Page 10 of The Breakaway

Logan stood, adjusting his shirt. “This weekend. Me and you? Before I head out?”

I nodded, exhaling with relief. It was fine. This was just a weird moment because we were both stressed about being apart for the next couple of months.

But I was happy for him. I wanted this for him, and it was another step toward the life we wanted to create together.

I stepped forward, looping my arms around his waist. “Yeah. I’d love that.”

Chapter

Four

On Friday,after two days of rare fog, the sun was out again, glinting off the bronze statue of Michelle Douglas as I crossed campus. That was a new addition when they rebranded Douglas in 1992 after she won her court case. Now, two years later, it felt like it had always been there.

Fallen leaves crunched under my feet, the ones still stubbornly clinging to their branches a riot of golds and reds and oranges. The crisp October breeze carried the excited chatter of students discussing their Halloween party plans.

I passed the stone archway leading to the GRB and its tunnel. The university's 1950s architecture was showing its age, but I loved the history imbued in every brick. This campus had seen so much change over the decades. I was told all about it at orientation.

A girl with two lip piercings walked by wearing cat ears, which spurred my memory. I still needed to buy fish nets for the Boos and Booze party tomorrow night with the Outlaws. Parties weren’t really my scene, but it was important to Logan. Then we were going to spend the weekend together. He promised me brunch at The Kitchen, and I promised I’d help him pack.

But first . . .

Pulling my jacket tighter, I gritted my teeth and trudged to the north side of campus. I’d walked this route so many times since I moved in over the summer, I was on autopilot. For better or worse, I had Rob's schedule memorized. I was probably more attuned to his day-to-day activities than I was to Logans. Disturbing, to say the least.

On Thursdays he was always back early from class, splaying his notebooks out on the counter and making some concoction involving a hell of a lot of cheese while I tried to study. Which was why I sought refuge in the library or booked a practice room to work through a new piece on my violin. I was very much absent on Thursday afternoons by design.

But not today.

As the house came into view, I drew a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and marched up the path. Logan had been right about ground rules, and initially, I wanted to ask him to present them to Rob. But Logan wouldn’t be there to save me for the next two months. I would have to put on my big girl panties and do this myself.

Rob's head snapped up as I entered, his dark eyes narrowing. He was hunched over a notebook at the kitchen counter, textbooks spread around him. The surprise on his face would've been comical if my heart wasn't thrashing in my chest like a fish yanked out of water.

"You're home early.” His voice was flat, his expression stony.

“Sorry to ruin your afternoon.” I set down my violin case and backpack, then slipped off my shoes and put them on the rack. I circled him warily, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and filling it at the tap. Rob's gaze bored into my back, and my hands wobbled as I took a sip.

“What are you doing?” Rob dropped his pen on his notebook.

I turned, already glaring. I took in his rumpled t-shirt, the furrow between his brows. The sharp angle of his jaw and his current five o'clock shadow. Objectively, I could see why girls would find him attractive. But they didn’t know what I knew. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

He cocked his head to the side, straightening on the stool. “No need to stay hydrated. Logan’s not even here to make you sweat.” He stretched his arms, resting his hands behind his head.

I raised an eyebrow. “Careful or people might think you’re overly invested.”

He exhaled in a rush, his smile turning ice cold. “Just do me a favour. When you’re crying in your room Tuesday night, don’t come knocking on my door.”

I laughed out loud. “You know what? Perfect segue.” I stomped into my bedroom and grabbed my notebook, wishing I could smother my face in a pillow and let out the string of curses racing through my head. He was just such anass.

I strode back into the kitchen with the air of a Broadway star and slammed my book on the counter between us, then flipped it open to the page titled "Sharla and Rob's Rules for Peaceful Coexistence" with a flourish. Now I wished I’d been more creative.

He blinked. “What the hell is this?”

“Wow. We’re really not connecting the dots today, are we?”

He flicked his eyes up to mine. “I already don’t bring people home.”

I dropped my gaze to the list I’d come up with over the weekend.

1. No bringing friends home without approval. No sleepovers.

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