Page 4 of Breakout
Mommy and Daddy never come, though, because they really did leave me to be with the angels. I knew I should have pressed harder to go with them on their date.
If I would have, then we would all be together.
one
SOPHOMORE YEAR OF COLLEGE
I’m standing outside of what Walker University dubs the hockey house. It’s the house where the captain and his three chosen players live each year.
It happens to be where my best friend Grace lives with her boyfriend Clay.
That’s not why I’m here, though. I’m here to see him.
Beckett Hayes.
He’s my guilty pleasure. The man I know I shouldn’t be seeing, but yet at three a.m., I show up at his place.
He never turns me away. He always answers the door.
It’s a sick cycle we are stuck in. Mean to each other when the others are around, but so very nice to one another when we are alone, and the clothes come off.
I guess it’s a friends-with-benefits arrangement even if we don’t feel much like friends. We argue more than we don’t. Yet he’s a friend of sorts. We share the same friend group after all.
Pulling my phone out, I shoot him a text.
It’s one of two texts I send him most nights.
Me
You up?
He always responds as if he were waiting.
Beckett
On my way down.
It’s our routine. One we are comfortable in.
Moments later, the door opens, revealing a shirtless Beckett with his basketball shorts hanging low on his hips.
Women salivate over this man. I don’t blame them. I swear his abs have abs. That’s how fit he is. It doesn’t hurt that he has wavy light brown hair, so light it is almost like it is sun-kissed. It gives him this boyish charm that adds to his appeal.
That’s not what draws me to him, though. There’s something about the way he always pushes me. He never holds back what he wants to say. At first, it annoyed me, but the more I got to know him, the more I found that part of him alluring.
It’s messed up, and I know it.
It doesn’t stop me, though.
I take his hand as he holds it out for me. Pulling me inside, he closes the door quietly behind me before locking it.
I lead the way up the stairs, not waiting for him to finish locking the door. Neither of us dares to speak. What we have going on is fragile. We agreed that no one can ever know about it.
As soon as we cross the threshold to his room and the door clicks shut, it’s as if a switch is flicked.
He pulls me into his body, kissing me deeply as his hands cup my ass. My own hands find their way into his hair, pulling on it hard enough to make him growl. In retaliation, he bites my lip, the sting feeling amazing.
“Too many clothes,” he says against my lips.
