Page 28 of Breakaway Goal

The temperature in the room shoots up. My palms go damp and clammy, the small of my back tense and tingling. The set of Rhys’s jaw is hard and rigid, his mouth pressed into a thin, tight line.

He doesn’t make a sound. Neither do I.

Lane knocks again. “Yo, Rhys? You home?”

My gaze ticks to Rhys’s doorknob. Rhys closed his door, but I don’t think he locked it. Time stretches out torturously as I waitto see if the doorknob is going to turn, as my mind races with wondering what Lane’s reaction is going to be when he sees us in this state.

But it doesn’t happen. The next sound from the other side of the door is that of Lane’s footsteps retreating, then padding down the stairs. Then the front door opening and closing.

Rhys relaxes. I breathe a sigh of relief. But the temperature in the room doesn’t come down. The bead of sweat trickling down my back attests to that.

“Answering him would have, uh … made it hard for me to get back in this exact pose,” Rhys says, his voice rougher than usual.

“Right. Of course. Makes sense.”

I dry my palms on my pants and stretch out my fingers to stop them from shaking. Then, with a deep breath, I pick my sketchpad and pencil back up and fill in the final details.

I hurry to finish. Because I don’t want to take up any more of Rhys’s time that he needs for his Biology homework. Not because I’m mortified of Lane coming back and discovering us like this.

Why would I be? There’s a very simple, straightforward explanation for why my brother’s best friend is standing in front of me in his underwear with his body contorted, and there’s absolutely nothing either of us have to feel awkward or guilty about.

“I think I’m done,” I say. I take in the finished product on my sketchpad. It’s good. The best sketch I’ve drawn for this class by far.

“Holy shit,” Rhys says. The mattress sinks as he takes a seat on the edge of it, inclining toward me to get a look at the sketch. “That’s fucking incredible, Maddie.”

Heat rolls off his muscle-piled body, and my senses fill with his woodsy, cinnamon-infused scent. The way I can feel his bodyweight bending the mattress makes the muscles between my thighs pull tight.

For a moment, I get lost in letting myself feel good about Rhys’s words of praise while my body luxuriates in his warmth and proximity.

Until realization floods into my brain: realization that Rhys Callahan is sitting almost entirely naked next to me on his bed, and I’m feeling way too hot and slick between my legs.

I shoot to my feet. “Thanks. You were a big help.” I hurry the words from my mouth. “I have some other stuff to do, I’ll let you get back to your homework.”

I leave his room quickly, wishing I had my own room to go back to so I could slide under my blanket and do something to relieve the tight throb that pounds between my legs.

13

MADDIE

“Oh, wow! That’s so cool!”

Those words surprise me as I’m gathering up my supplies at the end of my Abstract Oil Painting class. I turn to see one of my classmates looking with interest at the canvas I’ve been working on for the last two class sessions.

She’s a tall girl with long, dark hair. She’s pretty, with a cool nose ring, wearing a pair of overalls over a white tank top.

“Thanks,” I answer. A smile twitches on my lips, and I feel a mixture of happiness and embarrassment swirling in my chest. I’m not used to getting any comments on my art from strangers. I’d rarely ever share my work with anyone but my family, Rhys, and Jasmine.

“This color blending … ” she says, leaning closer to inspect how the blue circle that’s the center of my geometrically constructed abstract piece gradually blends into the green hue that dominates the rest of the painting. “Awesome.”

My smile tilts higher. “Yeah, I like this painting, too. Color blending and creating texture with brushstrokes has always been one of my strengths. But before you’re too impressed with me asan artist, you should see my latest grade in Figure Drawing,” I add as a joke.

The girl blows a raspberry and rolls her eyes. “Ugh,thatclass. Don’t tell me you have Professor Clarkson.”

I laugh. “Does he have a reputation?”

“Yeah, as a guy who gets off on finding an excuse to never give a grade above a C.” Her forehead furrows. “You haven’t heard every art major at Brumehill complain about him?”

“This is actually my first semester as an art major. I just switched from business.”

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