Page 23 of On the Breakaway

I turn, grabbing a stray ball and tucking it under my arm. “What?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to pretend you didn’t just hate that?”

“I didn’t hate anything.”

“Sure.” She purses her lips.

I throw the ball at her, but she manages to volley it right back at me as if she’s not wearing jeans and a winter coat.

“They looked friendly,” She says, closing the rest of the distance between us.

“Did they?” I ask, picking up a row of cones. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Mhm.”

I start toward the sideline, collecting the rest of the balls as I go. “I mean, if they want to flirt like that at a professional training event, that’s their prerogative.”

I regret the words as they leave my mouth, knowing exactly how I sound.

Thankfully, though her eyes gleam and her lips are rolled tight, Harper doesn’t call me on it. Which is good considering I don’t understand it myself.

“So,” she says casually, “Why will you see Grayson next week?”

I sigh. Of course, she caught that.

“Becca’s birthday party,” I explain. “It’s at the Blue Line.”

“And he’s going?”

“Pretty sure she invited the whole hockey team.” I roll my eyes, then add, “You’re coming too.”

She laughs softly, nudging my arm. “I’m not Becca’s friend, and I have plans.”

“It’s an open invite. And just come after. At least then I’ll have better company to spend my time with.”

“Maybe Sloane will even be there.” Harper hands me my bag, watching me for a reaction I refuse to give her.

The image of Sloane practically launching herself at Grayson circles my mind despite my best efforts to forget about it and the way he caught her and smiled.

My grip tightens on the strap of my bag.

He can be with whoever he wants. He should be with whoever he wants.

Still, I shift my shoulders, trying to shake the restless energy crawling under my skin.

Annoying.

That’s all it is.

6

Avery

The walk around the block to the bar is quiet for all of three seconds before Becca, my teammate and tonight’s birthday girl, jogs across the street and pulls me into a hug. Her face lights up when she sees me, and I can’t help but match it.

“Oh,” she starts, dragging the word out as her eyes flick from my boots to my jacket and back again, “so we’re doing the whole effortlessly hot, I didn’t try but somehow will still be the hottest woman here tonight thing.”

I smile, shifting my weight as I adjust my grip on my purse. “I did try, actually, which makes it a lot less impressive.”