Page 147 of Breakaway Hearts

“What?” Owen asks, so Colt holds up two ties.

“What color is your date’s dress?” Mike tilts his head as if that will make things clearer.

“I’m not bringing one, but Brittany on the soccer team is DMing me.”

“Blue matches your eyes.” I shrug, but I would normally ask Jason’s mom for fashion stuff.

“Isn’t that predictable?” He sighs. “I think I’ll call Tab.”

“Just warning you, she had me order a whole new suit last time I asked her for advice,” Owen calls after him.

“That’s why I’m waiting for Friday to ask her.” Mike points to his temple like he’s figured it out.

“What’s happening Friday?”

I’m smiling when I ask, but the way Mike looks at Owen makes it drop, and I wish I hadn’t said anything.

Mike wordlessly gets up to stir the pasta while Owen comes to sit beside me at the island.

“It’s the Athletic Department’s Holiday Banquet,” he admits, taking my hand in his. “I’ve been meaning to bring it up, but I know you don’t want to come, and I don’t want you feeling guilty for that.”

He’s right, I don’t want to go. And I would feel guilty if he asked and I had to come up with an excuse not to go, but I have plans…with Sav.

“Did you ask Savannah to plan a girl’s night for me?” I call him on it.

“She warned me she’d be taking you from me for a night and asked when our next away games were. I suggested Friday instead.”

“But you want me to come.”

“I don’t,” he says quickly.

I raise an eyebrow at him.

“I mean, obviously, it would be more fun with you there, and I would love to take you, but I don’t want you in a position that makes you uncomfortable.”

“Thank you.” I kiss him.

“Are you mad?”

“Of course not.” Because I get it. I feel uncomfortable in my skin, like I know what the right thing to do is, but I really don’t want to do it. I feel guilty for letting him down, but sick at the thought of being in a room with dozens of athletes.

Two months ago, I would have seen this as a reason to end things with Owen. How can we ever work when these events will keep coming up? Team dinners, championships in hotel rooms occupied by players, award nights…

But now…fuck.

It would be easier to end things. To go back to avoiding athletes at all costs. Except Jason, obviously. But I don’t want to avoid Owen either. I don’t want to lose him. I want to be able to handle this. To be there for him, in a room of men I don’t trust, but still be okay.

Fuck.

I need to see Dr. Kapoor.

“I’m sorry,” Owen says later when he’s driving me home. “I should have mentioned it and let you decide what you wanted to do.”

“You called it though.” I shrug. “The guilt.”

“Fuck. Is it too late to pretend I really just didn’t want you to come and cramp my style?”

I laugh, mostly because it’s what he’s going for, but also because if anyone is cramping someone’s style, it is not me.