Page 28 of Playing with the Heartbreaker

“Are you good?”

He shrugs, and I assume that means yes.

Perfect. I’m about to get my behind kicked. In the name of soccer, I remind myself. It can’t make me play any worse.

I sit in the chair next to him and put the controller down. I make a big show of taking out my ponytail and redoing it tighter and arrange my face into a determined expression. He’s probably—okay, definitely—better than I am, but I’m not going to go down without a fight. “Bring it on, Simpson.”

“That’s the spirit! Now, select your racer.”

We play three tracks before I really get a handle on the controls. Of course, I lose all three. But honestly? I don’t even care. I’m having fun with no other agenda.

It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this…free. Gag. It sounds so gross. But it’s true. Knowing no one is judging or waiting for me to make a mistake or even being able to see if I do make one, I take more risks. Attempting a move I never would if someone were watching. Because the only thing at stake is Rhoads’s opinion of me, and as weird as it is, I know he won’t think less of me when I lose. I trust him not to make me feel bad about it.

“Okay, I need a break,” I say, after my sixth epic loss.

He puts his controller down then turns to look at me. “So? How do you feel?”

I look at the ceiling. “As much as it pains me to admit it, you were right.”

He mock gasps and cups his ear with his hand. “Can you say that again?”

I give him a playful shove and look him in the eyes. “You were right.” I blow the rebellious hairs out of my face.

“You look different.”

I tilt my head. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs, then looks away, smiling. “I don’t know.”

He starts to stand up, but my hand develops a mind of its own and tugs his wrist. “Wait.” He sits back down, turning toward me again. Our faces are inches apart. I could count his unfairly long eyelashes if I wanted.

I clear my throat. “What do you mean?” My voice comes out lower and softer than usual.

“You look happy.”

“Do I not normally look happy?” My face muscles release the smile, spooked by being noticed.

“Don’t do that. Don’t lose it.” He rests both his pointer fingers on the corners of my mouth and gently coaxes them upward into a grin.

Tingles spread through my cheeks and lips. I hold my breath and count five heartbeats.

What were we talking about?

He freezes, his wide brown eyes locked on mine, pupils large and dark.

The bell rings. I blink, and Rhoads is already standing, offering his hand to help me up.

He’s so far away now I wonder if I imagined how close we just were. Or did he jump away that fast?

We’re here help each other train. And eat pancakes. No more.

But as I clasp my hand in his and he helps me up, heat travels through every inch of my body.

After the promise I made to myself, am I making a huge mistake spending time with him?

Twelve

CHLOE