Page 35 of The Risk

I shrug. “I’m with the band.”

“Right. I’m sure you are. Why aren’t you out celebrating your big win with the rest of your Harvard cronies?” Her dark expression tells me precisely how she feels about our win.

“I told you, I’m friends with the band. I went to high school with the lead guitarist.”

Speaking of Danny, I turn to make sure he’s not glaring at me for abandoning him, but he’s involved in an animated discussion with a dude in a Metallica hoodie. When I catch his eye and signal I’ll be a few minutes, Danny nods and continues talking.

“Well, you should tell your friend that his set needs to be longer than fourteen minutes,” Brenna says. “I blinked, and it was over.”

I chuckle. “I know. But this was their first gig, so you can’t fault ’em.” I signal the passing waiter, who stops at our table. “Could I get a Sam Adams, please? And another of these for my girl.” I gesture to her empty glass.

“I don’t—” Her protest dies, because the man is already bounding off. “I didn’t want another one, Connelly,” she mutters.

“It’s on me. The least you could do is have a drink with me. I just saved your ass, after all.”

She gives me a dry grin. “Is that what you think happened?”

“It is what happened. Your expression was broadcasting ‘Get me the hell outta here.’”

Brenna gives a throaty laugh before running a hand through her thick, glossy hair. “I did want to get out of here,” she confirms. “Because I sawyou.”

I narrow my eyes.

“It’s true. I mean, come on, do I look like the damsel in distress type? You really believe I couldn’t have gotten away from that guy all by my lonesome?”

She has a point. A helpless damsel she is not. My stomach twists at the notion that she was trying to escape me and not Ronny. The hit to my ego is unwelcome. “So, what, I don’t get a thank you fortryingto be nice?”

“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. Wearingthat.” I direct a pointed nod at her dress—and hope my expression doesn’t reveal my thoughts on it.

Because, fuck, thatdress. 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 stillriding 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.”

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