Page 67 of On the Breakaway

Avery has to know the guy is a loser. He looks like he sells crypto to college kids.

I take a long pull from my beer and look back to Ryan, our second-string defender, who’s yapping about his sister’s wedding. At least, I think.

Honestly, I can’t focus on anything but the redhead across the bar. Because half an hour ago, Avery Holt looked me dead in the face and proposed sex as if she were negotiating a business contract. Then, after I turned her down for very valid reasons, she disappeared into the crowd with a pat on my shoulder.

And now she’s making her way through every guy in this bar out of pure spite.

First, the rookie. Then the finance bro in the quarter zip. Now this washed-up frat douche with wandering hands.

I cut my teammate off mid-sentence, mumbling a half-hearted goodbye and heading toward our team’s table in the back.

My gaze darts toward Avery again, and I grit my teeth.

Because now, she’s kissing some other guy.

He’s the first one she’s kissed, and up until now, I was pretty confident she was bluffing. Turns out, I drastically underestimated her.

And tonight, I can’t intervene, because this time, she’s stone cold sober. It just pisses me off more.

I don’t know why I care. I was right to turn her down. It was a crazy plan. Sleeping together would be a colossal mistake, even if the idea of it has now lodged itself in the deepest parts of my brain.

Soft skin under me, legs hitched around my waist while I …

I almost choke on my beer.

I need to leave. Now.

But before I can go, I spot Avery heading for the exit with lucky guy number six in tow.

My grip tightens around my beer bottle, a tight knot forming in my gut as I sit with the fact that she’s actually going to leave with him.

I should let her go. That’s the sane option. Let Avery go home with that guy, go home by myself, and pretend tonight never happened. Instead, I pull out my phone.

I flex my fingers while tapping my phone against my leg, trying to stop myself from making a huge mistake. I fail.

Me: Ditch him. Back hallway. Five Minutes.

I don’t know what the hell I’m doing right now, but in a haze, I end up in the back of the bar, leaning against the wall.

My foot bounces against the floor until I force myself to steady it.

I don’t know if she will get the message. Hell, even if she does, there’s no guarantee she’ll come.

Do I want her to come?

And now my head’s in the gutter.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I squint my eyes closed and lean my head back on the wall, trying to maintain some semblance of composure while figuring out what I plan to do if she actually shows up.

“Well, this feels incredibly serial killer-y.”

I open my eyes.

Avery’s leaning against the hallway entrance with her arms crossed over her chest, scarlet waves falling over one shoulder while the low light catches the gold shimmer on her eyelids. Her lipstick is slightly smudged now, from making out with that random guy, and the thought of her lips on his almost snaps the last thread of my sanity clean in half.

My eyes flick to my phone screen. “It hasn’t been five minutes.”