Page 33 of The Break Down

I peek at her through my fingers.

“I mean, I don’t even know. He was so intense. And possessive. Like not in a creepy ‘I own you and want to wear your skin’ way, but in a ‘this changes everything’ kind of way.”

“I see.”

“Well, I don’t. I mean, one orgasm,” I start, and she narrows her eyes, “okay,fine,two orgasms,” I correct myself, “behind a snack shed does not a relationship make, Carolina!”

Her expression softens.

“Well, first of all, yay for the orgasms! Second, could you maybe have missed the part where the man looks at you like you’re the only thing he wants in this whole world? But that doesn’t even matter, Fin! What matters is what doyouwant?”

“What?”

I open and close my mouth a few times, wondering when in the hell I lost track of that. I’ve been beating myself up all night wondering what Koa thought.

But Carolina was right.

What about me?

“Look, if I were you, I would maybe stop worrying about what he thinks. Ask yourself what you want, Fin. Your feelings and desires count, too.”

I blink. “WhatdoI want?”

She hands me a sandwich, sits across from me, and smiles.

“Exactly. So, do you want this to be a one-time thing? Or do you want to find out what it looks like when someone like Koa Jackson decides you’re his whole damn world?”

I stare at her, heart pounding.

And suddenly, I’m not so sure I can keep pretending this is casual anymore.

Carolina is smart. And she’s right. I’ve edited the same fifteen-second clip multiple times.

Cut. Crop. Rewind. Overlap the music. Adjust the exposure. Mute. Restart.

And yet, the only thing playing on a loop in my head is the way Koa looked at me when he came.

Like I was the altar he was praying at and the sin he was dying to commit all over again.

Truth was, I wouldn’t mind a replay.

In fact, I think I want more than one. But will the sexy, growly rugby player want more with me?

That was something I needed to find out.

Gulp.

CHAPTER ELEVEN-KOA

“The bus sucks!” Tank grumbled from his seat, arms crossed like a moody teenager despite being built like a damn freight train.

“Shut up,” I muttered automatically, my voice low and flat.

Couldn’t disagree with him, though. The bus did suck.

Smelled like sweat and protein powder.

Seats too cramped.

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