Page 7 of Break Point

“You hired your boyfriend?” I mumble. My words apparently were not as under my breath as I thought, because their gazes snap to one another in a blink, and within a half second they’re spitting out laughter.

“God, no! Gross!” Amelia blurts, pushing him away. Her quick rejection of him nearly makes me smile. It definitely earns back my respect.

Bryson plops down next to me, then crosses his legs and brushes his knee against my hip. I twist so I’m facing the same way and cross my legs as well, though the tight jeans make it hard to pull my leg up all the way. I hook my finger in the pant cuff to hold my foot in place, like a shield. His body shakes with quiet laughter.

“This is going to be a tough sell,” he says, leaning his weight into my shoulder. I shiver, because eww. “We’re supposed to be a perfect match.”

“So quit.” I look in his direction, but not up, focusing instead on his muscular thigh. He smells nice, and that’s disarming enough. I don’t need to get tangled in his gaze while I’m at it.

“I can’t do that to Amelia. This is important to her. Maybe you should quit.”

It’s my turn to laugh out once.

“I need the money. Not all of us are golden boys with sponsorships and rich daddies.” I glance up briefly and catch Bryson purse his lips, then lick them as he nods.

“Careful, Crash. He’s not just my daddy.” Bryson’s gaze drifts to Amelia, and a rush of heat swallows me up. She’s his sister.

Shit.

The fact that my four-hour window has dipped below three is setting in, so while I hold my pride in high regard, I’m also good enough at business to know when it’s time to suck it up and play nice.

Pulling my lips into a tight, forced smile, I tuck my chin and release my hold on my ankle, letting my leg drop alongside Bryson’s—touching.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting . . . you,” I mutter.

It’s the truth, but I coat it with more kindness than is boiling inside. I haven’t talked to Bryson since our freshman year. After his injury left him sidelined for the season, we shared a trainer for six months. The school’s tennis specialist is a genius at rebuilding shoulder strength, and Bryson had torn his to shreds. But because football players are treated like kings around here, Bryson got the bulk of our trainer’s time—my time. So when I found out he was still taking pain pills that clearly weren’t his, I let our trainer know. They were right there in his unzipped bag for me to see while I waited for my turn on the massage table. It was almost as if he wanted me to see them.

Nothing ever came out publicly. Another perk of being football royalty, I guess. But that icy wall between us got a whole lot thicker.

“Maybe look each other in the eyes? Like you like each other,” Amelia suggests.

A nervous smile tugs my mouth up higher on one side as I force my gaze back to Bryson’s. His head tilts slightly as his lips curve into a knowing smirk. His expression amps my pulse up a few extra beats, and I blush.

“Oh, that’s cute. Yes, let me just take a few of those for the first post,” Amelia says while we keep our eyes locked.

Bryson’s focus flits to my mouth a few times, and my skin buzzes from the attention. I’m getting hot, the cardigan and beam of sunlight cooking me just as much as his stare. A thousand girls would kill to swap spots with me right now, but I can’t wait to get out of here. Plus, there’s something dodgy about the way his eyes have narrowed and his smirk has spread.

I see it coming a blink too late. Bryson scoops me into his arms and steps over the fountain edge in a matter of seconds, soaking his shoes as he spins me around in dizzying circles.

“Put me down, Bryson!” I demand. My serious tone, however, is drowned out by his laughter and his sister’s glee as she steps up on the concrete bench with her phone recording. I smack at his chest with my right palm, and kick my feet, begging him to let me down again.

Then he gets a glimmer in his eyes, and I scream as he drops me on my ass in two-foot-deep water, soaking me from head to toe. He splashes me a few times, egging me on, probably hoping that I’ll splash back and this whole thing will turn into a water fight. The perfect “meet-cute,” as his sister said. But my entire reason for doing this is now soaked inside the back pocket of a pair of jeans I can’t wait to peel off, so instead I march through the water and hop over the edge to see how bad the damage is.

“These are great,” Amelia hums as she slides through the photos on her phone.

I carefully pull the folded check from my pocket, wincing at the smeared blue ink that’s already bled across the paper. The most important part, the amount, is basically erased.

“Damn it.” I run my wet hand through my hair, grabbing hold at the crown of my head while I mentally start my spiral away from hope.

“Oh, it’s no problem. I’ll have my business manager cut a new one. I can get it to you tomorrow,” Amelia says as she looks at the useless wet check I’m cradling in my palms.

My mouth starts to water, and I feel like I might throw up. I hate feeling desperate. But more than that, I’m embarrassed that money is a problem for me. What’s more, I have to show all my dismal cards in front of my least favorite person.

“I actually need it today,” I admit.

“Oh.” Amelia blinks a few times, glancing to her brother as he climbs out of the fountain. If I weren’t so overwhelmed right now, I’d charge at him and push him back in.

“I can get it done this afternoon, then—”