Page 46 of The Break Down

Because I haven’t been sleeping.

Not properly.

Not since I started spending my nights wrapped around a smart-mouthed, sweet-tasting, impossible-to-ignore redhead.

Finley.

My Red.

God, she’s more than I ever could’ve imagined. Wild and warm and completely real.

She laughs with her whole chest, rolls her eyes at my grunts, and kisses like she knows I’ll never be the same afterward.

Being with her is easy. Too easy.

And that’s what fucks with me most.

Because now I know. With absolute certainty.

She’s it.

I’ve been with women before—casual, quick, no promises.

But Finley? She feels like home. She fits into the cracks I didn’t even know I had. And suddenly, the stakes feel impossibly high.

We haven’t done more than kissed. Haven’t touched again since the night behind the snack shed.

Not because I don’t want her.

Fuck, I do.

I want her every second I breathe. I ache for her.

Physically, emotionally, viscerally.

But I want more than some rushed, desperate fuck in public. I want her in a bed.

My bed.

I want her spread out and moaning, every inch of her marked by me. I want her after. Morning coffee, lazy kisses, her laugh echoing in my kitchen.

And that means I need to get my shit together.

Because if this thing is going to work—if I want to keep Finley in my life and I do, more than anything—I have to stay in the States.

And that means playing.Winning. Showing them that I’m not just a body on the field, but the fucking backbone of this team.

Coach says our next match is back in Consequence, and I’m so fucking stoked at the idea of returning.

Going back to where this all started.

Back there with her means maybe, finally, I can make things real between us.

But I can’t think about that now.

Not with the Casters pushing hard and Tank yelling in my ear.

“What the fuck, bro! Get your head on straight!”

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