“Really? So you’re telling me you’re perfectly cool with all his trash-talking? With all the penalties he draws and provokes? With how rough he is?”
“It’s part of the game,” Jake replies. “Even I do that shit. To a lesser extent than Brooks, sure, but I trash-talk and provoke with the best of them. And don’t kid yourself, babe—your boys do it, too. I’ve heard the filth that comes out of their mouths on the ice. That Hollis guy says shit about my mother all the time.”
“Is he any good at talking shit? Because he’s terrible with pick-up lines.”
“How would you know that?” I can almost hear Jake’s scowl.
“That boy’s been hitting on me since the day we met.” I don’t mention my drunken hookup with Hollis, because it’s completely insignificant. “Anyway, heckling is different than playing dirty,” I point out.
“Brooks never crosses the line.”
“Sure he does. He draws the line wherever he wants and then decides whether or not to cross it.”
“How is that exclusive to Brooks? Everyone has their own lines, right? And we all decide which ones we’re not willing to cross.”
“Fair enough.” Curiosity bites at my tongue. “What’s your uncrossable line? What is the one thing Jake Connelly absolutely refuses to do?”
His response is swift. “Sleep with a friend’s mom. I’m never doing that.” He stops. “Well, again.”
I burst out laughing. “You slept with a friend’s mother? When? How?”
“It was one hundred percent a Stifler’s mom situation,” he says sheepishly. “I was a senior in high school, and one of my teammates threw a huge kegger at his place. I got wasted, stumbled upstairs in search of a bathroom, and wound up in his mom’s bedroom by mistake.”
I’m hit with a wave of uncontrollable giggles. “Was she wearing a negligee? Smoking one of those long cigarettes like Audrey Hepburn?”
“No, she was actually wearing a tracksuit. It was bubble-gum pink, and I think it said Juicy on the butt.”
“Oh my God, you fucked the mom from Mean Girls.”
“No idea who that is.”
I laugh harder, wiping tears from my eyes. “I can’t believe you fell prey to a cougar.”
“What’s wrong with that? She was hot, the sex was hot. Good times.”
He’s completely unfazed by my mockery, and that’s one of the things I’m grudgingly starting to like about him. He possesses a steely confidence that I genuinely admire. Nothing rattles this man. He’s so sure of himself, of his masculinity, his skill. Jake Connelly doesn’t have an insecure bone in his body.
“Wait, if it was so hot, then why would you never do it again?” I demand.
“Because it cost me one of my best friends,” he says glumly, and I realize that he is capable of being rattled. “What about you? What’s your most embarrassing hookup story?”
“Hmmm. I don’t know.” I think it over, but even if my brain had conjured up a crazy Stifler’s mom-esque scenario, I wouldn’t be able to reveal it because a car door slams from outside. “Ugh. My dad’s home,” I tell Jake.
“I still can’t believe you’re living at home again. Has there been any news about your apartment?”
“My landlords pumped all the water out, and now they’re bringing in a cleaning crew. Hopefully it won’t be much longer.” I hear the key turn in the lock. “I gotta go now. We’ll talk later.”
Later? a little voice taunts.
Oh boy, this is bad. Getting to know Jake shouldn’t be an item on my agenda.
“Wait,” he says roughly. “When’s our next fake date?”
I have to smile. “Fake date?”
“Yeah. When do we need to pull the wool over Mulder’s eyes again?”
“Um, most likely never? It’s not like we’ve been invited to do anything else.” I wrinkle my nose. “Why do you even want to?”
“Because isn’t that the arrangement? A real date for a fake one? And I want a real one.”
My heart skips a beat. “You just want to have sex with me.”
“Yes. Badly.”
At least he’s honest. “Well, I think the fake-date ship has sailed, I’m afraid.”
His voice thickens. Husky and endearing. “What about the real-date ship?”
My teeth dig into my bottom lip. Then I take a breath. “I think that one might still be in the harbor.”
“Good. Let’s try to do something this weekend? Maybe after the charity games?”
Dad’s footsteps near the living room. “We’ll figure it out. I have to go now.”
I hang up as my father enters the room. “Hi,” he greets me. His absent-minded gaze flicks to the television.
“Hey. There’s dinner in the microwave. You just need to nuke it.”
