Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(28)

Her pretty lips curve into a smile. “I’d rather unpack than analyze, especially when there’s math involved. I’m studying biology.”

“You sound thrilled.”

“I know, right?” she says dryly. “I can hardly contain my excitement.”

“I know we don’t really know each other,” I say abruptly. “But what are you doing, hooking up with random guys?”

She just raises her eyebrows as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Why do you care? Ours was a one-time deal, as I remember. And he wasn’t random.”

“What’s his name?”

“Alfred.”

“Alfred what?”

“Alfred Something.” She glares at me, a defiant look in her eyes. “Not that it’s your business who I hook up with.”

“You called him an ass, Red.”

She laughs shortly. “I’m sure the trail of girls you’ve left behind would throw around worse about you.”

I ignore that. “Two days ago, I had to walk you through your first hand job, and now, you’re…”

“What?” she asks as I trail off. “A slut? Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Christ, no.” I scrub my hand over my face. Maybe it’s the fact she’s Coach Ryder’s daughter, but I can’t help wanting to be protective. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t do what you want to do, and I’d never call a girl that. I’m just worried, okay? I don’t know, you seem pretty inexperienced. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Her cheeks are flushed dark red. “Fuck you, Callahan.”

She whirls around and throws open one of the doors. I don’t exactly expect her to come back out, after the mess I’ve made in approximately two seconds, but she does a moment later, holding a bright pink journal. She rifles through the pages until she finds the one that she wants and hands it to me.

I stare down at it. It’s a list, clearly, simply labeled The List, but instead of a list of normal fucking things like groceries or movies or hockey stats, I see words like spanking and public sex and anal. For some reason, regular old vaginal sex is last on the list. The first item, oral sex (receiving), is crossed off.

“What is this?”

She swallows, but even with blush all over her speckled cheeks, she holds her head up high. “It’s what I’m doing. You asked, so I’m showing you.”

“What is this, a sex bucket list or something?” She tries to snatch the notebook, but I hold it over her head. She jumps for it, so I step back, taking another peek at the list. I nearly choke when I see orgasm denial and double penetration. “This is kinky, Red.”

She huffs. “It’s not like I’m dying.”

“Then what is it? Have you even done any of this? Besides the first, of course.”

She stomps on my foot, and she’s still wearing her boots, so it hurts enough it startles me. She grabs the notebook, slams it shut, and holds it close to her chest like she’s giving it a hug. “I thought you might understand, but never mind.”

Her genuinely hurt tone gives me pause. “Understand what?”

She drags her teeth over her bottom lip. “You were right. I don’t have a lot of experience, but I’m trying to change that. These are all things I’ve wanted to do for years now.”

“Why don’t you get a boyfriend to do them with?”

She’s shaking her head before I even get the whole question out. “This isn’t about getting a boyfriend. This is about me. It’s about being in control of my own life.” She looks up at me, that fierce light in her eyes, like she’s daring me to laugh in her face. “And I’m not planning on doing all this with anyone I’d ever consider dating.”

I sidestep the implication that I’m someone she’d never catch feelings for to say, “So you’re giving yourself a crash course in sex? You know, most people are content with regular old boning. Maybe a few fun positions thrown in.”

She sets the journal on the little table next to the loveseat in the common area between the two rooms and reaches down to unzip her boots. She pulls them off and throws them, one after the other, into her bedroom. Why would she need to cling to control over her own experiences so tightly? Something about this whole situation is making the back of my neck prickle uncomfortably, but I doubt she’ll choose to confide in me. She just said that she’d never consider dating me, after all. Combined with the arousal I’m feeling low in my stomach—I swear, I can still taste the salt of her on my tongue—I’m halfway to bolting out the door. That would be the smart thing, right? Shut this conversation down and keep things firmly in co-volunteer territory.

Her assessment of the situation shouldn’t hurt, but it does. If I wanted to be in a relationship with someone, I totally could, I just haven’t wanted to tie myself down. I’m not James, who took his fucking fifth grade girlfriend seriously. My priority has been fun, but there’s a difference between not wanting to be in a relationship and not being boyfriend material. I’d be a fantastic fucking boyfriend if I wanted that.

Without her boots on, she’s a couple inches shorter, but no less formidable. Even though she doesn’t look like her father beyond those light blue eyes, I can see a bit of him in the way she juts up her chin, like she’s expecting a challenge. Something tells me he taught her how to get physical when necessary. “I know,” she says. “But I want it.”