Page 20 of Break Point

Jaden blinks a few times as she continues to stare at me. Eventually, she nods.

“Thank you,” I exhale, my shoulders dropping as I hold out a hand to shake hers.

She presses her palm into mine, her grip firm, skin soft. Fingers thin and long. Not quite delicate, because everything about her is strong. But feminine. It’s hard to believe this is the same hand that grips her racket like a sword and cuts through competition.

I force myself to let go about a half second before a few of my teammates enter the tunnel from the locker room. I fall in behind them as they pass us, and I jog along with them toward the field. After a few steps, though, I sense Jaden’s presence still close behind me. I swear I hear her shoes slapping the concrete, so I crane my neck to glance over my shoulder. My brow pinches when I spot her matching me step for step, and I turn to jog backward.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

Jaden gives me a quick bro nod. It’s almost comical.

“I’m going out there with you.”

I puff out a short laugh, but it quickly becomes clear she isn’t joking.

“Jaden.” I utter her name the way my father did mine when we were kids and neglected to clear our plates after dinner. I feel gross hearing the way that tone sounds on my tongue.

“Relax. I’ll find a spot in the stadium to wait until you’re done.” Her tone is so matter of fact that I almost question why I thought her following me was strange in the first place. But then we hit the field, and the expanse of the empty stadium comes into view. Everyone is going to see her.

“Jaden, it’s a closed practice,” I explain. Granted, people drop in to watch us on the field from time to time. I’m just not sure I want Jaden watching.

“Right, so just explain to your coach we have business to take care of when you’re done.”

I slow to a walk, and she does the same. She lifts her eyebrows and widens her eyes as she shakes her head.

I shake my head, a bit baffled, but also impressed by her persistence.

“Don’t you have class?” I know she’s a senior, too, but I still have to show up for things like anatomy labs and big lectures. She must have a similar course load.

“This afternoon, and it’s online.” She shrugs as I continue to stare. “What’s the issue?”

I chuckle, because there are all kinds of issues. She’s hovering. My teammates are going to wonder why she’s hanging around. Ashton will probably start in on me again before I have a chance to explain about the app and that Jaden and I are working together. But mostly, it’s the fact that all these issues I seem to have are about me. And they’re my fault. Jaden’s only issue is that her student status is in limbo. And that’s my fault too.

“Sit on the away side if you want to avoid the sun. It’s going to be a couple hours, so I hope you brought something to do.”

Suddenly I’m the one rolling my eyes as I turn to start my sprints up the forty rows of steps in the lower stadium bowl. And because nothing about Jaden Johnson can ever be ignored, she elects to sit in the sun for everyone to see, stretching her long legs out over a first-row seat as she leans back in a second-row one. She may be fooling everyone else out here into believing those brown eyes of hers are catching some z’s behind her sunglasses, but not me. I know they’re wide open, watching my every move. And just in case I try to fool myself that they’re not, Jaden reminds me every time I reach row one again on my way to twenty reps. Just to make sure I’m not thinking about cheating.

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Four.”

Chapter 9

Jaden

I’ll give him this—Bryson Moss doesn’t cut corners on his workouts. In fact, I tricked him into an extra set of stairs by repeating seventeen. I’d feel bad about it if I weren’t sitting on the concrete barrier outside the stadium tunnel waiting for him to fix my student account that he somehow continues to wreak havoc on.

Laughter echoes from the concrete tunnel as Bryson and Ashton step into view. The two of them pound fists after what feels like a shared joke. I wonder if it was at my expense.

“Crash! It’s been a while,” Ashton says, holding his arms open wide as if he’s going to envelop me in a hug. I stand up and dangle my gear bag at my side just as his arms loop around me. He’s hugging me.

“Oh . . . kay,” I utter, my arms stiff as my cheek presses into the center of his chest. His T-shirt is damp but smells clean from a fresh shower. He backs away, and I brush my bicep against my jawline, then hike my shoulders up to my ears.

“Sorry, not a hugger? I’m a big hugger.” His arms are still outstretched, and I fear he may go in for a second one.

“I see that. I’m more of a nodder.” I tip my chin up, my preferred method of saying hi to acquaintances.