Page 51 of Breakaway

It would shift things inexorably. I could lose whatever relationship I’ve rebuilt with my father. I doubt I could handle it, anyway. Following The List gives us structure. We’re friends, but there are strings attached. An invisible expiration date. I need the strings to tether me down, and once he’s captain, this whole thing will probably fizzle out. The friendship and the hookups both.

But I can’t deny that I haven’t felt this happy or settled in a long time. Here, specifically, on my knees in a bathroom on a moving train, hoping that I can drink down the come of the guy who just told me I’m his favorite taste of all.

Am I everything Preston’s family said I am?

It didn’t hurt when Cooper called me a slut. I felt treasured. Special. I know he meant it the same way he calls me Red. But I’ve been called that before, and back then, it hurt worse than almost anything.

Maybe in between the two, there’s a way forward.

It just can’t be Cooper by my side when I figure it out.

Chapter 28

Penny

October 23rd

Mia

He did what????

I know

Holy shit

I KNOW

This is even more wild than the bondage thing

Good for you

I can’t even. He’s like a gigantic puppy one second, and a wolf the next

Sounds like good inspiration for your book

I may have changed the dude’s name

To Callum

Oh, girl

I know

Lol RIP

Chapter 29

Cooper

Penny lets out a sigh, slumping dramatically out of her chair onto the floor.

I glance up from my dog-eared copy of Othello. After a moment, when it’s clear she’s determined to make the dusty underside of this table her new home, I put the book down and shimmy underneath too. It’s a tight fit, given that this old table in the stacks isn’t all that big, but it’s worth it when I see her smile. I shuffle closer. When I ran into her on my way out of the gym this morning and she invited me to come to the library with her, I couldn’t help but say yes. She looked so cute in her forest green sweater and pleated black skirt, her gold butterfly necklace shining in the hollow of her throat, that I couldn’t have said no if I tried.

I let her lead the way, and she dragged me up three narrow flights of stairs to this little nook. I thought for half a second that she just wanted somewhere mostly private to hook up, but then she sat down and took out a gigantic textbook, so I rummaged around in my bag for Othello and the crappy little reporter’s notebook I use to take notes. That was an hour ago. It’s been torturous, even though we’ve been chatting, so I don’t blame her for needing the break.

“This is a disaster,” she whispers.

“Why are you whispering?”

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