Page 52 of Breakaway Hearts

“Owen.”

“I can’t.”

“Okay.”

He lingers a moment, as if waiting for me to change my mind, but then he sits back and opens his textbook.

I expected him to leave. He didn’t actually come here to study, but he settles in. I try to go back to my article, but I can’t concentrate. Because he tasted like mint and lemonade and just the mention of that kiss makes my lips tingle. When our knees brush, he pulls away, as if he’s respecting my wishes, but the jolt gives me equal parts fear and excitement.

Owen Brooks puts my world off-kilter, and I don’t like it.

Or I don’t like how much I don’t dislike it.

I gather up my things and stand.

“You don’t have to leave; I’ll behave,” he promises.

“I do,” I argue. “And I finished that lip gloss.”

“What?”

“That kiss was a long time ago. My lips don’t taste like strawberries anymore.”

I leave, but the joke’s on me, because the relief I feel at getting away is tapered by my own urge to kiss him again.

Chapter Twenty

Owen

Blackmail is illegal

Ithink she was trying to discourage me. That Madison thought telling me her lips no longer taste like strawberries would be some sign that I should put the kiss in the past rather than the ammunition to make me think of nothing but her lips, with a new mission to convince her to let me find out what they taste like now. Even the feeling that Jason was watching me throughout practice, like he must know something, did nothing to deter me.

Mrs. Davidson buzzes me through the shelter door with wired windows that makes it feel more like a prison than a house, but I’ve heard the horror stories of why the outside facing parts need to be a fortress, even as they do their best to make the inside feel like a home.

Case in point, instead of metal tables and chairs, the room is filled with a mishmash of pieces, lots of wood and ugly upholstery that’s even homier than the house I grew up in, look-wise at least. Madison is sitting cross-legged on a bean bag chair, hair up in a messy bun, brow furrowed as she explains something to Megan. The teenager is bouncing on a neon pink exercise ball, cradling her very pregnant stomach.

I probably shouldn’t be watching them like a creeper, but I’m really glad Madison took me up on the offer to volunteer here. I linger a few more moments, and am about to announce myself when Haylie arrives from one of the closed-off ‘study rooms’ which are more often used for meeting with lawyers, social workers, and probation officers.

“Please tell me there’s a meat lovers in there,” she says of the pizzas I’m carrying.

“Did Peter go vegetarian again?” I ask, getting a hug. She’s wearing a fancy pantsuit and has her curly hair tamed into a very strict ponytail, which tells me she was in court today.

“Even worse. Lucas decided we’re vegan, with a PowerPoint presentation and studies explaining why it works better if the entire household participates than if he does it on his own.”

“I would point out he’s thirteen and you can easily overrule him, but I’m guessing he takes after his mother?”

“His arguments were flawless. He even brought witnesses and experts to support his claims.”

“Mrs. Hartley!” Megan calls us over, and I pretend not to notice how Madison is trying to blend into the bean bag. I can practically see her debating whether she can leave before we reach them without making it obvious.

“How are we doing today?”

“Can’t complain,” Megan assures her. “I had a few questions about those papers you wanted me to fill out.”

“I have a meeting in fifteen minutes, but I’m sure we can find a room.”

“Oh, I don’t want to bother you, and Madison is helping me with Biology, which was never that interesting until it’s all happening, right in here.” She points to her bump.