Page 150 of The Risk

When he comes back and hands me a Bud Light, I’m reminded of my bowling date with Jake and how we had to choke down that watery beer. Also, it doesn’t surprise me that it’s Hollis’s beer of choice. He’s totally a Bud Light kind of guy.

“I’m calling bullshit,” I say.

“Bullshit on what?”

“Bullshit on the bullshit you’re trying to feed me about not caring about Rupi. You do care. You liked her.”

“I did not. She’s so annoying.”

“Really? So why did you keep hanging out with her?”

“Because I was trying to get in her pants, Brenna. Come on. Keep up.”

“Uh-huh. So you were just trying to get laid?”

“I was. And now I don’t have to work for it anymore. I’ve got a dozen other chicks lining up to bang me. So, good riddance.” His tone holds zero conviction.

“Admit it, Hollis, you like her. You like her shrill voice and her bossiness and her endless chattering.”

“I don’t,” he insists. “She’s not even my type.”

“She’s not,” I agree. “She’s not a puck bunny with a centerfold body, or one of those plastic girls I see you hitting on at Malone’s. She’s weird and tiny and has an inexplicable amount of self-confidence.” I grin at him. “And you like her. Admit. It.”

The tips of his ears turn red. He rakes both hands through his hair, and then glumly sticks out his chin. “She was growing on me,” he finally confesses.

“Ha!” I say victoriously. “I knew it. So now give her a call and tell her that.”

“No way. She dumped me.” He gazes at me in challenge. “If your little Harvard boyfriend dumpedyou, would you go chasing after him?”

Laughter spills out, bordering on hysterical. But I can’t stop it. I rest my head on Hollis’s shoulder and giggle uncontrollably.

“What’s going on right now?” he asks in confusion. “Are you high, Jensen?”

“No. It’s just…” I giggle some more. “Hediddump me.”

Hollis straightens up in shock, bumping my head off his shoulder. His blue eyes are wide with amazement. “Are you serious? Washehigh?”

“He wasn’t high, and, yes, I’m serious. He broke it off yesterday. Said he needed to focus on the tournament and his team and I was too much of a distraction, blah blah blah.”

“That’s horseshit. I always knew Harvard men were dumbasses,but this is a whole new level of dumbassery. Has he seen you? You’re the hottest girl on the planet.”

Even though the compliment is coming from Mike Hollis, I’m still genuinely flattered. “Thanks, Hollis.”

He swings his arm around me. “This just confirmed everything I already knew. Harvard sucks and Connelly sucks harder.”

“I second that,” drawls Hunter, who enters the living room with a beer in hand. He’s drinking a Founders All Day IPA—wait, why didn’t I get that option?

I wince when I notice the cast on his left wrist. At least it’s not his right one, so he still has use of his dominant hand. And his season is over, so it’s not like he’ll be missing any games. Nevertheless, the cast triggers a rush of sympathy.

“Hey,” I say carefully. “How’s the wrist?”

“What? You can’t tell?” He raises his arm. “It’s broken.” But he doesn’t sound pissed. Just resigned.

“Can I sign it?” I tease.

“Sorry, but Hollis kind of ruined that for everyone,” Hunter answers in a dry tone. He approaches the couch to give me a better view of the cast.

In a black Sharpie, someone drew a dick and balls.

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