Page 6 of The Break Down

Who am I kidding?

CHAPTER TWO-KOA

“Let’s go, lads! Get the fucking lead out!” Coach Dane roars across the field, voice sharp as a whip crack, and I almost smile.

Almost.

Because there’s something satisfying, hell,almost surreal, about hearing him bark orders at me.

The same man whose face was plastered on my wall when I was a kid, all sweat, scowl, and grit.

Now he’s pacing the sideline, yelling like he’s still thirty and bulletproof, and I’m out here trying not to let the past and present tangle in my head.

“Why’re you grinning at Great Dane like that?” Tank pipes up, practically breathing down my neck like the nosy git he is.

And just like that, the moment’s gone.

“Fuck off,” I mutter, glaring at him.

Tank’s a veritable genius. He has the stats, IQ, and smug face to prove it.

But socially? He’s dumb as a post.

“Hey fellas!” he yells suddenly, grinning like a goddamn game show host. “Look who’s coming to get some film of us. Look sharp, lads!”

And the air shifts. Like I can feel her before I see her.

And then there she is.

Finley bloody Adamo.

South Carolina might be a pretty enough pit stop, but I could be standing in a mud field in the arse-end of nowhere and she’d still be the only thing I noticed.

She’s striding across the grass like she owns it, sunlight turning that riot of red hair into fire.

She’s got a camera slung over one shoulder and that classic Jersey girldon’t-mess-with-meexpression on her face.

Like she’s walking into war, not busting up our training session with her curvy as fuck body and her tripod.

Seriously, what in blazes is she wearing?

Tights—painted on, basically—that stop mid-calf and hug every curve like a second skin.

A tank top that clings to her gloriously ripe tits like it was sewn on by the devil himself.

No bra. Or if she is wearing one, it’s flimsy and does nothing to hide her pert nipples.

Of course not.

Because she is chaos.

Because she wants me to suffer.

It’s a million degrees, and she’s dressed like that, and now half the lads are gawking like they’ve never seen a woman before.

I want to snarl.

I want to throw a cone at their heads.

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