: Chapter 12

Morning practice is grueling, but I don’t expect anything less from Coach. He was already riding our jocks before we made it into the finals—now all bets are off. We’re expected to skate faster, hit harder, take more shots. It’s an intense workout, and some of the skating drills we run leave even me breathless, and I’m the best skater on the ice.

Not that I’m complaining. Some guys like to grumble about having to haul themselves out of bed so early. They bitch about the nutrition guides, or Coach’s hard-ass nature. I can’t deny that Pedersen’s got a more physical style of play than I do. Me, I rely on my speed and accuracy rather than brute strength. But in Coach’s playing days, he was a goon, and he promotes the same aggression in his players. Brooks is our main enforcer, but lately Pedersen’s been pushing the other guys to throw more elbows. He doesn’t expect it of me, though. He knows what I can do.

Coach is waiting for me in the hall when I leave the locker room, my hair wet from the shower. He slaps me on the shoulder. “Good hustle out there, Connelly.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

“You gonna bring that same hustle to the finals?”

“Yessir.”

He slants his head. “Briar’ll be tough to beat.”

I shrug. “Not worried. We got this.”

“Damn right we do.” His expression turns grim. “But we also can’t fall into the overconfidence trap. Jensen had a shit season last year, and he’ll be clamoring to make his comeback. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re doing two-a-days.”

Me neither. Briar is looking much sharper this year. I’m not sure what happened last season, except that ever since Garrett Graham graduated, they’ve had a tough time finding that offensive breakout. Nate Rhodes is good, but he’s not exceptional. Hunter Davenport is almost as fast as I am, but he’s still young. He’s only a sophomore, with a lot of rough edges that require sharpening. I think next season Briar will be unstoppable with Davenport at the helm. But that’s next season. This season is ours.

“I need you to come in earlier tomorrow morning,” Coach Pedersen says. “Six thirty, okay? I want you to work with Heath one-on-one.”

I nod. I noticed Heath dropping some key passes today. “I’m cool with that.”

“Knew you would be.” He claps me on the shoulder again before stalking off.

I walk toward the lobby of the arena, where Brooks is waiting for me. The moment I reach him, my phone buzzes with an Instagram notification. I rarely use that app, so I’m about to ignore it when I notice the username.

BrenJen.

As in Brenna Jensen?

Curiosity grabs hold of me. “Hey, go on ahead,” I tell Brooks. We’re grabbing lunch at the campus café with a few teammates. “I’ll meet you guys there. Gotta make a call first.”

“Okay.” He gives me a weird look and lumbers off.

I load Instagram and open my DMs. The profile picture for “BrenJen” shows a curtain of dark hair and the hint of a profile. But the red lips are a dead giveaway. It’s definitely Brenna, and the green dot beside her pic tells me she’s online right now.

Connelly. It’s Brenna. Can we meet up?

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. I instantly start typing with total disregard to the long lecture Brooks gave me one night about response etiquette. He has a strict rule about waiting minimum an hour before replying to a chick, so that she doesn’t feel like she’s the one with all the power. But I’m way too curious to abide by that.

ME: Did you seriously just slide into my DMs?

BRENNA: Unfortunately. Do you want to meet up?

ME: Are you asking me out?

BRENNA: In your dreams, Jakey.

I smile at the screen, just as Brenna follows up with another message.

BRENNA: I’m in the city and have about an hour before I need to go back to Briar. I was hoping we could meet up.

ME: Gonna need a lot more than an hour for our first time, babe. I mean, foreplay alone will eat up most of that time.

BRENNA: An hour of foreplay? Aren’t you ambitious.

ME: Not ambitious. Realistic.

And maybe I shouldn’t be trying to lure her into a sexting conversation right now, because the idea of foreplay with her is very enticing.

ME: Why do you want to meet?

BRENNA: Need to talk to you about something. And I’m not doing it on a stupid app, so yes or no?

I’m too intrigued to turn her down. I mean, the daughter of Briar’s head coach is trying to arrange a clandestine meeting with the captain of the Harvard hockey team? Who wouldn’t be intrigued?

So I type, where and when?

We meet up at a coffee shop in Central Square. Once again, it’s pouring outside, and I’m cold and wet when I join Brenna at a small table in the back.

