Page 37 of On the Breakaway

“Nothing crazy. He was awful, then he was more awful, and eventually I knew I had to end it.” I stir my drink, trying to keep my hand from shaking.

I’ve known her long enough to know that she’s aware there’s more to it, but she’s known me long enough to know when to drop it.

“Besides,” I add quickly, forcing lightness back into my voice, “I’m getting back on that horse soon anyway, so it’s irrelevant now.”

She visibly relaxes, which makes me feel worse.

I know exactly what I’m doing. I know this sudden determination to sleep with someone has absolutely nothing to do with actually wanting sex and everything to do with proving something to myself.

My parents loved each other in the cruelest possible way, and somehow I still grew up believing I’d do better. Then Damon came along and showed me otherwise.

So yeah, I guess I’d like to prove that I’m not ruined just because the last person I loved taught me to associate intimacy with anxiety.

“Have your sights set on someone?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“Not yet.”

“Not even the gentle and sweet hockey captain who gave you a ride home from the grocery store last month.”

I glare at her, knowing damn well who spilled the beans. “I’m going to kill Harper.”

“Oh, you knew she’d tell me.”

It’s true. We don’t keep secrets from each other.

“No. I’m not interested in Grayson. Never have been. Never will be.”

“Why not? He’s hot.”

“Earth to Wesley. Did you not just hear me tell you about the asshole that is my ex?” I make a face. “Captain of a hockey team. Nice. Everyone loved him. Always showed up for people, just not me. Secretly treated me like trash. Sound familiar?”

Understanding flashes across her face. “Grayson’s not Damon.”

“If it walks like a duck, Wes.”

The universe does have a funny sense of humor. The first man I’ve felt comfortable around since Damon happens to be someone who’s exactly like him. I’d have to be a masochist to be that stupid twice.

In the alley behind the bar, when his hand caught my wrist, I’d felt that old familiar flutter low in my stomach for the first time since Damon, but instead of enjoying it, I froze, my brain not knowing what to do with that feeling anymore.

And now, because I’m an idiot, I know exactly how his chest feels under my hands, exactly how his voice sounds when it drops low enough to vibrate straight through me, exactly how green his eyes look up close when amusement sharpens them.

Which is precisely why I’ve spent the last two weeks shopping at a completely different grocery store and declining every invitation Liam’s sent me to come out with them.

“So if not him, then who?” She asks, downing the last of her drink.

“Don’t know. I’m picking him out tonight.” I smirk. “Are you game to stick around for a while and help me find him?”

“I’m picking up Nathan’s prescription and dropping it off.” Wesley signs her bill, standing up. “Rain check?”

“Yeah, sure.” I smile, not letting her see that I’m bummed.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay a little longer?”

“I’m fine,” I insist, because technically I am. Emotionally inconvenienced isn’t the same thing as falling apart.

I’m happy for her. Really, I am. But watching her walk out to go see the man she loves leaves this hollow ache inside me anyway.

Once she’s out of sight, I move to the counter because sitting alone at a table feels pathetic, but standing at the bar by myself doesn’t feel much better. I glance back down at my drink and swirl the straw absently, ordering another before I’ve even finished the current one. The bartender gives me a look, but I ignore it.