“Perfect. Thanks. I’m starving.” He turns on his heel and marches into the kitchen.
“How was practice?” I call out.
“Davenport was throwing an attitude,” he answers from the other room, and there’s no mistaking his displeasure. “I don’t know what’s going on with that kid.”
“Maybe it’s girl trouble. I heard he’s going through the puck bunnies like hotcakes.”
Dad appears in the doorway, running a hand over his buzz cut. “Women,” he mutters. “Always the root of this shit.”
“Actually, I meant that Hunter was being the obnoxious one and using the bunnies to deal with his own issues. But, cool, blame everything on us, the evil demon women.” I roll my eyes. “I hope you didn’t say this kind of stuff to Mom.”
“No,” he says gruffly. “Your mother wasn’t a demon. She had her issues. But we all do.” He gives me a pointed look, but then the microwave beeps and he turns to get his dinner.
I’m glad that he leaves the room. I’m so tired of seeing his harsh judgment. He’s never going to let me forget my mistakes.
I wonder how other people cope with the knowledge that their parents are ashamed of them. The weight of my father’s shame has been pressing down on my shoulders for years, and I’ve yet to find a way to deal with it.
The girls’ night that Summer and I anticipated doesn’t pan out. We walk into Malone’s to find Hollis, Nate, and Hunter at the bar. When they spot us, Nate suggests grabbing a booth, and it’s impossible to say no in the face of Nate’s dimples. So we pile into a booth near the pool tables, where Hollis announces we’re doing shots.
“After today’s practice, we all need it,” he says darkly.
I give a wave to Jesse Wilkes and his girlfriend, Katie, who are shooting pool at one of the far tables. Katie waves back enthusiastically.
“That was brutal,” Nate agrees.
I shift my gaze back. “Yeah, my dad said there was some tension today.” I fix a knowing look at Hunter.
“Aw, is Coach trashing me behind my back?” he mocks.
“I’m pretty sure whatever he said to me, he also said right to your face. I know my father, and he doesn’t mince words.”
“Oh, Coach reamed him out good today,” Nate confirms, his eyes twinkling.
“What’d you do to deserve it?” I ask Hunter.
He shrugs. “I was ten minutes late.”
“I think he was more pissed that you had a chick in the locker room,” Hollis argues.
My jaw drops. “You brought a girl into the locker room? Don’t tell me he caught you two hooking up?”
Hunter shakes his head irritably. “Dude, it was so harmless. I crashed at her place last night and she dropped me off at the arena, wanted a quick tour of the facility. Which is what made me late for practice.”
“What chick is this?” Hollis asks. “The one from Jesse’s party? Or Pierre’s cousin who’s visiting from Montreal?”
“Wow, look at you, Hot Stuff,” I crack. “It’s a veritable girl parade in the life of Hunter.”
He grins at me. “Who doesn’t love a good parade?”
“I love parades,” Hollis agrees. “When I was a kid we lived in San Francisco, and the Pride parade there was so—” He stops when his phone lights up. He whips it to his ear. “You can’t call me every five minutes, Rupi. That’s not how life works.”
When her high-pitched voice ripples out of the phone, I bury my face against my forearm and start to laugh. Beside me, Summer is giggling.
“What do you want to do, put a GPS in my phone? I’m with the guys, okay?” He pauses. “Brenna and Summer are here, too.” He pauses again. “If you’re so fucking concerned, come and hang out with us. I invited you.”
He did? He’s inviting her places now?
“Then get a fake ID!” he growls. “You know what? I don’t care if you’re mad. There. I said it. I don’t care. You’re always mad about something and it’s driving me insane.”
And yet oddly enough, I don’t hear a trace of genuine hostility in his tone. It almost seems like he’s into this toxic tornado we inadvertently—okay, deliberately—placed in his path.
“Fine…” He halts every few seconds to listen. “Fine… Fine… Fine… Nope, I will not. Nope, I’m not gonna apologize. You can come here if you want. I’m not coming to see you. Bye Felicia.”
He hangs up.
My eyebrows shoot up. “Did you hang up on her?”
Hollis ignores me. His brawny shoulders hunch over as he frantically types on his phone.
“Texting her?” Nate guesses dryly.