Page 109 of On the Breakaway

“Who is she?”

“Nobody.”

Wyatt snorts.

I glare at him. “You’re walking back to the hotel.”

Katie’s smile only grows.

“You like her.”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Grayson.”

I open my mouth, but close it again.

I don’t actually know how to answer anymore. A couple of months ago, it would’ve been easy.

Avery is annoying. Complicated. Difficult. Attractive, sure. But also really fucking frustrating. Wanting her for anything more than what we had last night is a sure-fire way to get hurt.

Katie notices my hesitation immediately, and her teasing grin softens.

“How do you feel about her?”

“I can’t stand her,” I say to myself as much as her. “She’s reckless. And she eats the same food as a toddler. And she drinks too damn much. And she’s difficult just for the sake of it. And she does this stupid thing where she goads you into shit just to win. And somehow she always fucking wins.”

And she brings me out of my shell in a way no one else ever has. And she looks at me as if she sees right through the bullshit. And she doesn’t want me to pretend to be anything with her, even if I’m not nice or composed. And she kisses me as if I’m the only thing sustaining her. And she touches me as if I’m hers.

“Oh.” The quiet word brings me back to the moment.

Wyatt and Katie are staring at me, mouths half-opened in shock. I look away first, trying to erase this conversation from my mind.

“You really like her,” Wyatt says.

I glance between them, trying to figure out what the hell to say now. What the hell do I do with this?

I swore off this kind of thing, tired of forcing relationships that were never quite right. But I’m not forcing this. I’m constantly fighting against it, and I keep orbiting her anyway.

So what does that mean for me?

Avery made it clear where she stands. To her, last night was a mistake. Something to get out of her system. The problem is that I don’t think she’s out of mine at all.

And judging by the way my throat tightens every time I think about her walking away from my room, I don’t think she’s going to be anytime soon.

I drop the sponge into the sink, turning fully to face them, bracing myself on the counter.

“Yeah,” I admit quietly. “I think I just might.”

22

Avery

The ball arrives exactly where I want it.

Wesley threads it through two defenders and into open space, leading me toward the top of the box. It’s the kind of pass we’ve connected on hundreds of times over the years. My body usually reacts on instinct, knowing what comes next. One touch to settle it. One touch to create space. And then a shot.

I send the ball screaming over the crossbar.