Page 71 of Breaking Point
“Oh, yes, he did.”
“And what was her excuse?”
My nose wrinkles in disgust. “Nothing. She had this weird competitive streak with me. It was always one-sided but she was never self-aware enough to realize that.”
His head rears back in disgust. “That’s…fuck, that’s awful. Please tell me you didn’t have to room with her for long after that.” I give him a look that has him groaning. “No, don’t say it.”
“I couldn’t switch roommates that far into the year, so I was stuck for six months with her…and him.”
Grayson slides a hand down his face, shuddering. “No.”
Chuckling at his horror, I snort. “Yep. They started dating until I started seeing someone casually and my roommate suddenly found an interest in him.”
“She sounds horrible.”
“She was.” I’m about to make another retort when a large yellow stuffed bear comes into view. I can feel my eyes widen, the memory of my first heartbreak falling off my shoulders as a small squeal escapes me.
Grayson looks around us before following my line of sight, directly to the large Winnie the Pooh bear. I don’t care if it’s childish, I still find that bear the most adorable character ever.
“You want it?”
“Want it? I need it. Look at how cute he is, Grayson! He’s eating a little jar of honey!”
A low grumbling laughter vibrates through his chest. “Never thought I’d see a grown woman get excited over a stuffed animal.”
“Then your imagination is severely lacking.” Rising onto the balls of my feet, I crane my neck to see exactly what we’re in line for. My brow quirks as I find a group of teenagers shooting from a water gun, aiming at the targets whizzing past them.
“Think you can win?”
“Think?” He grins. “Stratford, I know I can.” He peers down at me with a twinkle in his eyes. “Sometimes I think you forget what I do for a living.”
I roll my eyes at that. “Trust me, your sweaty gym bags and socks don’t let me.”
His eyes widen as he slaps a hand over his chest, pretending to be wounded. “I am a very tidy human being, Miss Stratford.”
“You may be tidy, but your laundry hamper knows your secrets.”
His quiet laughter trails off as the person in front of us leaves and Grayson steps forward, placing a twenty-dollar bill in the stall attendee’s hands. The teenage boy stares at Grayson with such admiration it makes me realize that perhaps I do forget what he does for a living sometimes. And that’s when I see several other men, varying in all ages, looking at Grayson as if he were a god.
Have they been looking at him like this the whole time? How have I not noticed the stares?
Grayson’s deep gravelly drawl pulls my attention back. “Want to make a bet?”
Cocking a hip, I cross my arms over my chest. “Feeling cocky, are we?”
“Hockey is all about reflexes.”
“That may be so, but most carnival games are rigged.”
A crooked smile appears on his face. “I’m going to enjoy proving you wrong.”
“I’m going to enjoy watching your misery,” I sing.
His head tips back with a boisterous laugh before he turns to the attendee and dips his chin. Lifting the water gun, he closes one eye and waits.
Targets pop up along the wall, flying in all directions over the board. Some move in zigzag patterns, while others fly back and forth so quickly my eyes feel like they’re watching a tennis match.
And suddenly, I realize that Grayson had a reason to be cocky.
