Page 68 of Breakaway Hearts

“No, I…I have a very strict, very meaningful ‘No athletes’ rule, and he acts like he respects that, but then…”

“He smolders?” Bree offers.

I barely contain my smile. “I just need to not want to give in to his charm,” I admit more than I want to and fully expect them to tell me to go for it, that he’s a great guy and rules are meant to be broken, but Savannah is contemplative.

“Is this where you need to find out embarrassing secrets and see him on a terrible hair day⁠—”

“Or release some sexual tension?” Bree slightly nods to the punching bag, implying that I wasn’t subtle about it.

“Are you suggesting I need to get laid?” I’m not offended, just surprised. I literally met her an hour ago.

“Best way to get over someone is to get under someone else,” Bree explains. “Or so I’ve been told.”

Savannah shrugs like she isn’t convinced, but trusts the source.

“We should go to a party. Noah’s on a two week road trip.” She sighs longingly, then misinterprets my look. “I know jocks are hit or miss, but he’s a good one,” she assures me. “I had a strict no football, baseball, basketball, or soccer players rule.”

“Better exclude them all,” Bree assures me, but she also sounds teasing.

“Is there anything happening tonight?” I ask. Ideally, I’d go to a bar where I could find a stranger I’d never have to see again, but I don’t want to worry Jason, and honestly, just the thought of it makes me shiver.

“Wednesdays are generally quiet, I think? I promised Izzie we’d hit Mama Joy’s, if you wanna join. Best milkshakes ever.”

“I finally convinced my sister and her husband to go out for a proper anniversary dinner, so I’m watching their kids, but I’m free Friday, if I’m invited.” Bree turns to me like it’s totally cool either way.

“Of course,” I assure her.

“We can pre-drink at my place. It’s big and empty and perfect for dance parties.”

Savannah looks genuinely excited.

“That sounds nice,” I assure her.

Over the next few hours, people keep talking about the upcoming game, Owen’s name is inevitably mentioned, and I have to avoid the library so I don’t run into him during my breaks. Instead, I sit on the grass outside, and overhear two guys talking about how Evan’s going away, so the math house (which they call the Calcu-lair) is having a party, and they’ve put up a bunch of flyers in the hopes people will come. They look like the guys from the Big Bang Theory, which is stereotyping and not nice of me, but I’m pretty sure I could overpower both of them if they tried anything.

As soon as Jason heads off to his evening practice, I head to the Calcu-lair, wearing a sleeveless turtleneck, my favorite high-waisted skirt, and underwear with lace. Probably too much coverage to be called panties, but I’ve never had anyone complain.

I take one of Jay’s oversized sweatshirts for the walk over, and leave him a note, but I’m hoping to be home before he gets back from his late night study group, so I can tear it up like the one about Owen’s soup. No harm, no foul.

Any guilt I feel disappears at the effect thinking of Owen has on me. It’s pathetic. And it scares me.

I come up with about a dozen answers for how I know Evan, or who invited me, but the door is wide open when I arrive. There’s an untapped kegger in the middle of the hallway, currently being used as a table for a charcuterie board, which I find oddly reassuring. I know this is the safer way of doing this, but strangers in bars were so much easier.

The first guy who talks to me has brown hair and green eyes, nowhere near as mesmerizing as Owen’s, but the last thing I need is a reminder of him right now. I pretend I have to pee to get away from him, thankfully not in a creepy way, but I’m on a mission, and can ask him about our solar system another time. Or google it.

I pretend I don’t see the ginger, who makes me think of Tabytha. Maybe I should have asked her if there was a Greek party we could have gone to together, but I trust frat boys even less than athletes. My prejudice stems entirely from Hollywood movies, and I might be totally wrong about them, but what I’m really looking for is…

“Hi there.”

The guy in front of me has a shy smile and kind eyes. His shirt has Captain America on it, which has to be a good sign, right?

“Hi.” I smile back.

“Can I get you a drink?”

“I’m not thirsty right now,” I say, because it’s easier than the questions that come when I say I’m not drinking.

“Cool, have a great⁠—”