Page 82 of Broken Breath
Just him. JustPetit.
And maybe someone else, too, but that’s a door I can’t even look at, not with everything surrounding him, and everything he ruined.
So I drag my focus back toPetit, and this infuriating, impossible, sharp-eyed wrecking ball of a person who has me undone with a hiccup, a look, and sees through me like my walls are glass.
I’ve flirted a thousand times, chased highs and kisses and all the easy wins, but none of it ever lasted longer than a night, or made me think about it twice.PetitCrews is under my skin, in my head, and every hour since that race, I’ve been orbiting him.
I don’t even fucking know him, but my heart doesn’t care, and I hate the fact that I managed to crush on the one person who’s not interested in me. The one person I can’t charm, joke, or flirt my way into keeping.
If that makes me gay, or bi, or whatever,so be it.
“Is it the race?” Otis asks seriously. “You know you’ll win the next one. Nobody is worried about that one fuckup, not even Paul.”
“Maybe I just miss the Polish techno,” I mutter, but Otis doesn’t bite, just stares until I cave. “It’s…” I trail off. “It’s a long story.”
He shrugs. “I’ve got time.”
Before I can dodge, our physio, Piper, appears out of nowhere, sunglasses perched on top of her head, and a ratty roll of zip ties in one hand.
“Hey, idiots, taking a break, or do you need help?”
Otis nods toward me. “Delacroix’s trying to name his feelings. Sussing out his mood could use a full team effort.”
Piper snorts. “He’s just pissy he got clowned by Crews.”
“W-what?” I balk at her.
“The rookie kicked your time so hard, your bike probably needed therapy,” Piper says with a smirk.
I open my mouth, then close it again, grinding my teeth. “It’s not about the damn race,” I hiss out.
It should be.That would be simpler.
Andthatshould worry me, shouldn’t it? That the race, theloss, isn’t the thing clawing at my brain. The bruised ego isn’t even in the top three on the list of reasons I didn’t sleep last night.
Otis raises one eyebrow, and Piper’s smile reminds me of a cat that’s found something twitching under a box.
“Oh,” she says, eyes gleaming. “Now I’m actually interested.”
“I hate both of you,” I mutter.
“You love us,” Otis counters.
“No. I love my rat. You’re just here.”
Toulouse flicks his tail and promptly burrows deeper into my hoodie, which I take as agreement.
“So?” Otis leans toward me, dropping his voice like we’re at a confessional. “What’s going on? Is it illegal?” His eyes shift around us as if checking for eavesdroppers. “Are you doping?”
Piper gasps and slaps the back of my head.
“Merde,” I mutter, running a hand over the spot. “Can you wait for my answerbeforeassaulting me?”
She just shrugs. “Not as fun.”
“It’s not that. It’s…” I sigh and place my hand on my chest. “A matter of the heart.”
And other places.
