Page 30 of On the Breakaway

She hasn’t noticed me yet.

My eyes flick behind her automatically, looking for the guy she’d been draped all over earlier. When I realize she’s alone, my chest loosens.

I take another second to drink her in. But only one second because I know better.

Her hair’s down, red waves falling over her shoulders like they’ve got a mind of their own. A leather jacket is thrown over a top that dips just low enough to be distracting. And those black jeans…

Fucking hell.

This is a mistake.

Because when she’s not glaring at me or reminding me we’re not friends, it’s dangerously easy to forget why I don’t like her in the first place.

I run through the reasons like a checklist, forcing my brain back into place.

She’s loud.

She’s blunt.

She’s impulsive.

She’s…

The sexiest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.

Well, that was fucking useless.

“Hi, Chaos.”

She freezes at the bottom of the steps as if she’s considering fleeing without acknowledging my existence.

“Your bad karma strikes again,” I add, using one leg to push up off the wall.

Her eyes narrow when she spots me fully under the dim light.

“Of course you’re out here,” she mutters.

I smirk. “Nice to see you too.”

She steps forward, the light from above the door casting her into shadows. I don’t have to see her face to know exactly how she’s looking at me, though. Her arms cross over her chest, irritation radiating off her in waves.

Whatever small truce or progress that we made in the car is long gone.

It’s for the best. We are not meant to get along, and drunk or not, the reminder of her hostility helps steer me back into safe territory.

“I needed five minutes,” she says flatly.

“So take five minutes.”

She blinks at me as if I’ve said something ridiculous.

“You’re here.”

“Yeah,” I agree easily, taking a small step toward her, putting myself in the same spotlight she’s under. “I was here first.”

That earns me a look.

“I don’t care. Go inside.”