Page 12 of On the Breakaway

“What?” I shift my weight.

“Nothing,” he replies as his eyes flick back up to mine.

There’s something glinting in them.

“Say it.”

He exhales quietly. “You eat like a college freshman.”

I let out a short laugh, more incredulous than amused. I glance in his cart, taking note of the fresh produce and seasonings.

“And you shop like someone with a meal prep spreadsheet.”

He glances down at his cart, then back at me. “What’s wrong with real food?”

“Nothing. I just don’t feel like cooking after practice, or games, or existing, so this works.”

He nods slowly, which throws me off more than if he’d argued.

“You could make enough for a few days,” he says after a second. “Doesn’t take that long.”

I stare at him. “Did you just try to give me unprompted meal planning advice in the middle of a grocery store?”

“Just a suggestion.”

“Yeah, no,” I shake my head. “I’m good.”

Another beat passes, quieter this time, and I can feel him shift next to me. I realize then that we’re still standing far too close. My feet move automatically, creating space between us.

“Rough morning?” He asks, voice a little softer now.

“Nope.”

“Right.”

I glance over, narrowing my eyes. “We’re not friends.”

“I’m well aware.”

“Goodbye, Grayson.”

I move past him, heading toward the front of the store because I’ve officially hit my limit for both grocery shopping and this conversation.

Apparently, he can’t take a hint because he falls into step behind me. He’s not crowding or pushing, but I feel caged in anyway. I glance back to find him intentionally looking away, whistling like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“Stop following me,” I mutter.

“C’mon, Chaos. Stop flattering yourself. I’m trying to check out.”

I stop short, and he nearly runs into me. “Stop calling me that.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Why? Does it bother you?”

Yes.

“No.”

I refuse to let anything about this man get to me.