Every Breath You Take (The Love Playbook #3)

Chapter 1

TALON

The campus library smelled exactly like I remembered—old paper and too much ambition.

Mostly other people’s ambition, though, because mine was on life support. After four hours of training and another hour of pretending to be the team’s golden retriever for the boosters, I wanted one thing: silence.

It had been three years since I’d walked these halls as a student, but the place hadn’t changed.

Same flickering light in the stairwell, same outdated “Quiet Please” posters taped to the walls.

The only difference was me. Back then, I’d been juggling swim meets and business classes I didn’t care about.

Now I juggled swim meets and a writing career I couldn’t tell a soul about.

I needed this room. My room.

The tucked-away study nook on the third floor was perfect—no foot traffic, no chatty undergrads, no one looking over my shoulder to see that instead of spreadsheets or sports stats, I was typing about sword fights and morally gray princes.

Except today, the door was already open.

And someone was in my chair.

A woman sat at the far end of the table, brown hair pulled into a messy knot, hazel eyes scanning the laptop screen like it had personally insulted her. She was surrounded by textbooks and coffee cups—one ceramic mug, one paper to-go. Backup caffeine, I assumed.

Her gaze flicked up, landed on me, and stayed there just a beat too long. Not a Who are you? look. More like an Oh, I know exactly who you are look.

“Hey,” I said, keeping my tone neutral.

“This room’s taken.” She gestured with her pen toward her pile of notes like it was a signed lease agreement.

I stepped inside anyway. “Pretty sure it’s first come, first serve.”

“I was here first.”

“And I was here first for about … three months straight, every Tuesday and Thursday.”

Her brow arched. “Three years ago, maybe.”

Okay, she definitely knew me. And not just from the swim posters still plastered around campus. From her tone, I was pretty sure she’d clocked the whole local celebrity who doesn’t actually go here anymore thing.

The reason I trained at the university, even though my college days were behind me, was because the top swimmers—Olympians, trial qualifiers, the ones who hadn’t aged out yet—all trained here under elite coaches.

The facilities were better than any club could offer, and if you wanted to make it to the highest level, this was the only place to be.

For me, it wasn’t about a degree anymore. It was about a shot at a dream.

But here was the problem: this was the only spot where I could write without the whole swim team—or half the student body—walking past me.

I slung my backpack onto the other chair. “Guess we’re sharing.”

She exhaled like I’d just suggested we co-parent a cat.

I pulled out my laptop and set it down like a declaration of war.

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re really not leaving?”

“Not unless you’ve got a better nook to recommend.”

Her lips pressed together in a way that said she did know another place … but she wasn’t about to tell me.

Fine.

I settled in, opened my laptop, and angled the screen slightly away from her.

Old habit. It’s not that I thought she would lean over and read my work, it’s just that people had a way of making comments when they saw six paragraphs of romantic tension and a sword duel instead of the email I was “supposed” to be answering.

The cursor taunted me as it blinked, my brain refusing to pick up where I left off.

Instead, I kept catching glimpses of her out of the corner of my eye.

She had this laser focus when she read, the kind that made her brow furrow just slightly, lips moving like she was sounding out each word in her head.

Her pen tapped against the table every thirty seconds, a steady metronome I found both distracting and weirdly calming.

“You’re staring,” she said without looking up.

“Just trying to figure out what kind of person brings two coffee cups to the library.”

Her gaze flicked to the cups, then back to me. “A person who plans ahead.”

She quickly returned her focus back to the screen, clearly wanting to end our conversation.

Except something in me just couldn’t stay quiet.

“I like it back here.” I stretched my legs under the table. “It’s hard to find a place so tucked away and far from other people.”

She scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I thought guys like you shriveled up and died if you didn’t get attention to feed your ego.”

My lips pulled up on one side in a smirk. “Guys like me?”

“Yes.” Her eyes narrowed, daring me to deny it.

I leaned back, grinning. “I’m not sure I know what you’re referring to.”

She rattled off words fast enough to make my head spin. “Arrogant, privileged, pretentious, conceited, attractive, egotistical athletes.”

One word stood out. My smirk widened. “You think I’m attractive?”

She gave me a deadpan look. “That’s your takeaway?”

I flashed the smile that always got me into trouble—the one that brought out the dimple on my left cheek. “It was the most important part—and the only thing in that whole list you could know for sure without actually knowing me.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever. I’m not going to sit here and discuss your looks.”

“So you’re leaving, then?” I asked cheekily before she could say anything else.

A patronizing glare shot my way. “Very funny.”

I tried to hide my smile, failing spectacularly.

Most people, when they recognized me, went into one of two modes: starstruck or judgmental.

She’d skipped starstruck entirely and gone straight for judgment.

Not the loud, in-your-face kind—more like she’d already filed me under a label in her head and was now just gathering evidence to prove herself right.

After a few minutes, I gave up pretending to focus and asked, “So what’s got you holed up in a library dungeon instead of out living your best life?”

She looked at me like I’d just spoken fluent Martian. “Do I look like I have time for a ‘best life’?”

“Fair point.” I gestured to her mountain of books. “What’s the major?”

She hesitated just long enough for me to notice. “Double. Accounting and Computer Information Systems.”

I let out a low whistle. “Overachiever.”

“Efficient,” she corrected. “Two degrees for the price of one miserable schedule.”

“Bet your barista knows your order better than your friends do.”

Her pen stilled. “I don’t really have time for friends.”

