Page 89 of The Risk

I flinch. Just some guy?

I mean, she’s right. It isn’t like we’ve been dating for years. I don’t have an engagement ring in my pocket. And I understand why she can’t tell her father that she’s hooking up with the hockey player who’s going to demolish his team next week. But I’m more than justsome guy.

Aren’t I?

It’s not an easy pill for Coach Jensen to swallow, either. “So it’s some casual Craigslist thing?” he roars.

“Dad! Ew! First of all, nobody my age uses Craigslist! It’s a breeding ground for pedophiles and deviants.”

I choke down a burst of laughter.

“And second of all, my personal life is none of your business.”

“When you live in my house, it becomes my business.”

It’s starting to get intense, so I edge away from the door.

“Please, Dad. Just…go to sleep,” she says wearily. “My friend is leaving, anyway. I have to finish writing my article for tomorrow.”

“Fine.” Her father doesn’t sound at all appeased. “Tell your friend to use the front door this time. I don’t want him breaking that drainpipe out there, or the lattice, or whatever the hell he used to get up here.”

Busted.

Heavy footsteps thud in the hallway, while softer ones approach the door. When Brenna reappears, the flush has left her cheeks. Her eyes are devoid of desire. Of any emotion, actually. “You need to go.”

“I figured.” I’m already putting on my jacket.

“I’m sorry about that. He’s…it’s…difficult.” She won’t meet my gaze, and I can tell by the way she’s wringing her hands together that she’s nervous.

Or maybe it’s embarrassment making her fidget. I didn’t think Brenna Jensen was capable of feeling embarrassed, though. Or defeated. She’s usually so tenacious, but for the first time since we met, it seems like all the fight has gone out of her.

“Has he always been so strict?” I ask.

“Yes, but it’s not all on him. I kind of gave him cause to assume the worst when it comes to me.”

The cryptic remark sparks my curiosity. I want to push for details, but her guarded demeanor isn’t a promising indication that I’d receive any answers.

“Jake,” she starts. “I don’t know when or if we’ll get to see each other again.”

I frown. “Why’s that?”

“Because…” Her gaze finally shifts from her feet to my face. “It’s too complicated. I don’t know when my apartment will be ready, and as long as I’m living here I can’t have you sneaking in and out. And I can guarantee my father won’t approve of this.”

“Why, because I play for Harvard? He’ll get over it.”

“It’s not even that. He’s not going to approve of anyone after—” She stops, shakes her head, and starts again. “It doesn’t even matter anymore. You helped me out with Mulder, and I stuck to my end of the bargain.”

“Bargain?” I echo darkly.

“You wanted a real date. You got one. We hooked up a couple times, gave each other some orgasms. So let’s call it a successful fling and move on. What’s the point of keeping it up, anyway? It won’t go anywhere.”

I want to argue, but at the same time I know she’s right. I’m leaving town in the summer. And right now I need to focus on this game against Briar, and then, if all goes well, the first round of the national tournament. And ifthatpans out? We’re looking at the Frozen Four.

Brenna is a distraction. And the irony of that does not escape me. A few weeks ago I was lecturing McCarthy about this same issue. No, I was lecturingallmy guys about their vices, ordering them to shelve everything until the season was over.

And yet here I am, getting tangled up with Chad Jensen’sdaughter. When she texted me earlier about that ridiculous whipped-cream bullshit? Instead of staying at the Dime with my teammates or tracking down Heath and Jonah to reprimand them, all I could think about was how I hadn’t kissed Brenna indays. And what did I do? I borrowed Brooks’s car and drove all the way to Hastings like a lovesick loser.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe we do need to cool it.

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