Page 41 of The Chase

“Classes haven’t started yet, so I can’t say one way or the other. The campus is gorgeous, though.”

“You living in the dorms?”

“No, I moved in with a few of Dean’s friends. Actually, one of them is Hunter Davenport, your old Roselawn teammate.”

“No shit! You’re shacking up with Davenport?”

“Platonically.”

“No such thing.”

I’m about to argue when I feel a subtle shift of energy in the room. Jake Connelly has just entered, and let me just say, the man’s got presence. He strides in holding a bottle of Sam Adams, stopping in front of the armchair opposite our couch. The guy currently occupying the chair shoots up instantly. Connelly calmly takes his place.

His dark-green eyes flick in Brenna’s direction as he sips his beer.

Brenna is momentarily distracted from McCarthy. She takes in Jake’s dark jeans, black Under Armour shirt, and Red Sox cap. “Connelly,” she says curtly. “Good game.”

He gives her a contemplative look. There was no sarcasm in her tone, but I think he senses the difficulty with which she voiced the praise. “Thanks,” he drawls. Takes another sip of beer. McCarthy tries to get her attention by whispering something against her neck, but her eyes remain on Jake. And his remain on her.

“Where do I know you from?” he says thoughtfully.

“Hmmm. Well, are you able to hear any of your hecklers when you’re on the ice? Because I’m usually the one screaming obscenities at you,” she offers helpfully.

He sounds amused. “Got it. Briar puck bunny.”

“Ha! They wish.”

“You hang around the team. I’ve seen you.”

“Got no choice.” She tips her head in challenge. “My dad’s the coach.”

Jake is completely unfazed.

McCarthy, on the other hand? Utterly appalled. He jolts upright, causing Brenna to nearly fall face-first on thecarpeted floor. Proving he’s at least a gentleman, he regains his grip on her, then eases her onto the armchair before jumping to his feet.

“Why didn’t you say something?” He turns to Weston in betrayal. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

“Who cares, man. She’s good people.”

“I told her about my busted knee! Coach wasn’t gonna put it on the injury report next week. What if she snitches to her father?”

“So?” Weston’s still not concerned.

“So next thing I know, one of his goons is slashing my knee, you know,oops! It was an accident, and suddenly I’m done for the season.”

“My dad runs a clean program,” Brenna retorts, rolling her eyes. “No Tonya Hardings on the roster.”

Weston snorts. Connelly grins, and damned if that doesn’t make him even more attractive.

“Also?” she continues. “This isn’t the CIA, and I’ve got better things to do with my time than spy on a bunch of college hockey players for my father.”

McCarthy loses some of his bluster. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She rises from the chair. “I came here tonight to chill with my friend, have a few drinks, and maybe fool around with a cute guy.”

His expression becomes hopeful. “We can still fool around.”

She throws her head back and laughs. “Sorry, big boy. That ship sailed when you practically threw me across the room because of my cooties.”

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