The Risk (Briar U #2)(37)

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.”