstborn to get his hands on. And her legs… Jesus. She’s not too tall—I’d put her at average height, maybe five-five—but the length of the dress combined with her high-heeled boots make her legs appear endless.

  “I was supposed to go clubbing tonight,” she answers tightly. “But my cousin bailed on me at the last minute.”

  “Sucks.”

  “Yup.”

  Our drinks arrive, and I slug back a huge mouthful to bring much-needed moisture to my throat. Brenna Jensen is way too hot, and I definitely shouldn’t be in her presence tonight. I’m still riding the high from this afternoon’s victory, adrenaline still coursing through my veins. We destroyed Princeton. Crushed them. And now the universe has placed Brenna in my path, and it’s messing with my head, not to mention my intentions.

  When I saw her with Ronny, I thought rescuing her from him could be my way of apologizing for the McCarthy thing.

  But now that she’s standing in front of me in that dress, I’m not thinking about apologies. I’m thinking about kissing her. And touching her. Squeezing that tight ass again. Nah, more than squeezing it.

  A slew of dirty images swamps my mind. I want to bend her over this table and fuck her doggy-style. Run my hands down her smooth ass cheeks. Slide my cock inside in one, slow stroke… I bet her back would arch and she’d moan when I did it.

  I have to bite my lip to stop a groan. Thankfully, she doesn’t notice. She’s too busy stirring her drink with a thin plastic straw. She takes a sip, grimaces, and sets the glass down.

  “Sorry, Connelly, I can’t drink this. I’ve already had two in less than an hour, and I’m feeling the buzz.”

  “Where are you staying?” I ask gruffly. “You’re not driving back to Hastings tonight, are you?”

  “No, but I’ll be Uber’ing there.”

  “That’s one expensive ride.”

  “Eighty bucks,” she says glumly. “But it’s better than going back to my cousin’s dorm.”

  I whistle. The invitation to crash with me and Brooks tickles the tip of my tongue, but I manage to refrain. That’s one of the most boneheaded ideas I’ve ever had. Besides, she’d never say yes.

  I curl my fingers around the bottle and force myself to accept the truth: I’m horny.

  I’m still pumped up from the game. My blood’s hot and my dick’s hard and Brenna is sex on heels. Her presence is shorting out my common sense like a tripped circuit.

  When warm fingertips suddenly touch my wrist, I jolt as if I’ve been electrocuted. I glance down to find Brenna toying with the beaded bracelet I’m wearing. She fingers one of the pink beads, her lips twitching as if she’s trying not to laugh.

  “Nice bling,” she remarks. “Did you ransack an eight-year-old girl’s bedroom?”

  “Funny.” I roll my eyes. “It’s my good luck charm. I always wear it on game day.”

  “Athletes and their superstitions.” She purses her lips. “Guess number two: you held up a Girl Scout troop and robbed them blind.”

  “Wrong again.”

  “Guess number three: you’re a time traveler from the 1960s and—”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” I interrupt with a grin, “but this bracelet doesn’t have an exciting origin story. I lost a bet to a teammate freshman year of high school, and my punishment was to wear this for a month straight.”

  Her tone is dry. “Was it was supposed to be a threat to your masculinity?”

  “I know, right?” I wink. “Clearly he didn’t know me at all. My masculinity is rock solid.” And so is my erection, but I’m trying not to focus on it in hopes it’ll go away. I twist the pink-and-purple bracelet around my wrist. “I think he did steal this from his little sister, though. I hope she wasn’t attached to it, because she sure as shit ain’t getting it back.”

  “Does it have magical powers?”

  “Damn right it does. We didn’t lose a single game during the month I wore this thing. We swept every series we played. I’m talking four consecutive weekends. And then, when I took it off…” A cold shiver races up my spine.

  Brenna looks fascinated. “When you took it off, what?”

  “I can’t even discuss it. It’ll trigger my PTSD.”

  Melodic laughter spills out of her throat. I can’t deny I like hearing it. No, I like knowing that I’m the one who made her laugh. This beautiful, bitchy girl with the prickliest attitude I’ve ever encountered, who doesn’t miss an opportunity to neg me.

