Page 1 of The Sweetest Risk

1

Ihate everything about Tristan Lawson.

Ever since I met him ten years ago, I have hated him. The sucky thing about all of this is, I can’t ever escape him. It’s a cruel joke from the universe that he is my brother’s best friend.

He’s also on the same hockey team as my big brother. And it’s because of Tristan Lawson that I have my one rule: never date a hockey player.

He is pompous, arrogant and the biggest playboy I’ve ever known. I have no idea why my brother, Bradley, ever became friends with him. I mean, maybe it made sense when they were stupid college kids, but now we are almost thirty and Tristan is still up to his antics. At least Bradley found himself a good woman who brings out the best in him.

Bradley and Tristan are the most talented players for the Dallas Storm hockey team and they are basically the ying to each other’s yang. There is no disputing that. Unfortunately, I see more of Tristan than I really want to. He has become so close to my family over the years that he is basically my parents’ second son.

I need to stay civil tonight, though. I am here to celebrate Bradley and Jennifer’s engagement. Not get into a duel with hockey’s hottest player (according to GQ magazine). Not that I’ve willingly paid attention to any of that. But when my parents insist on celebrating that accomplishment and my coworker and work bestie, Tess, is obsessed with all hockey players, there is no way to avoid it. Oh and he’s also the damn poster child for the Dallas Storm, so any billboard you see around the metroplex has his face plastered on it.

Jen has a signature drink for tonight that is honestly pretty decent. It’s some sort of strawberry gin and tonic and I am on my second glass for the evening. I am trying to prepare myself for the entrance of my sworn enemy. It also doesn’t help that I had to come alone to this event, since I just broke up with my boyfriend of two years, Nick.

“Hey Brooke! You’re here!” My brother bear hugs me from the back and I spill my drink all over my light pink dress. Perfect.

“Bradley! You just made your sister spill all over her dress! Warn a girl before you hug her like that! I’m so sorry, Brooke!” Jen grabs a bunch of mini black napkins from the dispenser on the bar. She starts to pat down my dress and I become increasingly aware of the fact that the drink spilled all down my cleavage.

“It’s okay, Jen, really. I’m just gonna run to the restroom and try to fix this. I’ll be right back.”

Thankfully, when I reach the restroom, no one is in there. I grab some paper towels and run them under the sink. It’s justmy luck. Just give Tristan more ammunition to make fun of me. I use the hand dryer to try and salvage my dress in any way that I can. When I look back in the mirror, I give myself a pep-talk: “Remember that tonight is about Brad and Jen. Don’t let Tristan get the best of you. You look hot, sans the whole cocktail spill on your dress and all.” I breathe out. “You can do this! You are a grown woman. No need for childish games.”

I comb through my caramel highlighted hair and rub a little under my eyes. My hazel eyes are popping tonight, probably because I wore more eyeliner than usual. Maybe when I walk out that door, I’ll meet my Prince Charming. Positive vibes. Positive energy.

I swing open the door and who do I see at the damn bar? The worst person in the world. Already surrounded by busty blondes who miraculously wear a size 0. And here I am in my size 8 dress, with thicker thighs and B-cup sized boobs. I exhale again and walk toward where I was previously sitting. I gesture to the bartender for another drink. My fingers tap the bar and that’s when I hear a laugh that sends chills all up and down my spine.

“Hey my man, can I get a couple of Jen’s special drinks and one of whatever the hell is Bradley’s drink?”

Maybe he won’t notice me. I’m not wearing my trusty knotted pink headband after all.

“Well, well…if it isn’t my favorite person in the world?”

Damn.

I finish my drink quickly, so much so that it fizzles down my throat and I choke a little bit. The three drinks make their way onto the bar. Tristan flashes a smile toward the bartender and places a very generous tip in the jar. “Thanks.” He hands the drinks back behind him to two women graciously awaiting his attention. He swivels around and grabs his own drink. I swear the universe hates me because of course Tristan is looking like a thirst trap. He is wearing a white button-down with hissleeves rolled up, showcasing his sleeve of tattoos underneath. His gray dress pants are hugging his muscular legs and ass and his wavy hair is slicked back into a perfect bouffant. Some of his dark brown hair is peeking out from behind his ears and he has not yet entered the playoff beard phase. I cannot stand that phase. Everyone’s beard gets a little too long and they look more like cavemen than hockey players. Another reason I can’t stand hockey, or sports for that matter–all the silly superstitions.

I blink my eyes fast and look away before Tristan notices I am practically ogling him. His Rolex watch glistens against the sunset light as he raises his drink to his smirking lips.

“How are you, Cupcake?”

Ugh, I loathe that nickname. I made one bad batch of cupcakes ten years ago and I will never live it down. I know that he is teasing me every time he says it and he says it ALL. THE. TIME.

So, I decided to come up with an equally annoying nickname long ago. Because he thinks he is the hottest thing to walk this earth, which trust me–he isn’t.Remember to be civil, Brooke.

“Oh just dandy, Hot Shot. And yourself?”

“Dandy as well.” He looks around. “Where’s that desperate puppy dog you call a boyfriend? What is his name again, Nate?”

“Nick,” I retort. He is going to find out eventually and I’d rather be the one who lets the cat out of the bag: “He’s not here.”

“Working late?”

I rub my finger around the glass. “I wouldn’t know. We broke up.”

“Let me guess, he broke up with you because he finally realized what a pain in the ass you are?” He leans against the bar and cocks his head to the side, waiting for my response.

Dick. “Actually, asshole, I broke up with him. Just didn’t work out. Not that it’s any of your business.”

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