Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(67)

Penny came to the Vermont game.

I saw her out of the corner of my eye the whole time, the only dot of purple in a crowd of green. She sat a couple rows back from the boards behind one goal, her hair pulled into a braid, chewing on her lip as she watched.

When she texted to tell me that she planned to tag along to the last game before the break in the season, I was thrilled—and then she hit me with some shit about wearing someone else’s sweater. We’ve teased each other plenty, but seeing her show up to the game in Brandon’s sweater—of all the players on the team—stung like a shot to the face. She doesn’t know about the trouble I’ve had with him, but still.

She’s my girl. Maybe it’s not official, but it’s the truth. She’s mine, and the second she admits that to herself, I’m going to shout it from the fucking rooftops.

Until then, though, I have to put up with shit like this. Watching her cheer on the team while she’s wearing Brandon’s #19 instead of my #24. Knowing that when I see her, if there’s anyone around, I can’t kiss her. I’m planning to sneak into her room later, but that’s not the same as kissing her in the lobby and watching her sleep on my shoulder on the team bus. I don’t know when, exactly, I became the sort of guy who daydreams about getting to watch a girl sleep, but with Penny, it seems natural. Inevitable. It’s like I never dated anyone else because I was waiting for her to come into my life. Why would I have wasted time with someone who isn’t her?

Not that we’re actually dating.

That reminder makes me scowl. I grab the shampoo and lather up my hair. My side is aching from a hard hit that ought to have resulted in a penalty but somehow didn’t—Coach yelled at the referees about it—and despite the warm water, I have a chill that won’t go away. I pick up the body wash, but before I can uncap it, the shower curtain rustles.

My teammates are so fucking impatient sometimes. “Can’t you hear the water, asshole?” I call to whoever is out there. There are a bunch of stalls, so it’s not like I’m hogging the bathroom.

“Is that how you talk to the guys?”

I peer around the curtain. Penny is standing there, still in that patently offensive sweater, one eyebrow raised like she’s about to scold me. I glance around, but none of my teammates are out and about. Someone is singing, though, horribly off-key; I’d bet, considering the karaoke night at Red’s a couple weeks ago, that it’s Remmy. “How did you get in here?”

She shrugs. “Not important.”

“You interested in seeing another dude’s junk, Red?”

She just rolls her eyes. “Even if I did, it’s just a dick. Dicks, generally speaking, are not that special.”

I put on a wounded face. “And here I thought you liked my disco stick.”

Her snort is loud enough for the guy in the next stall to hear, so I shut off the water, shaking out my hair before reaching for my towel. Penny gulps, her gaze darting down to my crotch as blush colors her cheeks. Whatever bravado she came in here with is fading, and good thing, too—she might be cheeky enough to get away with wearing the sweater in the first place, but there’s no way I’m letting her flaunt it around post-game. I wrap the towel around my hips and pull her close. She muffles a shriek against my bare shoulder as she wriggles against me, but I hold on tight. “You thought you could get away with wearing someone else’s sweater, babe? Think again.”

She shudders as I cup her jaw, pressing my thumb against her mouth. This is reckless; anyone could finish up in a second and see the two of us standing here, but I don’t move away. Not now, when I have her caught and looking at me like she wants nothing more than to be devoured. She recovers the smirk she came in with, biting down on my thumb.

“It’s just a sweater,” she says. “And I told you in advance.”

“To torture me.” I lean in, letting her feel my breath against her ear. Even though it’s cold in this room without clothes on and she’s wearing the wrong sweater, I’m halfway to hard, my cock straining for attention. “Such a fucking brat, Red. Take it off before I rip it right off your body.”

Her breath hitches. I press against her, knowing she can feel the outline of my dick through the towel. “You wouldn’t.”

I stretch the hem taut. “Watch me.”

“What is it with you and destroying my clothes?”

“This isn’t yours. If it was my number, it would be yours.”

Her eyes widen slightly at the rough edge to my voice. Wrapping up the semester, preparing for this last game before the break, holding back the part of me that wants to beg Penny to just tell me if I have a chance at being her boyfriend—it’s all been grinding on me, and the sweater is the last straw. She swallows hard, those gorgeous blue eyes searching my face. I’m about two seconds from getting onto my knees in this locker room and begging for a chance—just a chance—to show her how things have changed for me, and to ask if they’re changing for her too, when the shower shuts off in one of the stalls. I whip my head around, but apparently the universe has decided to spare me at least some embarrassment, because it’s Evan who reaches for his towel.

Penny scrambles away from me anyway, her face so red I can hardly see the lighter freckles. Evan freezes, water dripping everywhere; at least he has a towel wrapped around his waist. He raises his eyebrows so high they nearly hit his hairline. “I’m gonna—um—”