  “The first game we played AB—after bracelet,” I clarify. “That’s how I measure time now.”

  Amusement dances on her face. “Of course.”

  “Well, we lost. No, we lost hard. It was unfathomable how badly we played.” The memory still brings the heat of humiliation to my cheeks. “We might as well have bent over and let the other team spank us with their sticks. It was the ass-kicking of the century.” I pause for effect. “We got shut out. Eight-nothing.”

  Brenna’s mouth falls open. “Eight-nothing? I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hockey game where a team scored eight goals. Wow. Don’t ever take that bracelet off, otherwise you’ll—” She stops. “Actually…” She smiles sweetly. “Can I borrow it?”

  I smirk. “You wish. It’s gonna be on my wrist when we’re winning the finals. Speaking of which…” I pull out my phone. I’ve been monitoring the Briar-Yale game all night, but I haven’t checked the score in nearly thirty minutes. “Well, look at that, Hottie. Guess who’s in overtime.”

  Her good humor fades. “What’s the score?” she demands.

  “Two all.” I blink innocently. “If I recall correctly, Briar was up a goal until the last two minutes in the third. Looks like your boys choked under pressure and let Yale tie it up.”

  “I’m not worried. Briar’s got this.” She shrugs carelessly. “With that said, I’m heading home now. Have a good night, Connelly.”

  A peculiar pang of disappointment tugs at my gut. I want her to stay. That’s so fucked up.

  I shift my gaze to the stage, where Danny’s still engaged in conversation. “I’ll walk you out,” I offer.

  “Completely unnecessary. I don’t need an escort.” She pats my arm. “Good night, Jakey.”

  Despite her dismissal, I follow her.

  “I told you, I don’t need an escort.”

  “Yeah, you did tell me that.”

  She stops at the bar and hands the waiter a twenty-dollar bill. “That should cover his beer, too.” She glances over her shoulder. “Say thank you to your sugar mama, Jakey.”

  “Thank you.” I flash an overly lascivious grin. “Daddy loves it when you take care of him.”

  Brenna sighs. “I hate you.”

  I trail after her toward the narrow stairwell. “Nah, you don’t hate me,” I argue.

  The club is on the lower level of the building, so we have to climb one flight to get upstairs. Brenna goes ahead of me, which places her ass about two inches from my face. I nearly choke on my own tongue. Christ. I can practically see up her dress.

  When we reach the landing, I stop her by resting my hand on her shoulder. “You like me,” I inform her.

  She slowly appraises me. “On the contrary. I think you like me.”

  I shrug. “You’re all right.”

  A smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “Nuh-uh, you think I’m more than all right. You’ve got a case of the Jensens.”

  “Come on now. That’s just crazy talk.”

  “So you’re saying if I as
ked you to go home with me right now, you’d say no?” She licks her lips, those sexy red lips, and moves closer.

  I lick my lips, too. “I’d say no.”

  Still smiling, she comes even closer. Backing me to the wall, inch by inch, until her warm, slender body is pressed up against mine and the top of her head is tickling my chin.

  “I think you’d say yes,” she whispers. She glides her hands up my chest and plants them over my collarbone.

  I quirk an eyebrow. “Do you really believe I’m going to fall for this trick? I saw you pull this on Chilton last night, remember? And I’m not as dumb as he is.”

  “You’re a man. All men are dumb.” Brenna peers up at me, and damned if she isn’t the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s bold and fierce, and those qualities combined with her beauty make her a force to be reckoned with.

  And yet…I don’t miss the way her pulse throbs in the center of her throat. Or how she’s breathing a bit faster. She’s not unshakeable, this girl. I have the power to shake her up.

  “You talk a big game, babe. But if I called your bluff, I think you’d be running out the door.”

  “Who’s bluffing?”

  “You are. I think all you do is bluff.” I rest my hand on her hip. My grip is loose, careless almost, but it’s a very deliberate touch and it gets the desired response.

