Page 125 of On the Breakaway

“Next Saturday, after our away trip. It will be a perfect day for it.”

“You already have a plan?”

His grin returns; this time it’s cocky. “Chaos, dating is my specialty, and I’ve thought about a date with you since you showed up in the bar and told me we need to have sex.”

And despite my asshole ex and my parents and every reason I should know better, my heart does something stupid when he says it.

He’d teased that tonight was a hostile takeover. I’d thought he just meant my apartment, but now, I’m thinking he meant so much more.

Because now, apparently, I’m going on a date with Grayson Shaw.

25

Grayson

I’ve spent all week pretending I’m not nervous about today. Despite that lie, I’m still here ten minutes early, staring at her apartment like I’m waiting for a playoff game instead of a date.

I told her this would be low-stakes, but it doesn’t feel low-stakes to me. I’m stressing the fuck out.

Talking her into the date was supposed to be the hard part, but I’d underestimated the way planning it would consume me. I’d originally planned for a nice dinner, but decided it wasn’t Avery enough.

Because apparently, at some point, I started knowing her well enough to know what she’d want out of a first date.

I’d googled date ideas, finding tourist traps, mini golf, bowling, each idea seeming worse than the previous. Eventually, I gave up.

Now, I’m sitting outside her place, with a basket in the backseat and only the faintest outlines of a date.

Just as I’m about to go up to her door, she pushes through it, and I forget how to breathe.

I’d told her to dress casually, but damn it if she doesn’t make dressing casually look so fucking good. Her jeans ride low on her hips, exposing a small strip of skin above them. Her crop top is blue, and it sits under an oversized jacket.

My eyes catch on the messy braid that is very clearly not messy at all when you actually look at it. She took time for this.

I don’t make it out of the car before she’s climbing in.

“I was going to come up and get you,” I say.

“You’ve been sitting out here for ten minutes. I was worried you’d gotten stuck.” She smirks at me.

I run my tongue across the front of my teeth, trying to hide my embarrassment as I pull onto the road.

God, she’s distracting. She’s just staring out the window, but focusing on the road is nearly impossible when she’s this close to me.

“You know you look really beautiful, right?” I ask.

Her lips tilt up. “I do. But it’s nice to hear it, too.”

The car grows silent, and panic starts to set in when I think about the fact that we might not actually have anything to talk about.

“How was your game yesterday?” My fingers tap against the wheel.

“We lost. First loss of the season. Coach is going to kick our ass tomorrow.”

“That sucks, but you guys have a lot of season left. Right?”

“We do.” She nods. “Meanwhile, you’re almost done, Mr. Playoff Bound.”

A slow warmth spreads up my chest knowing that she’s been paying attention to how my team is doing of her own volition.