Page 1 of On the Breakaway

1

Avery

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about New Year’s Eve, it’s that men lose their minds around eleven-thirty. Something about the promise of a midnight kiss convinces them they’re suddenly charming instead of desperate.

Newsflash, they’re not.

But the bar’s packed, the music’s loud, and one of my teammates just shoved a tequila shot into my hand like it’s water in the desert, so I’ve had worse starts to a night.

I down the shot, skipping the lime. I’m buzzed enough not to care that it burns while sliding down the back of my throat.

My elbow sticks to the countertop as I watch a guy get rejected for the third time in ten minutes. A different woman every single time. I admire his persistence, but I prefer my bad decisions to be a little more efficient.

Right on cue, someone slides into the space next to me.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, flashing a smile that probably works on most people.

I glance down at my empty shot glass. “I don’t know. Can you?”

His lips quirk, a dimple flashing. Yep, this definitely works on most people.

“What’s your poison?” He nods to the array of liquor behind the bar.

“Tequila sour.” I’d really prefer another shot, but I need to slow down.

He leans onto the counter, getting the bartender’s attention. After ordering my drink and a beer for himself, he turns back to me.

“Here by yourself?” He asks, shifting closer to me in a way that I’m not particularly fond of.

“Nope. My friends are over there.” I nod in their general direction, but don’t point out specifics. The last thing I need is him trying to get autographs when he realizes the friends I’m referring to play for the Boston Blades, our local NHL team.

I shift away slightly. It’s not enough to be rude, but it is enough to send a message.

A message that he ignores entirely when he leans right back into my space.

I glance at the clock– 11:40 pm.

See?

Desperate.

“Is your boyfriend over there with them?” His breath is hot against my face.

Before I can answer, the bartender sets our drinks down.

I consider leaving it behind, already not liking this guy’s inability to respect my personal space. But I do really want that drink. It would take a special kind of asshole to let someone buy them a drink and bolt with it in hand.

“Do I get a midnight kiss as a thank you?” His hand lands on my waist, grip firm and confident when it shouldn’t be.

I guess that makes me a special kind of asshole.

“Not a chance in hell.” I pick up my glass with one hand while prying his fingers off me with the other. “I’m going to head back over there. Thanks for the drink.”

I hear him shout out after me, something about me being a bitch. It’s lame and predictable, so I hold up my hand, flashing him the finger while I walk away.

Everyone likes to make mistakes on New Year’s, as if they all get wiped clean the second they wake up tomorrow. There’s nothing quite like watching a crowd full of people embarrass themselves, then collectively agree that none of it counts in the morning.

I smile at my friend, Becca, on the dance floor. She tries to wave me over, but I shake my head. That girl hasn’t stopped dancing all night, and while I went out there for a bit, I won’t risk it this close to midnight. Being trapped on a dance floor when that clock strikes twelve would be a sweaty and crowded nightmare.