  Heat flares in her eyes.

  “If I take my hand and slide it under your dress, what would I find?” I rasp.

  The question is meant to shake her, but it fucks me right up, too. I’m rock-hard now. I love games like this, the dirty ones where you tease and toy and dare each other until something gives. Until someone breaks.

  “What would I find?” I repeat. Ever so slightly, my fingers shift downward to play with the hem of her incredibly short dress.

  Brenna doesn’t break eye contact. “You’d find me dry as a desert.”

  “Mmmm. Doubt it. I think I’d find you ready for me.” I tug on the stretchy material, finding the spot where it meets her flesh. I rub my thumb over her thigh and enjoy the way her lips part. “What do you say? Should we test my hypothesis?”

  Our gazes lock. I brush my knuckles over her skin again. It’s impossibly soft, and I’m painfully hard. My cock is a hot spike in my jeans. And then it starts to vibrate.

  Rather, my phone does. But it’s lodged in my pocket and in such close proximity to my aching dick that the vibrations actually make me shudder with pleasure.

  “You gonna get that?” Brenna asks knowingly. Her body is still flush to mine, palms flat on my chest, and I’m sure she feels the erection pressing against her belly.

  “No. I’m busy.” My hand is still under her dress, inches from paradise.

  She jerks suddenly, before reaching into the small purse hanging off her shoulder. Both our phones going off at once? That could only mean one thing…

  I drop my hand from her thigh. I have my phone out first, scanning the array of messages that were responsible for all the vibrating. Brenna checks her notifications and releases a victorious squeal that bounces off the black walls in the cramped stairwell.

  “Yes,” she exclaims. “Fucking yes!”

  I grudgingly meet her gaze. “Congratulations.” Briar beat Yale in overtime. Winning goal courtesy of Nate Rhodes, the team captain.

  Brenna’s smile lights up her entire face. Then it becomes a smug curve, more smirk than smile, before settling into a wicked grin of challenge.

  “So. I guess we’ll be seeing you in the finals.”

  10

  Brenna

  Despite Briar’s victory over Yale, I’m still disappointed with how the weekend turned out. I got home around midnight, courtesy of an obscenely expensive Uber ride, and woke up this morning to about ten texts and three voicemails from Tansy apologizing profusely and begging for my forgiveness. I texted back to say I require at least a full month of groveling before I can grant my complete forgiveness, but since it’s hard for me to stay mad at the people I love, I told her we’re good and that she owes me a girls’ weekend.

  Now I’m having Sunday brunch with Summer at the diner, where I fill her in on the weekend from hell. Leaving out the parts involving Jake Connelly, obviously. Summer would snatch onto those bits like a dog with a bone. Except unlike the dog, who’d eventually drop the bone or go bury it somewhere, Summer would discuss and dissect every detail of my Connelly encounters until the end of eternity.

  “I’m sorry, but your cousin sounds like a total bitch,” Summer says as she munches on a strip of bacon. Her golden hair is arranged in a messy braid, hanging over the shoulder of her white cashmere sweater. She isn’t wearing a stitch of makeup, and doesn’t need it. Summer Heyward-Di Laurentis is disgustingly stunning. Ditto for her older brother, Dean. The two of them resemble Ken and Barbie, although Summer hates being called the latter. So of course, I do it just to piss her off.

  “Eh, she’s really not,” I answer, referring to my cousin. “But she sure acted like one this weekend.”

  “She ditched you both nights? That’s savage.”

  “Well, we were together the first night. Kind of. She and her boyfriend got into an epic fight, so I spent most of the time hanging out with his friends.”

  I skip what came before that—my ambush of Connelly and his teammates at the dive bar. And I don’t even dare bring up the concert. I easily could, without mentioning Jake’s role in it, but I’m afraid I might slip and reveal something I shouldn’t.

  Like how warm his lips felt when they touched mine.

  Or how he slid his hand under my dress and nearly put it between my legs.

