The Risk (Briar U #2)(3)

“Against my will,” I cut in.

“—there’s something we need to discuss.”

“Oh, is there?” Despite myself, curiosity pricks at my gut. I cover it up with sarcasm. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

Jake clasps his hands on the tabletop. He has great hands. Like, really, really great hands. I’ve got a bit of an obsession with men’s hands. If they’re too small, I’m instantly turned off. Too big and meaty, and I’m a bit apprehensive. But Connelly has been blessed with a winning pair. His fingers are long but not bony. Palms large and powerful but not beefy. His nails are clean, but two of his knuckles are red and cracked, probably from a skirmish on the ice. I can’t see his fingertips, but I’d bet they’re callused.

I love the way calluses feel trailing over my bare skin, grazing a nipple…

Ugh. Nope. I’m not allowed to be thinking racy thoughts in the vicinity of this man.

“I want you to stay the hell away from my guy.” Although he punctuates that by baring his teeth, it can’t be classified as a smile. It’s too feral.

“What guy?” But we both know I know who he means. I can count on one finger of one hand how many Harvard players I’ve fooled around with.

I met Josh McCarthy at a Harvard party that Summer dragged me to a while back. He initially threw a tantrum when he found out I was Chad Jensen’s daughter, but then recognized the error of his ways, apologized via social media, and we got together a few times after that. McCarthy’s cute, goofy, and a solid candidate in terms of FWBs. With him living in Boston, there’s no chance of him smothering me with affection or showing up at my door unannounced.

Obviously, he isn’t a long-term option. And that goes beyond the whole my-father-would-murder-me matter. Truth is, McCarthy doesn’t stimulate me. His sarcasm skills are severely lacking, and he’s a bit boring when his tongue isn’t in my mouth.

“I mean it, Jensen. I don’t want you messing with McCarthy.”

“Jeez, Mama Bear, retract those claws. It’s just a casual thing.”

“Casual,” he echoes. It’s not a question, but a mocking I-don’t-believe-you.

“Yes, casual. Would you like me to ask Siri to define the word for you? Casual means it isn’t serious. At all.”

“It is for him.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, that’s him, not me.”

Yet, inside, I’m troubled by Jake’s frank assessment. It is for him.

Oh boy. I hope that isn’t true. Yes, McCarthy texts me a lot, but I’ve been trying not to engage unless it’s something sexy. I don’t even respond with “LOL” when he sends me a funny video link, because I don’t want to lead him on.

But…maybe I didn’t make our fling status as clear as I thought I did?

“I’m tired of watching him walk around like a lovesick puppy.” Jake shakes his head in aggravation. “He has it bad, and this bullshit is distracting him at practice.”

“Again, how is that my problem?”

“We’re smack in the middle of the conference tournament. I know what you’re doing, Jensen, and you need to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop fucking around with McCarthy. Tell him you’re not interested and don’t see him again. The end.”

I mock-pout. “Oh, Daddy. You’re so strict.”

“I’m not your daddy.” His lips curve again. “Though I could be if you want.”

“Oh gross. I’m not calling you ‘Daddy’ in bed.”

Proving she’s the master of bad timing, Stacy returns as those words exit my mouth.

Her step stutters. The loaded tray she’s carrying shakes precariously. Silverware clinks together. I brace myself, expecting a waterfall of hot coffee to scald my face as Stacy lunges forward. But she recovers quickly, righting herself before disaster strikes.

“Coffee and pie!” Her tone is high and bright, as if she hadn’t overheard a thing.

“Thanks, Stacy,” Jake says graciously. “I’m sorry for my date’s potty mouth. You can see why I don’t take her out in public much.”

Stacy’s cheeks are flushed with embarrassment as she scurries off.

“You traumatized her for life with your filthy sex fantasies,” he informs me before digging into his pie.

“Sorry, Daddy.”

He snickers mid-bite, a few crumbs flying out of his mouth. He picks up his napkin. “You’re not allowed to call me that in public.” Mischief dances in his green eyes. “Save it for later.”

The other slice—pecan, from the looks of it—sits untouched in front of me. I reach for the coffee instead. I need another hit of caffeine to sharpen my senses. I don’t like being here with Connelly. What if someone sees us?

“Or maybe I’ll save it for McCarthy,” I counter.

“Nah. You won’t do that.” He gulps down another bite of his pie. “You’re breaking it off with him, remember?”

Okay, he really needs to stop issuing orders about my sex life as if he actually has a say in it. “You don’t get to make decisions for me. If I want to date McCarthy, I’ll date him. If I don’t want to date McCarthy, I won’t date him.”