Page 83 of Break Points and Face Offs

Rolling around your apartment in your underwear.

I snort.

Freak.

Seriously? Where are you?

Everything okay Rosie?

I need you, I think. But then images of Jamie—so vulnerable to Father’s scorn—come to mind. I tell myself I can have this thing with Will, for now. So long as I know I can’t have it forever.

Everything’s fine. I was just wondering if you wanted to study?

Heading over to the library from the rink in ten. Meet me there?

Pick you up?

Sure. See you soon.

Watching Will walk out of the hockey arena in his college hockey hoodie does strange things to me.

He has a gym bag slung over his shoulder and is laughing about something with some guys who definitely look like hockey players. He looks like he belongs. Something drags in my chest before he looks up and spots me. He smiles and waves. I start the car as he slaps one of the hockey players on the shoulder and starts jogging toward the car.

“You stink of old hockey gear,” I say instead of telling him how good he smells.

He laughs and rolls his eyes. “Hello to you, too, Rosie. How was your day?”

He starts messing with the stereo while he waits for a response.

“It was … fine.”

“Did you tear your old frat bros a new one about dropping the ball on that Indian Spring game.”

“Indian Wells. Sort of.”

He looks up. “Don’t tell me Priestley Rosenthal’s losing his touch? They weren’t shaking in their boots?”

He must spot something in my expression, because the teasing smile drops into something more concerned.

“Hey, I’m just fucking with you. Everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” I lie. “I’m just disappointed with them. I’m gone for five minutes and Nathan can’t even keep it together enough to win one match.”

He snorts. “I feel bad for this Nathan guy. His ears must be constantly burning with how much you lay into him.”

“I just want him to reach his potential.”

Will pauses before he replies. “I know.”

Once we’re safely out of sight of the Hobey Baker hockey arena, Will rests his hand on my thigh, letting his victory playlist play through the car speakers.

The thought of sitting next to him in the library makes me want to crawl out of my skin.

“Shall we study at my place?”

“You know we won’t study,” he says, giving my thigh a squeeze.

I whine. What has gotten into me? I do not whine. Or growl. Or plead. But ever since I’ve met this man, it seems like it’s all I do.