the corridor. We’re waiting for the players to come out, and we’re not the only ones. Fans and puck bunnies alike loiter in the cavernous space, ready to offer support and comfort to both the winners and the losers. At least most of the Briar guys will get laid without much effort tonight.
Since it’s an away game, my father and the guys have to ride the bus back to campus. Some Harvard players trickle out first, and the girlfriends and groupies swarm like bees. Jake and Brooks appear, both looking undeniably fine in their dark suits. I love whoever came up with the after-game dress code. Their suit jackets stretch across impossibly broad shoulders, and my heart does a little flip when I notice Jake’s hair is still damp from the shower. Which plants in my head the image of a naked Jake in the shower. Which is delicious.
Weston’s face lights up when he spots Summer. “Di Laurentis!” He saunters over and opens his arms for a hug.
She glowers at him. “Don’t you dare. No hugs tonight.”
“Come on, don’t be a sore loser.” He widens his arms.
After a moment, she gives him a quick hug.
Jake winks at me from over Weston’s shoulder and Summer’s head.
My lips curve slightly. “Good game, Connelly.”
I see him fighting a smile. “Thanks, Jensen.”
Summer steps out of Weston’s embrace. “So,” she tells him. “Looks like your penalty provoking didn’t work too well in the second and third.”
“Yeah, the refs got meaner after the Jonah thing.”
“The Jonah thing?” she echoes, poking Brooks in the center of his chest. “It was more than a ‘thing’! He broke Hunter’s wrist!”
“It was an accident,” Brooks protests.
As they argue, a familiar face catches my eye. It’s the girl from the Coffee Hut—Jake’s friend. Hazel, was it? She’s moving through the crowd, scanning faces until her gaze suddenly collides with mine. Then she notices Jake standing two feet away from me, and a frown mars her face.
I tense in anticipation of her approach, but for some reason she stays rooted in place. Interesting. Didn’t she proclaim herself Jake’s closest friend and confidante?
I arch a brow in her direction. Her frown deepens.
As I break the eye contact, my peripheral vision snags on another familiar figure. I turn to see my father emerging from the corridor. Unfortunately, his arrival is perfectly timed with that of Daryl Pedersen.
Uh-oh.
The two coaches exchange a few words as they fall into step with each other. Dad is stone-faced, as per usual. He nods at something Pedersen says. I can easily guess their exchange—the usual good game, thanks, some fake camaraderie. But as they get closer, I distinctly hear Pedersen say, “Nice try.”
I’m not sure what he means, and I guess Dad is also stumped, because rather than walk away, he stops. “What do you mean by that?”
“You know exactly what I mean. Solid effort with the tricks.” Pedersen chuckles. When he notices me standing near Jake, his eyebrows flick up, and a little smirk forms on his lips.
A sick feeling swirls in my stomach.
Since my father doesn’t think rationally when it comes to the Harvard coach, he digs his feet in, his stance aggressive. “What tricks?” he asks coldly.
“I’m just saying, your plan to distract my star player didn’t work.”
From the corner of my eye, I see Jake frown.
“I didn’t expect that of you, though.” Pedersen shrugs. “Not the Chad I know, that’s for sure.”
Jake steps closer to me, and it feels almost like a protective gesture. My father doesn’t notice, however. He’s too busy glowering at Pedersen. The interaction has drawn a small audience, mostly comprised of Briar players.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” my father says irritably.
“I’m sure you don’t.” Pedersen laughs again. “But it’s nice knowing you’re not above pimping out your own daughter.”
Oh my God.
Silence descends, like dead air in a live newscast. My pulse races, and I’m pretty sure my blood pressure has dropped, because I’m feeling light-headed.
Dad glances at me for a second, before directing a glacial stare at his nemesis. “As usual, Daryl, you’re talking out of your ass.”
The other man cocks a brow. “To be honest, it was extremely satisfying being proven right. I’ve always suspected you’re not the honorable, rule-abiding martyr you present yourself as. The pillar of honesty and integrity, right?” Pedersen rolls his eyes. “Always thought it was an act. And while I’m glad to know the level you’ll stoop to, for chrissake, Chad. Your daughter setting up a honey trap for Connelly? I get that