“I’m so turned on I can’t think straight.” She grabbed my face and slammed her mouth against mine, rolling us over so she was on top of me. It was so hot and unexpected I lost my breath for a second.
“Take control, Sloane, you’re in charge.” I gripped her hips so hard I was sure I hurt her, but she dug her nails into my chestas she sucked my tongue. “Mm, honey, you’re killing me right now.”
She still wore all her clothes, which was a problem I wanted to rectify, but as I reached for the hem of her shirt, her phone went off.
She stilled, her chest heaving and her pupils blown out with lust, but that lust faded fast as she stared at her device right next to us on the table. “It’s Mac.”
Her hand trembled as she grabbed the phone. One look at the screen, and everything about her changed.
She froze—completely. Her body stilled over mine. Her pupils shrank. Her jaw tightened.
“Sloane,” I said gently, sitting up, brushing my fingers down her arm. “It’s okay. Answer it.”
She didn’t meet my eyes when she nodded. She slid off me carefully, tugging the hem of her shirt down and pulling the sheet around her like armor. The phone lit up again. She answered it with a clipped, “Hello?”
I sat up against the headboard, chest still rising too fast from everything we’d shared—everything I thought we were finally crossing into. My pulse pounded in my ears, but hers, I could hear in the silence. Rapid. Tense. She hadn’t moved from where she stood, clutching her phone like it was holding her together. One arm wrapped across her chest. The other pressed the phone to her ear. Her eyes stared ahead, unfocused.
“Yes, sir. I understand.” Her voice was abrupt. Controlled. Her jaw flexed as she paused. “When was he found?” She winced at whatever answer she got. “Okay. No, I’ll come in.”
The call ended. She set the phone down like it weighed more than she could carry. Her fingers lingered at the edge of the dresser for a beat and then her shoulders fell.
“Sloane,” I said, slowly. “What happened?”
She didn’t answer. Not right away. She turned her back to me. Bent down, grabbed the hoodie from last night off the chair. She pulled it over her head in a quick motion. Her posture stiffened with every movement, like each layer of clothing added back a piece of the wall she’d let fall.
She finally spoke, voice flat but tight. “Hayes was found in a hotel on the outskirts of town. Police were called in for a disturbance. When they got there, he’d trashed the place. There was alcohol, broken furniture. They found a bat.” She paused, then added, “Splintered.”
A cold spike hit the center of my chest. “Jesus. Did he hurt anyone?”
“They say he didn’t use it, only that he was spiraling. But they’re not sure what state he was really in. Mac wants me to come in—review everything for legal. HR’s prepping league protocol.”
I stood slowly, unsure what to do with my hands. She hadn’t looked at me once. Not since the call. Not since she pulled the hoodie on. Her face was blank again. Every trace of what we’d shared, erased.
“Sloane—”
She grabbed her hair tie from the table and twisted it quickly, knotting her hair into a clean, tight bun. The same kind she wore to every meeting. No sign of the woman who’d curled into me last night. No sign of the heat in her eyes. Just control. Polished. Untouchable.
I hated this version of her, the clinical one. I understood why she had to be that way, but she didn’t need to be that way withme.
“Thank you,” she said, and that hurt more than anything else. “For staying. For being here.”
I stepped toward her, heart thudding in my chest like I’d taken a hit. Her "thank you" wasn’t just polite—it sounded like aclosing chapter. Like distance. Like a goodbye. “Don’t do that,” I said, my voice low and sharp. “Don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not,” she said quickly, already tugging her sleeve down and reaching for the bag by the door.
“You are,” I snapped, stepping closer, heat flooding my chest. “Why? Why the hell would you pull away after what we—after everything we shared last night?”
She turned, finally, her shoulders stiff but her eyes locked on mine. Her expression was unreadable. Cool. Professional. Her tone clipped and controlled. “Because I don’t get to be that person, Oliver. I don’t get to wake up in bed with someone I’m not supposed to be with. I don’t get to lose control. I can’t lose?—”
I stared at her, my throat tight. “That’s not what happened. You didn’t lose control. You let me in. There’s a difference. That’s allowed.”
She shook her head once, sharp and rehearsed, like she was trying to scrub the truth of what we were from her own mind. “I need to be the version of me they trust. The one who’s always composed. Always objective. I can’t walk into a legal debrief looking like someone who—” Her voice faltered for a second. “—fooled around with aplayer. I could get fired for this.”
Her voice was even, yet I could still taste her moan in my mouth. My hand still ached from holding her. The whiplash was brutal.
“Is that what this was?” I asked, stepping in until no space remained between us. “Fooling around? No, don’t do that to us. That’s unfair and a lie, and you damn well know it. You let me in and let me be there for you. Don’t minimize that.”
Her eyes flickered. Just the smallest shift, like she heard me—but the armor was already back in place. She gripped her keys tighter.
