Page 36 of Breakaway Goal

I pull a breath of air through my nose. It’s filled with his scent.

There’s still the familiar trace of cinnamon—I’ve never known if it’s from his soap, his shampoo, a cologne, or what—but today his smell is muskier, heavy with testosterone and raw masculinity from the sweat of his workout. It’s a concoction that has my hormones going mad in a way I’ve never felt before.

I should get up, but I can’t. I can’t break the tether that locks his gaze with mine. All I can do is stay here, breathing him in, my heartbeat pounding so hard that I feel the reverberations through my limbs, down to my fingertips.

His plush lips part slightly, and my heart does a loopy whirl in my chest like it’s writing something in cursive.

They’re open just enough for me to catch a glimpse of his pink tongue. Despite my better judgment, I imagine what it would feel like sliding against my own. A wave of heat washes over me, settling low in my core. Humid warmth blasts between my thighs, and I can’t stop the muscles there from clenching.

I roll my own lips together, moistening them. Then they part, wider than Rhys’s, my tongue lingering at their threshold with a restless eagerness.

Rhys’s chin tilts, moving his lips closer to me. I follow his lead, my head dipping down.

What the hell is happening?

Blood pumps fast and hard in my ears, and all I can hear is the deafening roar of my pulse. My whole face burns from my neck to my cheeks to my forehead. My breaths are choppy.

Rhys’s lips open wider—my eyes flutter closed—then?—

His hands grip under my arms, and the next thing I know, Rhys is heaving himself up from the floor, bringing me with him, and then he’s setting me down on my feet.

“You alright?” Rhys asks.

I blink my eyelids heavily. My mind feels like a Jenga tower that just fell over, and it takes a moment for it to resettle.

“Yeah, fine,” I answer, still wound tight. “Are you? Did you hurt your muscles again?”

Rhys rolls his shoulder. “Nah, I’m good.” A heavy beat of silence. “Guess you should, uh … get to that thing. With Jasmine.”

Was I just about to … try to kiss him. And was he about to …?

No way.

Right?

Finally, my brain belatedly registers what he just said.

“Right!” The word pops out of my mouth, too much of an exclamation. “Jasmine. The thing. Yeah. I should go.”

Studiously avoiding his gaze, I tuck my chin down and hurry to the door. When I step outside, it feels like stepping out of a sauna. Only when a cool breeze blows across my brow do I realize it’s damp with sweat.

A long, heavy breath squeezes from my chest. I need some time to myself, to process what just happened. I head to LastWord, where I order a coffee, find a seat next to the big window looking onto the street, and zone out.

No matter how many sips of coffee I take, no matter how many times the hot liquid washes over my lips, they keep buzzing as I imagine the sensation of Rhys brushing his own over them.

And I can’t stop asking myself just how close that was to actually happening.

17

MADDIE

We’re finally cleared to move back into our dorm on Thursday afternoon after classes.

“Home sweet home,” I pronounce with relief as I stretch out on my bed. The narrow and firm dorm mattress feels luxurious after a week on one of the couches in Lane’s living room.

“Ditto,” Jasmine says, tumbling onto her bed and curling on her side “Though I will miss the glimpses I caught of those hockey players walking from the bathroom to their bedrooms with only a towel wrapped around their waists.” She sighs. “Honestly, the memory is making me want to cancel my date.”

I laugh, sitting up on my mattress. “Why?”

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