Something about the way she said it made me wonder if she liked it that way, or if life had just forced her into it. Either way, it didn’t sound like a complaint, more like a fact she’d learned to live with.

Her eyes flicked up from her notebook, narrowing slightly. “You’re really not going to leave, are you?”

“Nope.” I typed out a sentence that made zero sense, trying to look like I was working.

“Why is that again?” She tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, leaning against the table. “And don’t give me the lame excuse of wanting to be away from people. You don’t seem to care when women are hanging all over you.”

Was that jealousy? I searched her face but found nothing. Just annoyance. Still, maybe there was more.

“Is all this hostility because you’re jealous?” I teased, fully leaning into the playboy image everyone had pegged me for. Including her.

She scrunched up her face in disgust. “Barf.”

I laughed, louder than I intended. I’d definitely never had a woman react to me like that before.

“For someone who thinks it’s so awful to be with a guy like me, you sure know a lot about my social habits.”

She fidgeted, looking away. “Not because I’m jealous or anything like that, but when I can’t go twenty feet without someone saying your name, it’s hard to block it out completely.”

I chuckled. Sure, I was popular in town and on campus, but a constant topic of conversation? Nah. It was mostly just annoying. That’s why I hid in places like this.

“Well, even guys like me need space.” I gestured around the secluded room.

“I don’t feel even the slightest bit sorry for you.” Her tone was sharp, no sympathy in sight.

“Why not?” I grinned, enjoying the back-and-forth more than I’d let on. “You can’t find it in your heart to pity the popular, attractive, successful athlete?”

She burst out laughing, seeming to surprise herself as her loud guffaw filled the room. “Nope.”

For a moment, I wanted to tell her the truth—that I hated the spotlight, the pressure, how everyone expected me to be this confident, carefree guy who had the Olympics in the bag.

That even in the water, where I was supposed to feel weightless and in control, there were days it felt like I was fighting to keep my head above the surface.

The fame, the medals, the trophies—they just added more weight to carry, making me feel like I was drowning and running out of time.

I could already hear the muffled roar of the crowd fading, replaced by the deafening silence of life outside the pool.

And in less than four months, the clock would run out. I’d have to climb out of the pool for good and slip into the suit-and-tie life my father had planned for me, armed with the business degree I’d never even wanted.

She tapped her pen against her notes, slow and steady, eyes narrowing just slightly, like she could see right through me and was waiting for me to confirm it.

But instead, I tested the waters.

I looked down at my keyboard, unable to meet her eyes. “What if I’m hiding behind a mask? Putting on a show? Too much of a wuss to admit I’m actually an introvert who’d rather spend the evening with a book than on some wild night out.”

Her pen stilled mid-tap. For a second, she just studied me, head tilted like she was deciding if I was serious.

A beat of silence passed, and then she laughed—sharp, like a punch to the gut. “Yeah, right. I don’t think you’re that good of an actor. Nice try. Your made-up sob story isn’t getting you this room.”

At least I knew my front was convincing. If she wasn’t buying the real me, I guessed I could keep playing the part.

I forced a smile, one I hoped looked genuine. “Worth a try.”

She shook her head, chuckling. “You could have gone with something more believable. Like hiding from your crazy ex-girlfriend.”

“Yeah.” I tried to cover my disappointment. “That probably would’ve worked better.”

Her gaze swept over me. “Wait—is that a real possibility?”

I caught the shift in her eyes, reading more than just curiosity.

“No ex-girlfriends,” I said quickly.

I hadn’t done the girlfriend thing in years.

Too much time demanded, too many expectations I wasn’t ready to meet.

And I wasn’t about to tell her I’d rather be locked away writing on my laptop than out with anyone.

No one knew about the story I’d been building online—hundreds of thousands of reads, an anonymous secret I kept close, not even sharing it with my brother, Ridge, or my best friend, Ledger.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re too much of a player to be tethered to one woman.”

More like I couldn’t trust anyone enough to share all of me. But I kept that to myself.

“Exactly. Who wants to be tethered?”

“Relationships aren’t supposed to make you feel tethered,” she said softly. “They should make you feel happy. Lighter, not weighed down.”

Her words resonated in a way I wasn’t expecting. I was suddenly aware of how personal this conversation was getting.

I hesitated. Then blurted out the one question I couldn’t seem to keep myself from asking.

“So, are you speaking from experience? Are you in a happy, tether-free relationship?”

Why I was even wondering if she had a boyfriend was beyond me.

Her cheeks flushed pink. She looked down at her hands. “No. To both.”

I shouldn’t have been surprised. She was the kind of person who seemed to keep her distance, hiding away in secret rooms like this one.

Suddenly she closed her laptop and started to pack up. “I have to be up early for work tomorrow. The room’s all yours,” she said, pointedly avoiding my gaze.

Before I could say a word, she was gone, leaving me staring after her in stunned silence, not sure what had her running from the room like it was on fire.

I wasn’t sure what to think of our interaction. She was standoffish and definitely not a fan of mine. But that didn’t take away from how I had enjoyed every minute with her.

Now that she was gone, I realized that I hadn’t even asked her name. Although in the short amount of time I’d spent with her, I doubted she would have told me.

Glancing at the time on my computer, I now only had thirty minutes until the library closed.

Pushing thoughts of the beautiful brunette aside, I turned my focus to the document on my laptop screen.

As I began to write, I couldn’t help wishing my main female character had warm hazel eyes instead of green.