She’s holding a coffee cup, wisps of steam rising up from the lip to redden her nose. She gestures to the cup in front of the empty chair. “I ordered you a coffee. Black.”

“Thanks,” I say gratefully, wrapping my wet hands around the hot mug. My fingers are fucking freezing.

As I take a long sip, Brenna sits there watching me.

I set the cup down. “So,” I drawl.

“So,” she drawls back.

Damn, she looks cute today. Her long hair is pulled back in a neat braid, and her complexion is devoid of makeup. Or, if she’s wearing any, she’s opted for a totally natural look. There’s a fresh-faced, rosy glow to her cheeks and—holy shit, she’s not wearing red lipstick. Her lips are pink and glossy.

I almost blurt out, “What’s wrong with your face,” but corral the question before it’s too late. That is never something you want to ask a chick.

“Are you finally going to enlighten me about why I’m here?” I ask instead.

“Yes, but first you have to promise me a few things.”

“Nah. I make no promises, ever.”

“Fine. Then I’m out. And at least I get to leave with the satisfaction of knowing I made you come all the way here for nothing.” She starts to rise. “Later, Jakey.”

“Sit that pretty ass back down,” I order, rolling my eyes. “Fine. What am I promising?”

“One, that you’ll hear me out until I’m done. And two, that you won’t gloat.”

The mystery deepens. I lean back in my chair and say, “All right. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Okay.” She blows out a breath. “So I applied for an internship at HockeyNet.”

“Nice.”

“Sure, it would be. If my interviewer wasn’t an enormous dickwad.” Brenna’s fingers tighten around her mug. “I’ve had two interviews with him, and he didn’t take me seriously either time.” She scowls at me. “And before you make some snarky comment about how maybe I’m not qualified for the job—”

“I wasn’t going to,” I cut in.

“Good. Because I am qualified. I don’t think he takes any women seriously. Or at least, women trying to break into sports. You should’ve heard the derisive way he spoke about Georgia Barnes. He acted like she didn’t belong at the network. He acted like I didn’t belong there.” Brenna’s tone is thick with frustration, but her eyes convey pure defeat. “He’s such a dick.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I mean it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Brenna lose her confidence. I’m surprised she’s even letting this jackass get to her. “Want me to go beat him up?”

“If it were that easy, I would beat him up on my own. A good kick in the balls would do him a world of good.”

I snicker. “Why am I here, then?”

“So…he’s from Edmonton,” she starts.

A frown touches my lips. I’m not quite sure where this is going. I assume this guy is an Oilers fan, but I won’t be playing there until next year. “I still don’t see where I fit into this.”

“The only time during the interview today that he actually seemed interested in me was when we were discussing Edmonton. And you,” she adds grudgingly. “He thinks you’re exactly what they need to win the Cup.”

I think I agree with him. The team’s record is decent, but I plan on making it even better. I’m a damn good hockey player, not only due to talent, but because I work my ass off. I’ve worked for this my entire life.

“Anyway…” Brenna trails off. She takes a hasty sip of her coffee.

“Why’d you bring me here, Jensen? I’ve got class soon, too.”

“Because, like I said, the first time he paid any positive attention to me was when I told him I knew you.”

I grin in delight. “Dropped my name, eh?”

“Shut up. It made me sick doing it.”

Laughter spills out. This chick is really something. I’m so used to girls throwing themselves at me that it’s almost refreshing when one does the opposite.

“I did more than drop a name,” she confesses.

My forehead wrinkles. “Okay. What’d you tell him?”

She mumbles something under her breath.

I lean forward. “What’s that?”

“I told him you were my boyfriend,” she grinds out. Her jaw is so tight I’m surprised it doesn’t snap in two.

I stare at her for a second. When I realize she’s dead serious, I’m hit with another wave of laughter. “You fucking didn’t.”

“I did. And you promised not to gloat.”

“Sorry. Promise broken.” I can’t stop chuckling. “This is too fucking good. That was so much more than a name drop. It was like…like Human Centipede level of kiss-ass.” I wipe tears from the corner of my eye.

