Page 87 of Breakaway Goal

“Very much, in fact,” she answers, a wry undercurrent beneath her chipper tone. “I got some reading done. A romance book that Summer recommended me. It gave me some …” her eyes glimmer, “ideas.”

Blood rushes to my cock. “Fuck,” I sigh low so only she can hear. “Don’t tell me that right now. I’ve heard it’s gauche to walk around an art museum with a tent in your pants.”

I take advantage of us being in another town and unlikely to run into anyone we know by wrapping her hand in mine as we walk through the galleries. We always have to be careful about being physical with each other back in Cedar Shade, but here I’m taking full liberties.

Draping my arm on her shoulders, wrapping my arm around her waist and tugging her close, letting my hand surreptitiously graze across the curve of her ass, dropping a kiss to the top of her head, all the things I dream about being able to do when we’re near each other, whenever I want, without having to worry about who’s looking.

It’s been a couple weeks since we slept together, and things have been … perfect.

I still haven’t gathered up the courage to broach the subject of what exactly we are yet, and where we’re going. Things are so good right now, I don’t want to upset this perfect balance we’re in, where I get to enjoy being with Maddie in ways I’ve always dreamed about, without running the risk of damaging my friendship with Lane.

But I know this balance isn’t permanent. It’s built on a flimsy foundation that’s bound to crumble before long.

Next week is Thanksgiving break. Maddie and I are going to be in our hometown, the place we met, the place we grew up, the place we became friends, the place we made so many memories. That’s going to be the right time to have that conversation.

A cold shard of worry scrapes against my ribs. What if Maddie doesn’t want more than just a good time? What of her knowing that I do is her signal that it’s time to shut this chapter closed and go back to just being friends. Would that even be possible?

But I can’t put it off forever. If that’s how this thing between me and her is destined to end, then the longer I put it off, the worse it’s going to be.

Maddie leans against me and sighs wistfully as we gaze at one of the paintings. “Can you imagine how it feels to create a piece of art that people actually travel and pay money to see?”

I nuzzle the top of her head with a grin. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

She makes a noise in her throat that’s part acknowledgment, part disagreement.

“You’ll see,” I add, lacing my fingers into hers and pulling her into the next room.

I can’t wait to watch her prove all her doubts wrong.

When we leave the museum to eat an early dinner at a Burlington restaurant, we keep playing with our feet under the table and rubbing our shins against each other. In moments like this, I allow myself to believe that there’s no way she doesn’t want more than we have now, that there’s no way she doesn’t want all that I want.

In a week, I’ll be sure. For better or for worse.

That thought drives me to kiss her harder and deeper than usual at the bus stop as her bus back to Cedar Shade pulls up.

On my motorcycle, as I drive home, I savor the way her taste tingles on my mouth, and hope that after next week, it doesn’t become only a memory.

45

RHYS

“Can you believe they still haven’t sold this thing?”

Maddie laughs. “Honestly? Yes. Yes, I can.”

“The first time I have four thousand dollars to spare, I’m buying.”

She guffaws. “You are not.”

“I am. It’ll be my prized possession.”

The six-foot-tall solid wood carving of a giant gnome has been sitting in the corner of the second-hand store on the small main street of our hometown since I first came into this store when I must have been five or six years old.

The four-thousand-dollar price tag hasn’t budged even a penny downward since then. The owner of the shop, Rufus, swears it’s a collector’s item and that one of these days, someone who knows what they’re looking at is going to stumble into this place and recognize the asking price as a steal.

My own theory is that someone hustled him badly early in his career as a shop owner and got away with murder selling it to him at a sky-high price, and he doesn’t have the heart to eat the loss.

It’s the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and Maddie and I have been wandering around our hometown. Everywhere we turn evokes a memory, a memory that now takes on richer, deeper hues in my mind now that Maddie and I are …

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