Page 132 of The Risk

“I honestly don’t know.”

There’s another pause. “So is Jake Connelly your boyfriend?”

“No.” I can’t stop a grin, because I’ve been waiting for this cross-examination since last night. I think Summer was too hurt over being left out of the loop to properly question me about Jake. Nowthat her feelings aren’t stinging anymore, Detective Di Laurentis is back on the case.

“Have you slept with him?”

“Yes.”

“How was it?”

“It was good.”

“Just good?”

“It was very good,” I amend.

“Just very good—”

“I’m not doing this anymore, you brat,” I interrupt.

“Sorry.” The interrogation resumes. “So you slept with him. And you’ve been sneaking around with him for years—”

“It has not been years,” I grumble.

“But since my fashion show?” she presses.

“Yeah, around then.”

“Do you like him? Wait, why am I even asking. I know you do.” Her voice is growing more and more excited by the second. “I think this is great, by the way. I mean, he’s insanely attractive—I could stare at him for hours and hours.”

I try not to laugh. “Glad you approve?”

Her tone becomes serious. “I do, you know. Approve.”

“You’re the only one.”

“They’ll get over it.”

We chat for a couple more minutes. After we hang up, my stomach grumbles again, and I decide it’s time to bite the bullet and go downstairs. I can’t avoid my father forever. Plus, I’m famished.

I know he hears me descending the stairs because of the horrible creaking, but he doesn’t turn around as I reach the doorway. He’s watching HockeyNet, and since yesterday’s game aired on the network, they’re not only showing highlights of it, but Kip Haskins and Trevor Trent are actually discussing the game on their show.

Or rather, arguing about it.

“There’s fighting in the pros,” Kip is grumbling. “I don’t see why the NCAA is so severe about it.”

“Because these are kids,” Trevor points out.

“Are you kidding me? Some of these guys are older than actual NHL players!” Kip argues. “Toronto has an eighteen-year-old on their active roster. Minnesota is starting two nineteen-year-olds. Those boys are thrust into a high-stakes violent environment andthey’reable to handle it. And what, you’re telling me twenty-one and twenty-two-year-old college men are toodelicateto throw a few punches and—”

Dad pauses the DVR when he notices me.

“Hey,” I say.

He grunts. I don’t know if that meanshelloorget out of my face.

“Can we talk?”

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