Page 68 of The Heart Breaker

We pass the arcade machines that haven’t worked in years, heading toward the concrete stairwell tucked at the back.

“Where are we going?” she asks when I step back and let her go up first.

“You’ll see.”

She glances back at me over her shoulder. “You know that’s exactly what serial killers say, right?”

I scoff and follow her up the stairs. At the top, she pushes open the rusted door, and the hinges let out a long groan that makes it sound as if nobody’s touched it in months, which isn’t true, since I was up here two nights ago.

I step out onto the roof, sidestepping the busted AC units before I drop onto the ledge and swing my legs over the side. She follows a second later and settles beside me, folding her legs under herself.

I tear open the chips and look out at the buildings stretching across the city under the darkening sky and the streetlights flickering on below us.

For a minute, neither of us says anything. We just eat in silence. When the wind picks up, she draws her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them.

I let out a sigh, shrug off my jacket, and drape it over her shoulders before she can pull away.

Her brows draw together as she looks at me. “You didn’t need to do that.”

“I’m aware,” I say, bracing myself back on my hands.

“Then why did you?”

“I’m doing something nice, Prescott.” I shoot her a look. “Just accept it and stop arguing with me for once.”

Her mouth twitches, some of the fight bleeding out of her eyes. She tugs my jacket tighter over her shoulders and presses her lips together. “Thanks,” she murmurs.

I just nod and look away.

She shifts beside me, tucking her knees in a little more. “When did you buy the bike?” she asks.

“A couple months ago,” I say. “I’d been saving for a while. Found it cheap from some guy who clearly had no idea what the hell he had. It was missing a few parts and needed work, but…” I shrug. “I know a guy.”

“Of course you do,” she scoffs. “You realize that thing is a death trap, right?”

I arch a brow and glance over at her. “Pretty sure that death trap got you here in one piece, Prescott.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m serious. I’ve heard so many horror stories. My mom’s best friend’s son?—”

“Let me guess,” I cut in. “He wasn’t wearing a helmet and took a corner so fast that it knocked him on his ass?”

She squints at me. “I mean, he wasn’t badly hurt but… kind of, yeah.”

“Everything can kill you,” I say with a shrug. “Might as well have fun while we’re living.” I look back out over the city. “Besides, I like riding. The noise in my head shuts up for a while when I’m on the bike.”

She slips her arms into the sleeves of my jacket. “Painting does that for me,” she mutters, setting the empty chip bag on the ground beside her. “I feel like I can just… put everything I’m feeling onto the canvas.”

I tilt my head and look over at her. “Why’d you come to Colton?” I ask. “Westbrook has a good art program too.”

She meets my eyes, and something shifts in her expression before she looks away and shrugs. “I had something I needed to do here.”

I snort. “What, annoy me?”

She shoots me a glare. “What about you?” she asks. “I remember Chase saying you had scouts looking at you.”

My jaw tightens. I hate hearing his name out of her mouth. Hate how much of our history is tangled with him.

“Colton made the best offer,” I say. “Full scholarship, decent coaches, and it’s far enough from home.”