  Or the sheer relief that crashed over me when he moved that hand, because if he hadn’t, I would’ve been revealed as a liar. I wasn’t dry as a desert, like I’d mocked. I was wetter than I’d ever been. In that moment, I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anybody more.

  And that is not good. Not good at all. Jake is too unpredictable. I can never figure out what he’s thinking, what he’s going to say or do next, and that’s unacceptable to me. How are you supposed to protect yourself when you don’t fully understand a person’s motives?

  “I repeat, she sounds like a bitch…” Summer wags a piece of bacon at me. “Just saying.”

  “It’s that toxic relationship she has with Lamar. She didn’t used to be this selfish.” I pour maple syrup on my second pancake. “I hate saying this, but I really hope they break up.”

  Summer takes a sip of her herbal tea. “Well, the good news is, you’re home now, and I’m going to make sure you finish your weekend off right. Do you want to come to Malone’s with us tonight and watch the Bruins game?”

  “Definitely.” I swallow a bite of my pancake.

  “And I can help you practice for your follow-up interview if you want. That’s tomorrow morning?”

  I nod. “It’ll probably be as crappy as the first one.”

  “Don’t say that. Positivity breeds positivity, Bee.”

  “Did you just make up that saying?”

  “Yes. And you know what else?”

  “Negativity breeds negativity?” I supply.

  “That, too. But what I was going to say is, I’ve decided I’m lending you my Prada boots to wear tomorrow. The black suede ones my grandmother sent me. They’ll bring you good luck.”

  “Uh-huh. You have scientific proof of that?”

  “You want proof? It’s called Prada. Fucking Prada, Bee. Nobody can wear Prada and not feel invincible.”

  I still can’t grasp how I became best friends with this girl. Summer is the complete opposite of me. Bubbly, girly, obsessed with designer clothes. Her family is filthy rich, so she can afford those designer clothes. But me, I’ve never cared about labels. Give me my lipstick, my favorite leather jacket and boots, some skinny jeans and a tight dress or two, and I’m good to go. And yet despite our differences, Summer and I just…fit.

  “Oh, and I confirmed with Fitz before I got here—he can drive me to campus in
the morning, so you’re good to borrow my car.” Summer drives a flashy Audi, and she offered to let me drive it to Boston tomorrow, sparing me from taking a million trains and buses. At noon I’ve got a Communication Theory lecture that I can’t miss, so I need to return to Hastings as fast as possible.

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all.” She picks up her teacup.

  “Thanks. You have no idea how much time you’ll be saving me by—”

  “Hi!!!” a happy voice interrupts.

  Before I can blink, a whirlwind of brown hair and luminous skin and big, big eyes streaks across my field of vision.

  A girl I’ve never met in my life slides into our booth next to Summer and plops her butt down as if we’ve all been friends for years.

  Summer’s jaw drops. “I’m sorry…what…” She drifts off, speechless. A rare state for Summer Di Laurentis.

  I sweep my gaze over the newcomer. She’s wearing a white, collared shirt with red buttons. Waves of chin-length hair hover over the lacy collar.

  “Hello,” I say politely. “I’m not sure if you’re familiar with the word etiquette, but typically it means you can’t crash someone’s brunch, particularly when they don’t know who you are.”

  “It’s okay. You’re about to know me.” She smiles broadly, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. She’s rather cute, actually.

  But just because someone is cute doesn’t mean they’re not insane.

  “I’m Rupi. Rupi Miller. And yes, that’s a Hindi first name and a completely white-bread last name, but that’s ’cause my dad is super white bread. He’s really, really bland. He’s a dentist, you guys. Like, the definition of boring. My mom is awesome, though. She used to be a huge Bollywood star!” Rupi’s tone ripples with pride.

  Beside her, Summer blinks in confusion. “That’s really great…” Her voice trails again.

  I bite back a laugh. “Rupi?”

  The girl beams at me. “Yes?”

  “Why are you in our booth?”

  “Oh. Sorry. I talk a lot, I know. Let me start over. I’m Rupi, and you’re Brenna Jensen and you’re Summer Heyward-Di Laurentis.”