Page 50 of Breakaway Goal

If I’m feeling off, it’s just because so much has happened to me so far this semester.

Changing majors, living with Jasmine, a catastrophic pipe burst in our dorm room, making new friends, my first date, fighting with Rhys … it’s totally normal that I’m emotionally off-kilter. Normal that I’m not feeling the way I should about certain things.

I pull my mouth into a smile and push out a laugh. “Fair enough,” I say to James.

James bobs his head as an upbeat track from my playlist starts. “The music’s really good tonight, don’t you think?”

I grin slyly and tilt my head. “Yeah, whoever put this playlist together must havereallygood taste,” I say in an obvious voice. “And I bet she’s really, really smart.”

“Bet she has beautiful eyes, too,” James adds suavely.

James’s eyes are locked with mine, and I really want to feel a thrill of excitement dance through my nerves at his comment … but it doesn’t happen.

Still, I remind myself of what I just said. I’m not going to overthink my reactions.

James suggests we go hang out in the backyard, and I agree. Maybe being outside with him, away from the crowd in the house, underneath the starry sky, will stir some of those romantic feelings I’m missing.

“So, anything you miss about being a business major?” he asks as we sit down on a bench at the edge of the backyard, a distance away from anyone else.

“Does the probability of a decent job after I graduate count?” I joke.

He laughs. “Yeah, definitely. Probably not an easy prospect to give up.”

I draw my bottom lip between my teeth thoughtfully. “No, it was easy to give up. Once I realized that this was the right move for me, it was so … freeing.”

“I bet. It must suck studying something you don’t have any interest in, just because you feel like you have to, or that youshould.”

For about half an hour, we talk about a bunch of random stuff as a gentle breeze blows. The party is still visible through the glowing orange rectangles that are the windows of the house, but the light only dimly reaches where we’re sitting, and the shadows that shroud us lend a feeling of privacy, of intimacy, even.

James shows me some pictures he took over the summer on his phone. He shimmies closer to me on the bench, until his hip is pressed against mine. Maybe the soft air, rustling branches, and dim atmosphere are doing something to my mood, because this time I do feel an unsteadying, but pleasant, coil of tension in my center from the contact.

He tilts closer to show me the pictures. I touch his screen to zoom in on something in one of the photos, and my hand brushes against his.

Something tugs in my chest. His hand is smooth, not rough like Rhys’s, and not nearly as big, but it still feels nice when my fingers slant against it.

James swipes at his screen to go to the next picture, and his hand brushes against mine in a way that’s hard to imagine isn’t intentional.

With a knot of tension in my throat, I make a move.

I curl my hand around his that grips the phone, to angle it closer to me. The back of his hand is warm. This time, my nerves really are fluttering.

I turn to look at James, and he turns to me. Our eyes lock. Goosebumps rise up and down my arms.

Are we about to kiss?

Am I about to have my first kiss?

I’m ready for it, I tell myself. It’s time. But what do I do?

Am I supposed to close my eyes? Tilt my chin invitingly? Wait for him to make the first move?

My pulse skitters at the thought of another pair of lips pressing against my own. Feeling a tongue sliding against mine. Will he thread his fingers through my hair? Grip the curve of my waist in his hand? The anticipation in my chest sharpens.

With a surge of boldness, I drag my tongue across my lips, moistening them. James’s eyes flash at the sight, and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

His free hand reaches up and rests on the side of my neck. My breath catches. Anticipatory tension winds through me. Sparks dance up and down my back.

James starts to dip toward me. My stomach leaps.

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