Page 66 of Break Points and Face Offs

I turn around, ignoring him. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I repeat.

I’ve just reached the door, my hand on the handle when Priestley calls me back. My heart soars, thinking he’s changed his mind. I remind myself I still can’t do what I want to do, not tonight. But when I turn around, he’s holding something out to me.

“What’s that?”

“Can’t you read?”

I take a step closer, spotting the title. It’s the book he stole from me that first day in the library.

“I’m done with it,” he says. “It’s yours.”

17

PRIESTLEY

My head aches and my mouth is dry. After Will left last night, I drank at least three glasses of brandy before going to bed.

I roll over and groan into my pillow.

What the hell was that last night? Why did I let him up here in the first place? Why didn’t I just kick him out as soon as he left the ‘champagne?’

He must have seen it in my eyes. He had to have seen it. How much I wanted him to kiss me. And more.

It is simply not possible, especially with him. There are plenty of guys who look like Will—well, in the ballpark of that kind of handsome. Guys I could have no-strings sex with and scratch the itch for another few months. To do it with him, of all people, would be monumentally stupid. And I may be many, many things, but stupid isn’t one of them.

I comfort myself with the fact that I won’t be stuck with Will for any more group projects. We are flying solo from here on out. Competitors in every sense of the word. We no longer need to be reluctant allies.

Someone rings my doorbell. I squash the pillow over my ear and curse them in my head.

They ring again.

I stomp out of bed and press so hard on the buzzer it hurts my finger.

“What?”

“Let me up, Rosie. I’ve got hangover food.”

I freeze. My first thought is—I look a mess. My second thought is—is this guy a psychopath or what? That’s the thought I cling to.

“Are you stalking me?” I ask through the speaker.

He laughs. God damn him and that sexy laugh.

“You can’t come up, I’m …” Don’t say naked, do not say naked. “Sick.”

“I know. That’s why I brought you food.”

Something inside turns to jelly.

“I don’t need you to take care of me.”

“I know that. Now stop being stubborn and let me anyway.”

Perhaps my body moves without permission from my brain, because before I know what’s happening, I’m pressing the button to let him in.

I have just enough time to rush to the bathroom, rinse my mouth out with mouthwash, and splash some water on my face. My hair is a disaster, but that’s just something I’ll have to deal with because he’s already knocking on the door.

Of course he looks incredible in a pair of grey sweatpants and a college sweater with the hockey logo printed across the chest.