Page 79 of On the Breakaway

“But not the best one of your life.” I hold her gaze over the rim of my beer while I take a sip.

She bites the bottom of her lip, but then turns to her friends, changing the topic.

I grab the bowl of chips I’d been refilling and head back to the living room, needing the space to clear my head. Someone started a drinking game that’s getting loud, and people are crowded around calling dibs on the next round.

Liam pulls me into an argument with a rookie about whether or not a hot dog counts as a sandwich. I break the tie in favor of the rookie. Because no, it’s not a fucking sandwich.

The dip needs refilling again, so I circle back to the kitchen, throwing together more sliders while I’m at it. Then I top up the mixers and ice bucket, feed Tank, and make a plate of food for Sloane because I know she’s too busy playing hostess to feed herself.

Through all of it, I can’t stop tracking Avery regardless of how hard I try.

Every pass through the living room, I catch another glimpse of her. Chatting with Harper and who I assume is Harper’s husband near the fireplace. Leaning against the kitchen counter, talking to Wesley. Tossing her head back when Liam says something that makes her grin.

Every time she laughs with someone else, irritation crawls under my skin. She breezes through the party, charming everyone she talks to.

Except me.

It’s not like I expect any differently. We are oil and water. Gasoline and matches. Whatever the hell you want to call it. Still, some basic civility would be nice after hooking up.

Now that she’s over her so-called dry spell, it’s only a matter of time until she finds some other guy to sink her teeth into, and I can move on.

Move on from what exactly? I don’t know. But whatever hate-fueled tension thing we have going on is bound to send me to a psych ward, so the sooner it ends, the better.

I’m supposed to be taking this time without a girlfriend to learn more about myself, not explore Avery’s body with my tongue.

I remind myself of this as I head to the garage fridge to grab more beer. I’ve got my arm wrapped around a twelve-pack when the door swings shut behind me.

I don’t have to turn around to know it’s her. My body recognizes Avery before my brain does.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“I want them back.”

I glance over my shoulder to find Avery standing in the doorway, in some sort of bralette top, having shed her jacket from earlier, with her arms crossed.

And my dick hates me because it goes half-hard at the sight.

“What?”

“My bra and panties. I want them back.”

I purse my lips before my mouth splits into a wide grin.

“No.”

Her brows lift. “No?”

“You heard me, Chaos.”

“You can’t even do anything with them.”

Heat crawls up my neck as I remember that’s not exactly true, considering what I already did with them.

“Doesn’t matter. Call it my reward for giving you the best orgasm of your life.”

I don’t usually poke at people just to get a reaction, but as always, something about Avery makes me want to push every button she has.

“I only said that to get them off my back.”