Page 50 of The Break Down

It’s been cinematic.Unreal.

Koa’s so attentive and intense, always a little rough around the edges.

But he makes me feel seen in a way that’s addictive.

Dangerous.

He says the most outrageous things, like he’s actively trying to melt my bones.

And I am so hot for him I’m probably a fire hazard.

But still.

As I stand near the edge of the field, the locker room doors swinging open behind me, something cold starts to settle in my chest.

What if I’m reading too much into this?

What if all the possessive growling, those toe-curling orgasms, and the times he’s whisperedyou’re minewere just part of the game for him?

He’s an athlete. A professional.

Probably used to girls like me falling for him hard and fast. Maybe he thinks it’s cute.

Temporary.

Regret prickles at the back of my throat.

Shame follows.

God, did I let him in too easily?

Before I can spiral too far, the sound of voices draws my attention—and then I see the shift.

The few lingering fans on the edge of the field have multiplied.

It’s like they just appeared, swarming the walkway near the locker room. And they’re all laser-focused on one person.

Koa.

He turns, towel slung around his neck, jaw still damp from his post-match shower.

He hasn’t even gotten fully dressed yet, and he’s already swarmed. It’s amazing he snuck past the others when he did.

But they see him now. And he can’t ignore them.

He gives me one long, lingering look. And I nod, making sure he knows I get it.

He has a job to do. I do, too.

I grab my camera and start snapping. Photos of him and I zoom in on the other guys as they start to move closer to him, the couple of dozen fans moving with them.

They are shouting questions and grinning, and it’s cool to watch.

A couple—early twenties, both holding Rovers merch—rush forward with matching wide eyes.

“Oh my God! You’re Koa Jackson! Please sign my shirt!”

“We saw you perform a haka with your old team in New Zealand! It gave us chills! Will you be doing one here?”

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