Page 89 of Breaking Away

But don’t get ahead of yourself, Kavi.There’s no guarantee we’re going to be friends, so I have to still be happy alone. To figure out how to do that.

“Anything new happen since we last met?” she asks.

I’m living with Lokhov.

I think she might already know that. It’s not what I say.

“Me and number twelve—Lokhov—have a bet.”

Sonya goes hawkish, making me wonder if all athletes are the same. Super competitive. “Tell me.”

I explain how I want Lokhov to win tonight, because I can’t imagine everyone at his place for a barbecue. His untouchedsanctuary, so unprepared for hosting or, I don’t know, any kind of group camaraderie.

The thought of beer pong in that kitchen… and the nosy chit-chat… and the very personal getting to know you…

Lokhov would die. Hate it all.

I. Can’t. Wait.

But also, if that happens, I’ve got to prove I’m making progress, too.

My heartbeat gallops.

I tell Sonya there is nothing in my photography account to show him.

Sure, I’ve got old work from before I could post and random birthday shots from gigs, but it’s not good enough to go online for everyone to see.

She pulls me up to stand.

I’m confused. “Where are we going?”

Her expression goes cat-like. “You need pictures? We’re going to their dressing room.”

37

KAVI

Nobody is naked.

Sonya checked in with Quinn before leading us into the dressing room. Even so, my heart is a trapped bird in my chest.

This is wrong,a voice in my head scolds.

It’s my father talking, saying that I’m entering a place where I don’t belong. To turn around and go away.

I hold my breath, waiting for the Wings’ coach to kick us out, but he hasn’t noticed us. He’s surrounded by people with clipboards.

Around us, hockey players are performing different game day rituals. Doing crosswords, playing video games, stretching. Their captain—Pink Headband—keeps the energy upbeat. Everyone is chatting, but there is an unmistakable glint in their eyes. Anticipation coats the air. They’ll be battling on the ice soon enough.

I don’t realize I’m searching until I find him. He’s separate from the group, eyes closed. There’s no tension on his face. It’s the first time I’ve seen him so blankly peaceful. And…

Whew.

Usually, an air of grumpiness distracts from some aspect of his physical looks, but that personality veil can’t kick in right now. No, I’m forced to suffer in the knowledge that Lokhov is ridiculously handsome. It’s so outrageous that it’s difficult to bear.

His hair is swept off his forehead, nose bridge is strong, scarred mouth too-generous. Shoulders are broad like a cabinet, inked and stacked with muscles. Through the tightness of his base layer, his body is strikingly beautiful.

I want him to open his eyes and see me—I crave it—but he doesn’t.

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