Page 7 of On the Breakaway

It comes out too stiff, and Liam’s grin widens.

“She asked about you.”

My head snaps toward him before I can stop it, and he loses it, doubling over laughing.

Asshole.

“Oh, fuck you,” I mutter, glaring at him while I stand from the bench.

“You should’ve seen your face.”

“You guys seriously need to quit with this shit,” I sigh.

He reins in the smirk.

They’ve all been on this kick since November. I hit on Avery one time, got shut down, and that was the end of it. What they think is a crush is actually me trying to figure out why she’s so set on hating me, and why it bothers me when it shouldn’t.

“You really don’t like her?”

“I would never like someone that…” my voice trails off as I pick through the words.

“Loud,” I say finally.

“Yeah, I guess she’s not your usual type.”

“Not even close,” I agree. “Besides, I told you after Rachel, I’m steering clear of women for a while.”

Rachel, my latest ex in a long string of exes, told me that our relationship was stale, as if we were a bag of chips left out on the counter. She wasn’t wrong. It was as if we were together only because it felt like we should be.

Looking back now, I realize how pathetic that is for a twenty-six-year-old to settle into.

The breakup forced me to look back at my past relationships, and when I couldn’t think of a single one that felt passionate in any meaningful way, I decided to take a break altogether.

It’s been odd. I’m a relationship guy. I like having a girlfriend, and I want the kind of relationship my parents have. But I’m focusing on my game and proving to myself that I’m whole even if I’m alone.

Liam studies me, then smirks again. “So, you’re still on the whole no women kick?”

I grab my gloves, forcing my expression to stay neutral.

“Yeah. For now.”

“No part of you cares that I kissed Avery?”

“Nah.”

“Good because she does have it out for you.”

“She’s made that clear.”

It was one thing when she hated the whole team; I could chalk that up to a hockey player thing. But lately, she gets along with all of my teammates except me. I try to be friendly and ignore her constant goading, but she still refuses to change her opinion.

“That woman is one hell of a kisser.” He touches his hand to his mouth as if remembering it.

My jaw tightens. “Good for you,” I mutter.

He laughs, clearly satisfied with himself, then claps me on the shoulder. “I’m hitting the trainer before practice.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Do that.”