I shoot him a warning glare.
He responds with a smirk before turning to wink at her. “I would love a cup of coffee—” He squints at her nametag, “—Stacy. And a refill for my sulking date.”
“I don’t want a refill, and I’m not his date,” I growl.
Stacy blinks in confusion. “Oh? But…”
“He’s a Harvard spy sent here to get the goods on Briar’s hockey team. Don’t humor him, Stacy. He’s the enemy.”
“So dramatic.” Jake chuckles. “Ignore her, Stace. She’s just mad that I was late. Two coffees, and some pie, if you don’t mind. A slice of…” His gaze travels to the glass cases at the main counter. “Oh damn, I can’t decide. Everything looks so tasty.”
“Yes you are,” I hear Stacy mumble under her breath.
“What was that?” he asks, but his slight smile tells me he heard her loud and clear.
She blushes. “Oh, um, I was saying we only have peach and pecan left.”
“Hmmm.” He licks his bottom lip. It’s a ridiculously sexy move. Everything about him is sexy. Which is why I hate him. “You know what? One of each, please. My date and I will share ’em.”
“We most certainly will not,” I say cheerfully, but Stacy is already hurrying off to procure some stupid pie for King Connelly.
Fuck.
“Listen, as much as I enjoy discussing how your team is trash, I’m too tired to insult you tonight.” I try to tamp down my weariness, but it creeps into my voice. “I want to go home.”
“Not yet.” The lighthearted, somewhat mocking vibe he’s been giving off hardens into something more serious. “I didn’t come to Hastings for you, but now that we’re having coffee together—”
“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.”
“Okay.” He chews slowly, then swallows. “Do you want to date McCarthy?”
“Date, no.”
“Good, so we’re on the same page.”
I purse my lips before taking a slow sip. “Hmmm. I don’t think I like being on the same page as you. I might be changing my mind about the dating scenario… I should ask him to be my boyfriend. Do you know where I can buy a promise ring?”
Jake breaks off a flaky piece of crust with his fork. “You haven’t changed your mind. You were over him five minutes after you had him. There’re only two reasons why you’re still screwing him—either you’re bored, or you’re trying to sabotage us.”
“Is that so?”
“Yup. Nothing holds your attention for long. And I know McCarthy—he’s a good kid. Funny, sweet, but that’s his downfall right there. ‘Sweet’ won’t cut it with a woman like you.”
“There you go again, thinking you know me so well.”
“I know you’re Chad Jensen’s daughter. I know you would take any opportunity to mess with my players’ heads. I know we’re probably going to be facing off with Briar in the conference finals in a few weeks, and the winner of that game gets an automatic bid to the national tournament—”
“That auto-bid will be ours,” I chirp.
“I want my boys sharp and focused on the game. Everyone says your dad’s a straight shooter. I was hoping the same thing could be said for his daughter.” He tsks in disapproval. “And here you are, playing games with poor, sweet McCarthy.”
“I’m not playing games,” I say irritably. “We hook up sometimes. It’s fun. Contrary to what you believe, the decisions I make have nothing to do with my father or his team.”
“Well, the decisions I make are for my team,” he retorts. “And I’ve decided I want you to stay the hell away from my boys.” He swallows another mouthful of pie. “Fuck, this is excellent. You want some?” He holds his fork out.
“I’d rather die than put my lips on that fork.”
He just laughs. “I want to try the pecan. You mind?”
I stare at him. “You’re the one who ordered the damn thing.”
“Wow, you’re cranky tonight, Hottie. I guess I would be too if I got stood up.”
“I didn’t get stood up.”
“What’s his name and address? Want me to go rough him up a bit?”
I grit my teeth.