Page 77 of Breakaway Goal

“Stealthy motherfucker,” I grouse.

He grunts. “It’s funny.”

“What is?”

“Normally, when a guy strikes out and goes home alone, he looks disappointed rather than relieved.” There’s a knowing tone in his voice that I don’t like.

“Like I said, I don’t want to get distracted.” The twinkle in his eyes, the one that’s so often in Tuck’s lately, the one that tells me he can smell my bullshit, turns my voice tight.

“That’s funny,” Hudson says. “Because distracted is exactly how you’ve seemed lately.”

“Is talking in riddles going to be your thing now?” I ask, impatience and annoyance swirling together in my voice.

He grins. “Let me give you some advice. Don’t fight against something you know is right.”

My brow lowers. “What are you talking about?”

His grin carves higher, and he clasps a hand on my shoulder as he walks past me back to the door. “Have a good night, Rhys.”

My chest deflates as he steps inside, and I’m left alone in the chilly autumn air. I guess he can see through me, too. Just how many people can? Maddie and I thought we were being careful. Have we left enough breadcrumbs for people to follow?

If Tuck and Hudson can tellsomething’sgoing on, even if not exactly what it is … can Lane tell, too?

No, he can’t. Because it wouldn’t even cross his mind. Because he trusts me.

With an anvil of guilt in my chest, I head home.

39

MADDIE

“Picture before we head out,” Jasmine says.

Jasmine points her phone’s camera at the full-length mirror in our dorm room. I sidle next to her and throw my arm around her shoulders. I tilt my hip, and Jasmine kicks her leg back to strike a pose before she snaps the picture.

“We would so be the hottest harlots in Manhattan if this were the nineteen-twenties,” Jasmine says, looking approvingly at the selfie.

I laugh. One of Jasmine’s lit classes has been focusing on F. Scott Fitzgerald for the last couple weeks, so she’s become obsessed with Roaring Twenties design and fashion. She had the idea for us to dress up as Flappers for Halloween, so we’re both wearing sleeveless, low-cut dresses, short heels, long bead necklaces, and cloche hats.

I actually think I look super cute, and a surge of confidence has me feeling anticipation to get to Lane’s house, where we’re attending their Halloween party, so I can see the effect it has on Rhys.

“Ready to go?” I ask.

“Certainly dah-ling,” Jasmine pronounces, sounding like a Golden Age Hollywood starlet.

“Is that how they sounded in the twenties?” I ask with an amused grin.

She shrugs. “I dunno. Seemed appropriate.”

We laugh as we leave our dorm room and step into the hallway. Our floor is like a pageant of costumes, with people pre-gaming and getting ready to head out to the dozens of parties taking place across Cedar Shade.

We pass a plethora of sexy nurses, sexy angels, sexy devils, sexy cats, sexy witches, the kind of costumes that are just excuses for girls to show as much skin as possible. It’s not my style, but I love it for them. If you love to show offyourtreats for Halloween, then go ahead and feel sexy and empowered, sister.

Then there are the more creative costumes, like one guy who’s dressed up as a literal haunted house. I can’t imagine how much time he spent working on that costume, and I really can’t imagine how he managed to fit through any of the doorways in this building.

There are skeletons, iconic movie characters, ghosts, and of course the perennial low-effort costumes, like a guy dressed totally normally who’s claiming his costume is a time traveler from one week in the future.

Lots of the doors in our building are strewn with Halloween decorations, and some of the common areas have pumpkin-shaped, Halloween-orange lights set up. Fittingly, Monster Mash is playing on a speaker by the door when we leave our building.

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