Page 93 of Break Point
Henry drinks in the look on my face and pulls back, not bothering to tell me what’s next on the stretching to-do list. Instead, he guides my leg across my body, slow and precise, keeping my shoulder pinned. The stretch hits deep, but it’s not the only thing making it hard to breathe. There’s something about the way he adjusts me, steady and focused, that sends a strange thrill through me.
He leans down again, his lips brushing my ear, and whispers, “I couldn’t get the image of Theo and you out of my head. That’s why.”
I’ve never seen Henry like this. There’s a raw edge in his voice. He’s jealous. And I love it. It’s invigorating. He’s shown me his weakness foronce, and I’ll make him regret that he ever did because I need him to figure out his feelings. Even if it’s the hard way.
Even if I shouldn’t.
He shifts to my other leg, lowering his face until it’s once again inches from mine.
I smile. He doesn’t.
“It amuses you?” he mutters. “Seeing me like this?”
“It does, Coach.”
His brows knit together at the mention of his job title. I know it messes with his head. Probably reminds him of the line he swore not to cross. The unspoken promise he made to my dad. Because he’sjust Henry.
“Theo’s playboy reputation precedes him,” Henry continues. “Are the rumors true?”
“Maybe.” I tease him with a coy smile.
“Bells.”
“Henry.” I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes at him.
What does he expect me to say?
He pushes my heel up, angling it until the stretch kicks in again. His hands are steady, but his questions aren’t.
“Did you guys … date?” Henry asks. He seems to be trying to keep his emotions in check, but he’s failing miserably. This is the most fun I’ve had in a while.
“Not exactly.” I smirk.
“Define ‘not exactly.’” He switches legs, his grip firm. Careful.
“A lady doesn’t kiss and—ow!” I wince as he pushes too deep into the stretch, but he immediately readjusts. At least he has the decency to look guilty.
“Better?” he asks, brushing a curl off his forehead before steadying my leg again.
I nod.
“So, you’ve kissed?” His eyes darken, and I quickly lose myself in them.
“And stuff.”
Henry wants to play detective? Fine. This is what happens when someone asks a question. An answer usually follows.
“What kind of stuff?” His voice softens like he’s trying to sound casual instead of territorial.
I shrug, feigning innocence.
“We’re done, Bells.” He looks away, inhaling deeply. Slowly.
“With the stretching or the interrogation?” I tease, pulling myself up with his help.
He hesitates. His hand lingers at my elbow. “Both.”
After grabbing my belongings, I sit on a nearby bench to put my sneakers on. Henry follows and sinks down beside me. He props his elbows on his knees, dragging his hands through his hair before letting his head hang for a beat. To say he’s on edge is an understatement. He looks exhausted, like sleep’s been dodging him for weeks.
