I thought I was satisfied, too. But I’ve been horny as hell ever since Brenna showed up at the Dime in her sexy halter top and grinded all over my teammate. And then the indecent dress she wore to Danny’s metal show? Christ. I’m aching for this girl.
For the rest of the dinner, we mostly discuss hockey. Brenna wasn’t kidding—Ed Mulder is obsessed with the Oilers and knows everything about them. Over dessert, he goes on and on about the most recent draft, grilling Nils about the latest picks and what Nils thinks of all the new talent.
Although I feel bad about it, I start paying more attention to Mulder than Brenna.
Her accusatory gaze bores into my cheek as Mulder, Nils, and I dissect the incoming rookie class. But I pretend not to notice her displeasure, because, hell, this is my career, too. I’m literally having dinner with my future teammate. Of course I’m going to give him priority.
Brenna’s volcanic anger is beginning to feel almost stifling, while the Oilers details that Nils is spilling are energizing and interesting as hell. Maybe it makes me an ass, but my attention is becoming increasingly focused on the good stuff about my future, rather than the bad shit about Brenna and Mulder.
The girls I dated in high school constantly accused me of being selfish and obsessed with hockey, but what’s wrong with that? I’ve worked my entire life to become a professional hockey player. I haven’t led women on or made them any promises. I’m always clear from the get-go that hockey is my main focus.
So when Mulder suggests we retire to his den for after-dinner drinks, I’m faced with a decision. I can tell that Brenna doesn’t like the segregation of the sexes, and I don’t blame her. This isn’t the olden days.
But Theo Nilsson is gesturing for me to come along, and this is a man I’ll be skating with in the fall, and at the end of the day, I’m a selfish prick.
So I follow him.
“You’re pissed,” I say.
“Whatever do you mean, Jake? Why on earth would I be pissed?”
The sarcasm is strong with this one, my friends.
And I completely deserve it. I spent more than an hour in Mulder’s man-cave tonight. Now it’s ten o’clock and we’re outside waiting for our car, and Brenna refuses to even look at me.
“Oh, I know!” she continues, scorn dripping from her tone. “You mean because I was banished to the sitting room with the other women, where we clutched our pearls and fainted a whole bunch just so we could wake each other up with smelling salts?”
“That is super fucked up. Is that what you think they did back in the day?”
“They may as well have!” Her cheeks are flushed with anger. “Do you realize what a slap in the face that was? Watching you waltz off to talk about sports with the man who’s interviewing me for a position in sports?”
Remorse ripples inside me. “I know.” I let out a breath. “I knew it was a dick move when I did it.”
“And yet you did it anyway.” Her eyes blaze. “Because you’re a dick.”
“Hey, one dick move doesn’t make me a dick,” I protest. “And look, you have to admit, self-interest was your sole motivation tonight, too. You wanted to talk to Mulder about the internship and prove that you were fit for the job. Well, I wanted to prove that I was fit for my job.”
“Self-interest was never your motivation, though. You didn’t even know Theo Nilsson was going to be there tonight.”
“Yeah, it’s called adapting. Nils was there, and I decided to take advantage. You would’ve done the same thing.”
“You were supposed to be my hype man, Connelly. And instead you hyped yourself up the whole time. This was such a waste of time,” she grumbles. “I should’ve asked somebody else to come with me. I should’ve brought McCarthy.”
“First off, you wouldn’t have even been invited if you hadn’t name-dropped me,” I point out. “So there’d have been no need to ask anybody. And secondly, I’m pretty sure the McCarthy train has left the station. Last I heard, he hooked up with some girl after the semifinals and has seen her every day since.”
Brenna glowers at me.
“What?” I say with a shrug. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”
“You think I care that McCarthy is seeing someone else?” She gives me an incredulous look. “I was over that guy the second he let you decide what he could do with his dick. What I care about is the fact that you didn’t have my back in there.”
“Only at the end,” I argue. “The rest of the time, I was totally hyping you up. You know I was.”
She doesn’t answer. And then our car arrives and she stomps toward it. Originally I set the drop-off location as the train station for Brenna, but now I lean into the front seat and tap the driver’s shoulder. “Hey, we’re actually going somewhere else first. Could you drop us at O’Malley’s on Boylston?”