The Risk Bet (Ridgeview University Hockey Romance #4)

Chapter 1 — Lena

Lena

Lena Brooks knew three things with absolute certainty.

One, Ridgeview University’s student center smelled like burnt coffee, floor cleaner, and panic.

Two, whoever organized the event supply closet had clearly hated women, oxygen, and basic human decency.

Three, Carter Hayes was not allowed to look that good while ruining her day.

Unfortunately, Carter Hayes had never respected rules.

He stood in the doorway of the supply closet like a six-foot-two warning label, one shoulder braced against the frame, dark hair still damp from practice, Ridgeview Hockey hoodie clinging to his chest in a way that felt deeply unnecessary.

His mouth curved into the lazy half-smile that made freshmen forget their class schedules and made girls with functioning survival instincts consider abandoning them.

Lena had survival instincts.

Usually.

Today, they were struggling.

“No,” she said.

Carter’s smile widened. “I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“You were about to.”

“That feels unfair.”

“That feels accurate.”

“I could have been here to help.”

“You were smirking.”

“I can help while smirking.”

“You can’t even breathe without causing a problem.”

It had already been cramped, stuffed with folding signs, balloon bags, extension cords, donation jars, plastic tablecloths, and one suspicious box labeled MISC. FUN in black marker.

Now it was all of that plus Carter.

Which meant Lena was trapped between a shelf of raffle baskets and a hockey player with nice shoulders.

Annoying.

His gaze drifted to the clipboard hugged against her chest. “You brought the clipboard.”

“The clipboard is necessary.”

“The clipboard is aggressive.”

“The clipboard is the only thing standing between this fundraiser and total collapse.”

He leaned a little closer, eyes bright. “I thought that was you.”

A tiny traitorous dip, like her body had heard Carter Hayes compliment her and decided to submit paperwork to fall in love.

She lifted the clipboard and pressed it against his chest.

Just a little.

Enough.

“Careful, Brooks,” he said softly.

Her fingers tightened around the clipboard. “With what?”

“That’s a dangerous place to put your hands.”

Heat climbed her neck.

“Oh, please. I’m touching office supplies.”

“You’re touching office supplies that are touching me.”

“You say that like you don’t enjoy the challenge.”

“I don’t.”

His smile turned slow. “Liar.”

She should have remembered that Carter Hayes flirted the way other people breathed: easily, thoughtlessly, and without any long-term consequences.

Lena snapped her eyes back up.

“No,” she said again, though this time she was not entirely sure who she was talking to.

Carter’s voice dipped. “You keep saying that.”

“Because you keep existing in my personal space.”

“You could ask me to move.”

“I did.”

“You said no.”

“That was implied.”

“Communication matters, Lena.”

He said it quietly. Like it was only for her. Like the rest of Ridgeview could have burned down outside the door and he would still be standing there, watching her mouth, waiting to see if she would let him get away with it.

The Ridgeview Hockey Hearts & Helmets Fundraiser was tomorrow night, and every single detail had somehow become her personal responsibility. The event was supposed to raise money for St. Mary’s Children’s Wing, which meant it had to be polished, welcoming, heartfelt, and functional.

Instead, she had twelve hockey players who thought “decor setup” meant “carry one box and ask where the snacks are.”

A dunk tank permit that had almost been denied because someone named Mason Cross had written EMOTIONAL REVENGE BOOTH on the application.

Professional troublemaker.

The boy Lena had spent an entire semester pretending did not make her pulse misbehave.

“Move,” she said.

Carter finally stepped back, but only enough to make her squeeze by him.

Of course.

Because Carter was not a man who simply moved.

He created situations.

Lena turned sideways to pass.

Carter went still for half a second, and when she looked up, the teasing had slipped from his face.

Just paused.

His eyes had darkened in a way that made her forget where the exit was.

“Lena,” he said.

For one insane second, she wondered what would happen if she didn’t move.

If she stayed right there, inches from him, boxed in by donation jars and bad decisions.

If she let Carter Hayes do what his eyes were already asking permission to do.

Then someone yelled from the ballroom, “brO, THIS BANNER SAYS HEARTS AND HELMUTS!”

Lena jerked back. “What?”

Then his mouth twitched.

“No,” she said, pointing at him. “Do not.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was just thinking the Helmuts sound generous.”

“Carter.”

“Probably a nice family.”

“I swear on my clipboard.”

“Big supporters of head safety.”

She shoved past him and marched into the ballroom before she could smile.

Because she almost had.

And smiling at Carter Hayes in a supply closet after imagining his mouth on hers was exactly how civilizations fell.

The ballroom looked like a fundraiser had exploded and taken school spirit down with it.

