Page 113 of Breaking Away

Bringing her hand up, I place it in the center of my chest.

She lets out a soft gasp. “Fast.”

Hockey players stand and gather around us.

Slowly, I bring her hand back to her chest so she’s touching the spot below her sternum. She gasps again.

I repeat the process.

“Love,” someone finally guesses.

I don’t know who. I can’t see anybody except her.

Strands of her hair fall forward, a few touching my face. I don’t think I’m breathing. There’s a heartbeat in my fingers as they rest against her skin. She’s so warm. Fuck, she’s also too precious. Good. Brave. So generous and eager. Quiet until she feels safe enough for sarcasm. Secretly wicked and determined. Fucking gorgeous in everything she wears and doesn’t?—

It hits me, this blazing anger. Smith was an absolute fucking moron. An empty-headed, nasty piece of work whose worst fucking sin was making Kavi feel less than she is.

Sure, I’ve been complaining she’s forced me to do all these things?—

Truth is, she makes mewantto do them.

She makes people like her.

I like her.

And I don’t hate this—when she is here—the being around people.

This is an uncomfortable position for my knee, but I can’t move. I can’t pull away, not when our eyes lock together.

Until someone clears their throat.

That’s when I remember we’re not alone. I wrench my hand away. Stand. Grumble words and leave.

In my room, I wonder where the alcohol is. There has to be a fucking bottle somewhere in a drawer.

A few more buttons of my shirt get ripped open.

The door opens behind me.

“Go away, Hughes,” I snarl.

“It’s me,” says Kavi.

The door clicks softly shut behind her.

45

KAVI

I followedhim into his bedroom, and now we’re facing each other. I don’t know if he wants me here. The corner of his eyes have pinched.

But then, he smoothes out his expression. “Kavi.”

“Dmitri.”

I’m affronted by his outfit again. Those trousers, the collared shirt, all his tattoos from the ones on his arms to the one inching up the side of his neck. The hands I can’t see because they slip into his pockets.

“Sorry,” I blurt out.

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