Page 23 of The Breakaway

Unbidden, the memory of that night surfaced. Not pictures in my head since it had been dark. Just feelings. Sounds. The rush of his breath, the solid warmth of his chest.I don’t get cold.

My cheeks flamed as I jammed another bite of taco in my mouth. This wasn’t okay. Whatever was happening in my head felt like an absolute betrayal. Shouldn’t I be thinking about Logan? Imagining his hands? His chest?

I frowned, trying to draw from the hundreds of moments I had with him, scrambling for a moment to redirect the heat and ache building in my lower belly. Desperate for a distraction, I glanced at the textbook spread open on the counter. Complex equations and diagrams filled the pages, and my frown deepened.

"What's this?" I asked, unable to contain my curiosity. "I didn't think hockey players bothered with anything beyond thebasics." At least Logan didn’t. His priority was getting on the ice, and when he wasn’t lacing up, it was building muscle and agility to support his game. Textbook cracking was not a regular activity in his book.

Rob's gaze flicked to mine, his dark eyes unreadable. "You’re right. Us hockey players. Carbon copies."

I rolled my eyes. "You know what I meant."

He shrugged, his tattoo drawing my eyes like a magnet. "I'm not planning on being a hockey player forever. Gotta have a backup plan."

I raised an eyebrow. "You don't think you're good enough to go pro?"

Rob scoffed. “Doesn’t matter what I think.”

I gave him a look. “Okay. What does that mean?”

Rob's jaw clenched. “It’s competitive.”

“Yeah. So are most things.”

He turned, putting his lean muscles on full display. “You’re not taking a business minor? Just putting all your eggs in the orchestra basket?”

I blinked, my half a taco frozen on its path to my mouth. “Did Logan tell you I was doing that?”

A shutter seemed to draw over his eyes. He turned back to his books. “Logan has opportunities," he said, his tone clipped. "I need to be realistic."

I took a bite, chewing slowly, and then took a drink from my water glass. "Everyone should have a backup plan."

Rob tapped the end of his pencil on his notebook. "So you're Logan's, then?"

My jaw dropped. White-hot anger surged through me. “Nice.” I picked up my plate and glass, rounding the countertop.

“What. I’m serious.”

I shot him a look, my eyes flashing. I wasn’t going to dignify that with a response. But Rob didn’t stop there.

“You’re right, I’m being ridiculous. Logan Kemp always gets what he wants.”

I set my dishes in the sink and slammed on the faucet. “At least he isn't a coward who's too afraid to work for his dreams."

Rob recoiled as if I'd slapped him, his eyes widening. For a moment, we stared at each other, the air between us crackling.

“You know, this whole roommate thing would be a lot easier if you didn’t hate my guts,” I snapped.

Rob’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

My fingers trembled as I rinsed the dishes a second time. “I don’t know what I ever did to you. Besides take time with Logan, which I’m sure got your panties in a bunch, but seriously. I tried to be nice when I moved in and?—”

“I don’t hate you.”

I turned off the water and dried my hands. "What is it then? Am I just notdedicatedorcommittedenough for you? Do I not understand the focus hockey takes, am I a distraction to Logan? Because right now, you don’t seem like you give a shit about his career.”

Rob’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

I shoved away from the counter, rounding it. “I heard what you said to him. Last year. So what did I do to deserve it?”

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