I draw a breath, quickly penning a pros and cons list in my head. There are so many cons. Like, a lot of them. The pros don’t seem as satisfying as—

“What about him?” Mulder says impatiently.

I exhale in a rush. “He’s my boyfriend.”

12

Jake

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.”