Blue and silver streamers sagged from one wall. Balloon bags were scattered across the floor. Donation baskets sat half-unwrapped on tables. A cardboard cutout of the Ridgeview mascot leaned drunkenly near the stage like it had seen too much.

Carter came up beside her, close enough that his sleeve brushed her bare forearm.

Externally.

Internally, her nervous system started writing a will.

“Well,” he said, “at least it’s centered.”

Lena slowly turned her head.

Mostly.

“You,” she said, “are on balloon arch duty.”

“Balloon arch?”

“Yes.”

“Lena.”

“Don’t Lena me.”

“I’m a hockey player.”

“You have hands.”

“These hands are trained for sticks, gloves, and controlled violence.”

“They can tie balloons.”

“I don’t trust balloons.”

“You don’t have to trust them. You have to inflate them.”

“They pop without warning. That’s unstable behavior.”

“You are unstable behavior.”

His grin came back, quick and wicked. “You’ve been thinking about my behavior?”

“I’ve been documenting it for liability purposes.”

Lena wanted to throw a roll of painter’s tape at him.

Instead, she snapped her clipboard open. “Carter Hayes. Balloon arch. Banner cover-up. Then player rotation schedule for the kids’ booth.”

He stepped closer, dipping his voice. “You like giving me orders.”

“No.” His eyes held hers. “You like it.”

There was something deeply inconvenient about Carter obeying her. About him looking at her like he enjoyed being told what to do, but only by her.

Lena lifted her chin. “And you like being difficult.”

“I like getting your attention.”

The ballroom noise thinned around her.

Behind them, Mason Cross shouted, “Does anyone know if glitter is flammable?”

Lena snapped back to reality so hard she nearly got whiplash.

“No glitter near outlets!” she shouted.

Carter exhaled a laugh beside her.

“There she is,” he murmured.

Lena looked at him sharply. “There who is?”

“The girl who pretends she doesn’t want to laugh at me.”

“Tragic.”

“Peacefully.”

“Did she leave me anything?”

Do not.

Then Coach Harlan’s voice boomed from the doorway.

“Hayes. Brooks. Center floor. Now.”

Carter’s gaze stayed on hers for one more beat.

Coach Harlan stood near the ballroom entrance with Denise Vargas from the athletic department. Denise wore sharp heels, a sharp blazer, and the facial expression of a woman who had sent six emails marked urgent and received one reply that said k.

That could not be good.

Lena straightened immediately. “What happened?”

Denise glanced around the room, then lowered her tablet. “The children’s activity volunteer group pulled out.”

Lena blinked. “Pulled out?”

“They had a conflict with another campus event.”

“We have temporary tattoos, foam pucks, coloring tables, hospital donation cards, prize bags—”

Like if she breathed wrong, she might commit a felony with a clipboard.

Carter leaned slightly toward her. “Want me to find the Helmuts?”

She shot him a look.

He held up his hands. “Too soon.”

Coach Harlan crossed his arms. “We need a replacement plan. Fast.”

“I can reassign some of the student volunteers,” Lena said, already flipping pages. “But we’ll need players at the kids’ booth in shifts. At least six. Preferably eight.”

Every hockey player within earshot suddenly became fascinated by the floor.

Mason Cross, who had once taken a slap shot to the ribs and bragged about it, whispered, “Kids are sticky.”

Jonah Pierce nodded solemnly. “And honest.”

Tank, the largest defenseman on the team, looked genuinely pale. “One time my little cousin told me my hair looked like a tired squirrel.”

Carter turned to them. “You’re Division I athletes.”

Mason pointed at him. “Against adults.”

“Barely,” Lena muttered.

Carter heard her.

His smile flashed.

Then, to Lena’s surprise, he stepped forward.

“I’ll do it.”

The room paused.

Lena looked at him.

So did Coach.

So did every player who knew Carter Hayes well enough to recognize that volunteering for responsibility was not exactly his brand.

“You?” Mason asked.

Carter glanced over. “Yes, me.”

“With children?”

“They’re short humans.”

“They ask personal questions.”

“So do reporters.”

“Yeah, but reporters don’t have jam hands.”

Carter ignored him and looked at Lena. “I’ll run the kids’ booth.”

That was almost more unsettling than the flirting.

“You understand this means showing up on time,” she said.

“You were trapped in a supply closet bothering me.”

“Still present.”

“It means following a schedule.”

“I can read.”

“It means no inappropriate jokes.”

His eyes glinted. “Define inappropriate.”

“Carter.”

“Fine. Family-friendly Hayes. Limited edition.”

Denise tapped her tablet. “We need more than one player. Kids’ booth, prize table, check-in station, puck challenge, and donor greeting.”

Unfortunately, that someone was probably her.