Brenna glares daggers at me. “First of all, gross. And second, I’m sorry, but unlike you I actually need to get a job when I graduate. I don’t have the luxury of a multimillion-dollar contract with a professional hockey franchise. Journalism is my dream, so if kissing that jerk’s ass is what I need to do to get this internship, then I will.”

I force myself to stop laughing. It’s difficult. “Okay, so you told him I’m your boyfriend.” Oh man, I love this. I love it hard. I can practically picture the expression on her face when she told him. The agony. “That doesn’t explain why we’re sitting here right now.”

“Needless to say, he came in his pants at the idea of having easy access to you.” She sighs. “He’s hosting a dinner party on Friday and he wants us to go.”

“Us?” I’m grinning so hard. “We’re an us now?”

“Trust me, that’s the last thing I want, but I told him we’d be there. And now, as humiliating as it is, I’m asking you to do me a solid and go with me.” She looks and sounds like she’d rather roll around in a dark pit full of razor blades.

I grin even harder. I think my face might break.

“Don’t do this to me,” she says miserably. “I’m aware of how ridiculous this is, but I need your help. You already pretended to be my boyfriend once, remember? You had no problem putting your hands all over me at the concert, but I guess that was okay because it was your idea to put on the charade?”

She has a point.

“Well, I need you to do it again, okay?” There’s a splash of bitterness in her tone. “It’s one night—I’ll even pay you if you want.”

“Hey, I’m no gigolo.”

“Fine, then do it for free. Be a good Samaritan.”

I ponder for a moment. “Nah.”

“Come on, Connelly.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen Brenna so flustered. “Don’t make me beg.”

A bolt of lust streaks straight to my groin. “That sounds so fucking appealing.”

Her mouth tightens. “It’s not happening.”

“Mmmm, you on your knees…begging…” My cock twitches.

It’s official. I’m hot for this girl. I’ve slept with my share of women, but I can’t remember the last time I lusted this hard over someone. I can feel my eyes glazing over as I envision the scene I just described. Brenna on her knees, unzipping my pants. Gripping my cock. Peering up at me with big eyes. Pleading for it.

“I’m not begging,” she says firmly. “I’m asking. If you’re saying no, then fine, I’ll get up and leave.”

I snap myself out of my lust trance. “I’m not saying no.”

“Great. Then come with me on Friday.”

I chuckle. “Oh, I’m not saying yes, either.”

If looks could kill, I’d be on the floor surrounded by a chalk outline right about now. “Then what are you saying?” she demands.

“I’m saying—quid pro quo. I don’t know if you learned this in school, but nothing comes for free.” I wink. “I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

“I am not scratching any part of your body.”

“All I mean is, if I help you out, I want something in return.”

“Like what?” She starts fidgeting with the end of her braid, clearly unhappy.

I’d kind of like for her to undo the braid altogether. I want to see her dark hair loose around her shoulders. Actually, nah. I want to see it fanning over my bare chest as she crawls her way down my body and—

“Like what?” she repeats when I take too long to reply.

Once again, I force myself to concentrate. “So, you want a date on Friday night—”

“A fake date.”

“A fake date,” I amend. “Well, in return, I want a real one.”

“A real what?

“A real date. You get a fake date, I get a real one.”

“Are you joking?” Her mouth falls open. “You want to go out with me?”

I examine her incredulous expression. “I know, right? It caught me by surprise, too.” I offer a shrug. “But it happened and now here we are. I think you’re hot, and I know you think I’m hot—”

“I think you think you’re hot,” she interjects with a snort.

“I don’t think that. I know that. And I’ve seen the way you check me out, so…” I hold up my hands in a careless motion, before gesturing from me to her. “I think there’s something here—”

“There is nothing here. Nothing.”

“Okay. Cool. I’ll just be on my way.” I lift my ass off the chair.

“Connelly,” Brenna growls. “Sit back down.” She briefly closes her eyes. “You’re saying you’ll come to the dinner party with me, and all I have to do is go out with you for real.”

“Yeah, but don’t make it out like you’re meeting up with a serial killer. At least pretend to sound excited about going out with me.”

“Okay!” She claps her hands. “I get to go on a date with you! Hurray!”

“Much better,” I tell her, and I don’t think I’ve stopped smiling since I learned the reason she’d summoned me. “So. Is that a yes?”

She sighs. Loudly.