Page 7 of The Risk Taker

“That bakery over on Edmondson doesn’t close until nine,” I say, glancing at the clock on the wall. “We can make it if we leave right now.”

I rush around, grabbing my jacket and purse. Oakley secures her things and follows me out to the car. Ten minutes later, we’re inside the bakery, waiting for them to write Congratulations, Ollie in colored buttercream.

“I can’t believe it’s finally happening for him,” Oakley says, a gleam in her eyes as she stares in the distance. “He’s always wanted this.”

“We knew it was coming,” I comment. “They don’t leave you on the sidelines long if you go top five in the draft.”

Oakley nods, her long, dark hair shining underneath the synthetic overhead lights. “It still feels surreal.”

“Is he excited?”

“I’m sure he is,” she starts, glancing over at me. “But you know Ollie. Pulling emotions from him is like pulling teeth. He’s strong and steady, never emotional.” She twists a lock of hair around her finger. “Besides, I only talked to him for a second.”

“Well, we’ll just have to be pumped enough for him and everyone else.”

“That’s never a problem.” Oakley smirks over at me. “You always light up every room you walk into.”

“We always light up every room,” I amend, throwing an arm around her shoulders and squeezing.

My smile softens as I lean my head against my ride or die and watch the woman work across the counter. At five foot ten, I stand several inches taller than Oakley. And with my big personality, I tend to draw a lot of attention. But Oakley forgets how stunning she is. She lets her insecurities rule far too often. This girl has no idea how everyone sees her. Or how amazing she is. When she has a lapse, I’ll always be here to remind her. On top of her beauty, she has a heart of gold. It’s rare to have a friend who supports you, no matter what, especially between women. Oakley is that person to me, and I’m hers. There’s no judgment between us. No petty competitiveness. Just love and support. And I will never take it or her for granted.

“Here you go,” the woman across the counter says, blowing a loose strand of hair from her forehead.

She’s smiling, but she looks tired. We caught her right before she was locking the doors at the end of a long day. She was nice enough to accommodate us.

“It’s perfect!” Oakley says with a bright grin. The lettering is written in golden icing.

“Thanks so much for staying late to do this,” I tell her earnestly.

Oakley signs the receipt, adding a large tip as compensation for the inconvenience.

“Glad I could help. It’s not every day one of our own goes into the NHL.”

We explained the occasion when we came barging into the bakery at closing time. The entire town is centered around the university, and hockey is the most popular sport on campus. The team is not only followed by the student body, but the locals as well.

I nod. “Ollie’s special. And we won’t forget this.”

I have every intention of spreading the word. The hockey players will buy this place out if they show up here.

I close the box with the cake secured inside and lift it from the counter. Oakley opens the door for me, and the woman locks it behind us. We walk the short distance to the vehicle and settle inside the car. It’s a quick drive to Cheerz, and the parking lot is full when we pull into it.

“It’s packed,” Oakley notes as we exit the vehicle and make our way to the front entrance.

“Yeah,” I agree. “I wonder if we’ll have trouble getting a table.”

When we push through the door, the smell of fried food and stale beer hits us in the face. The energy of the bar is palpable tonight. A band is setting up on the small stage in the corner to the left of the entrance. I recognize the guys organizing the equipment. We’ve seen them play here before. They’re a popular alternative sound with the college crowd and likely the reason the fire code is being tested right now.

It’s wall-to-wall people, and it takes both of us to protect the cake as we make our way through the rowdy crowd. I sigh in relief when I spot Chase, Sam, their roommate, Mike, and a few other guys already at the table in the back. It’s the same area the hockey team claims on the nights they party here. I’m starting to wonder if it’s permanently reserved for the hockey players.

Chase stands as we move closer and takes my best friend in his arms, kissing her possessively before pulling away. She stares up at him with hearts in her eyes, like her world stops and starts with him.

A lump forms in my throat as I look away. I’m happy for them. I am. I love them together. But when I see the way they stare at each other, it reminds me of what I don’t have at times. And maybe I don’t fully understand it because I’ve never felt that way about anyone before. It’s ridiculous—I know—because I don’t want a relationship. I never really have. Blame it on my upbringing or my genetics, but I value my independence. In fact, there’s little I value more.

“What’s up, fellas?!” I say, shifting my focus to the table full of hockey players.

Mike moves a few things around to make room for the large box in my hands.

“What did you bring, Mads?” he asks.

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