Page 55 of Break Points and Face Offs

I should be relieved that I won the competition and Will is now taking a back seat and letting me lead, but I’m not. I’d like a little more enthusiasm from him if we are going to work together to become more coherent as a group.

The waitress brings us coffee after Will practically licks his bowl. He sits back and rubs his belly and I try not to look at the shape of his—only slightly less visible—abs through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“Are you ready to focus?” I ask.

“Yep. I’m sugar-buzzed and all yours.”

While he’s bent over the notebook, that comment he made runs through my head.

It’s some weird type of self-denial.

He looked sad for me when he said it. Like having self-restraint is a bad thing.

I don’t like the way I’ve felt since I got here.

I knew I wasn’t going to fit in with Will’s family. And I knew they would be different from my own. But everything about these past few days has sent me off balance. I do not like being this out of control.

I don’t realize how dark it is outside until the waitress starts putting chairs upside down on tables.

Will gets up to help her, leaving me sitting there with our notebooks open and not even half the work done that he’d promised me this weekend.

I glare at him while he chats and laughs with the waitress, and when he gets to our table, he cocks his head. “If you’re not gonna help, you could at least move.”

I think about asking why on earth I’d help. I’m a customer, not an employee. But I hold my tongue and move instead so he can take my chair.

“I’ll wait for you by the car,” I say, bundling up the notebooks. Will ignores me and keeps stacking chairs.

He’s no longer calm when he gets outside, zipping his jacket against the cool weather. That easy smile he wore with the waitress has snapped into something else. It almost resembles the disappointed look my father gets when anyone tells him they were less than perfect.

“What’s your problem?” he asks when he gets close enough for me to hear.

“What’s my problem?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“My problem is that I obviously came here under false pretenses⁠—”

He lets out an incredulous laugh. “You invited yourself here, not me. I only let you come because my ma told me to.”

For some reason, that stings. Obviously I knew he didn’t want me here, it still isn’t nice hearing him say it out loud.

He winces.

“Sorry, that was⁠—”

“No, hold on a minute. Don’t act all guilty. I don’t care if you wanted me here or not, all I care about is the project. And if you can’t make yourself care more, then that’s your problem. Actually …” I force out a laugh, running a hand through my hair. He swallows and his eyes get wider as he looks at me. “You’ve done me a favor. Now I know I’m going to beat you. It’s the classic tale of the tortoise and the hare. You may have gotten off the starting block faster, but now I can see you have absolutely no stamina. You don’t have what it takes to go the distance. Whereas I’m used to playing the long game, you⁠—”

I noticed him taking a step closer, but I don’t have time to ask him what he’s doing before he yanks me closer by the jacket and kisses me. It catches me off guard, as does the moan that rips through me the second I feel his mouth on mine.

His hand grips the back of my neck. He tastes painfully sweet, with the slightest bitter hint of coffee. I sink into it for a second, letting him coax my mouth open with his tongue. A wave of heat washes over me and my eyes roll the way they did the second I took a bite of that dessert.

It feels so good. Too good. No, I can’t let this happen.

I push him away. Try not to look at him while I fix myself. Smooth my hair down, fix my rumpled jacket.

“Rosie?”

My cheeks tint at the nickname. I hate that nickname, don’t I?