Page 74 of Break Point
I made him promise not to tell Dad about me drinking at the party, but I know my secret’s safe. He knows I’ve got plenty of his own up my sleeve. Not that I needed to remind him. He knows exactly what I know, and none of it isterrible,just the stuff any parent would rather not hear about their college-age son. The partying, the drinking, the occasional girl sneaking into the apartment.
“Hey, Bells,” Henry says, heading toward the kitchen.
I greet him with a jerk of my chin, tapping my pencil’s eraser against my notebook as he maneuvers around Carmen, who’s busy making lunch. He says something that makes her laugh, grabs a glass from the cabinet, and fills it with water from the fridge dispenser.
“Still there, Belén?” Miss Annie asks over the phone.
“Ah, yes. Sorry.”
I’m a lost cause. Too distracted, too in my head to focus.
I tell her I’ll call back later.
Henry sits across from me at the dining table and takes a long drink from his water. This is the closest he’s been to me since Tony drove us back from Montclair.
I bite my lower lip, forcing my eyes back to my notebook. Who am I kidding? I can’t focus. Not with him sitting right there, all sweaty and running a hand through his unruly hair before sliding his red Yankees hat back on.
Ugh.
“What are you working on?” he asks casually.
“Calculus,” I say, looking at him. “And I freaking hate it.”
I let out a frustrated chuckle and toss my pencil on the table.
“You keep glaring at that notebook like it personally offended you,” he says with a raised brow. “Want some help?
I snort out a laugh because he’s not wrong. “Sure.”
He moves to sit next to me, his pheromones practically mocking me.
“Let’s see …” Henry picks up the pencil and scans the exercises on my notebook. He quickly points out a few errors and explains how to fix them.
I nod and mumble, “Mhm,” a few times, but math isn’t my thing. Never has been, never will be. I’ve made my peace with that.
“Try it yourself …” Henry hands me the pencil and slides the notebook in front of me.
All I see is a mess of scrambled numbers that make absolutely no sense. He can probably tell because he chuckles softly under his breath.
“I’m sorry,” I say, tapping the pencil against the table.
“It’s okay. It really is simpler than it seems. Look, you could also do it this way if?—”
“For kissing you,” I cut him off. Our eyes meet, and the tension between us sharpens.
I mean it. I am sorry I kissed him and for the distance it’s put between us.
He exhales slowly through his nose before glancing at Carmen, who’s still clueless about our conversation.
“Follow me.” He stands and leads me to his bedroom. I step inside, and he closes the door behind us.
Henry has finally made himself at home. At first, everything looked temporary, like he could pack up and leave at a moment’s notice. But now his things are everywhere, blending in with the few items my parents left behind.
It seems like he’s decided to settle in, and I’m not mad about it.
“Listen …” I begin, but the words feel heavy.
Henry sits on the bed, and I take a seat beside him. Not too close, but not too far either.
