Page 39 of Break Point

I hang back a few steps, peeking inside as best I can. I’m curious what her world looks like. She strikes me as a neat freak, but there are a few pairs of shoes under her bed, and the furry gray comforter piled into a ball on the center of her bed doesn’t get straightened after she slips on a pair of Vans. She pulls her door closed behind her, then loops a lanyard hooked to her key around her wrist a few times before stuffing her phone into the front pocket of her hoodie and coming to a hard stop about a foot in front of me.

Her shoulders rise to her ears, then slump. “Okay, where to?”

“Ah, that’s a surprise,” I say, pivoting toward her door. I open it and turn to find her waiting right where I left her.

“I’m not sure if I’m up for surprises.” There’s a lot of reservation to her tone as she gives me a sideways look, but I’m not going to give in. I want to surprise her with this. I think she’ll appreciate it.

“Trust me?” I plead with my eyes, too, and after a few stoic seconds, her expression cracks, and her lip curves.

“I feel like you’ve been asking me to trust you a lot lately,” she mutters as she passes by me and out her door. I wait as she locks it after I step outside.

“And have I let you down yet? Past indiscretions notwithstanding.”

“No,” she says in a raspy, soft voice as she turns right into my chest.

While my conscience tells me I should take a step back to give her room, something else holds me where I stand, letting her fisted palm rest on the center of my chest until she tilts her head to look up at me. Her hoodie slips back, and red, corkscrewed tendrils of hair press to the sides of her head. It’s like seeing someone attempt to tame the wilderness, and my hands flex with the urge to brush my fingers through her curls. Some things are simply meant to be wild and free.

I suck in my top lip, suddenly ashamed of the faint grin I’m sure is quite visible. I let my breath escape slowly, willing myself to back away. But just as I fall back on my heels, her finger loops around the string of my hoodie, and she gently tugs it while shaking her head. “I meant no, you haven’t let me down.”

The buzz in my lips is almost overwhelming, and I want to lick my bottom one to stem the sensation that’s starting to render me numb. Instead, I tuck it between my teeth and softly chuckle.

“Good. I want to keep my streak intact,” I tease, finally shifting enough so her hand slips away from my chest.

I lead her toward my truck, both of our hands stuffed deep in our own hoodie pockets as the rain picks up, and I wonder if she’s stretching her fingers out, too, or mentally playing out what would happen if our hands just . . . touched. We make it to my truck without finding out, and before I can open the door for her, Jaden climbs inside. She’s pulling it shut by the time my fingertips graze the handle, so I walk around the back so I can amp myself up without having to talk to myself under her watchful gaze.

I’m determined to cheer her up. At the very least, help her frame what was probably simply a bad practice in useful context. When I was battling back after my injury, I knew that every practice was a chance to prove why I was meant to resume my role as QB1. Leadership has always been my biggest selling point, and I know it could be one of Jaden’s best qualities, too, if she’d just tap into it. Hell, I saw her leadership in action the day we met. Granted, the chip on her shoulder has always gotten in her own way. Maybe that’s where I can help her. Dust that chip right off her shoulder and replace it with a bit of fire.

“Are you talking to yourself?” Jaden asks the moment I slide behind the wheel.

I drop my gaze to my lap and chuckle as I run a hand through my rain-specked hair. I must have been moving my lips before I got inside. I do that sometimes when practicing my conversations. Usually, this plays out while I’m in the shower.

“You caught me,” I admit. I turn the key before glancing her way with a sheepish, guilty smile. “Trying out some pep talks before I deploy them.”

She blinks slowly, her mouth pulling into a tight line.

“Maybe keep them in that rehearsal queue for a while. I’m not really in the mood for positive reinforcement clichés, if that’s okay?”

She lifts a shoulder as her mouth tucks in on one side, so I nod in agreement and draw a line along my lips with two fingers to zip the topic shut for now. That chip is going to have to wait for another time.

Chapter 15

Bryson

I pull away from her apartment complex just as the rain starts to hammer at the windshield. If it keeps up, it’s going to ruin my surprise to a degree, but now that I’ve got her out of the house and alone with me, there’s no way I’m turning back. Thankfully, the farther I drive into the hills, the lighter the rain becomes. By the time I pull into the gravel parking lot about twenty-five minutes north of campus, the air is a cool mist that’s somehow the perfect mix of hot and cold. Kind of like the girl.

“Where are we?” Jaden says as she steps out of the truck cab. I race to her side before she shuts the door, so at least I can take over that part and act like a gentleman as she spins in a slow circle, taking in the market lights strung from tree to tree. Other than a handful of cars parked near the forest edge, the lot is empty, and the towering trees feel like the walls of some fantastical circus tent. The smell of pine tickles my nose. Beyond the trees I can glimpse the striped awnings of arcade booths, their bells and music echoing in the air.

“Welcome to Mount Jesse. Population . . .” I sprint to the entrance of the parking lot to read the welcome sign, then come back to her. “One hundred seven.”

She giggles softly, and I’m not sure if it’s my absurd performance or the tiny number I revealed. Either way, the sound is welcome. I bend my elbow and turn so my body is next to hers, and she stares at my arm for a second or two before looping her arm through mine as we begin to walk.

“How are you at Skee-Ball?” I ask.

“I’m really good.” Her quick answer forces a short, breathy laugh out of me, which earns me her sharp gaze.

“I just knew you would be. Is there anything you’re bad at?” I bite my tongue while she pretends to be thinking, her face contorted into an adorably exaggerated pensive expression.

“I’m not great at doing my hair,” she answers.