Page 76 of Risking the Pucking Defense

I shake my head. It’s stupid. All of it.

I’m playing with fire.

Nothing good can come of these thoughts, of sneaking around in the shadows with a man I can’t have.

It’s for the best.

I might have come rushing out here to spend more time with him. But this is the right outcome.

What would we have even done had I gotten in that car?

I force those thoughts aside, get back to my feet, smooth my dress down, hold my head high, and walk back inside.

I ignore my cell for the rest of the night. I don’t know what’s worse—not having a message from him, or waking it up and seeing his name staring back at me.

Both are equally terrifying.

By the time I say my goodbyes and climb into the back of my own rideshare, I’m physically and mentally drained.

Thankfully, the driver is less than chatty, so I’m able to rest my head against the window and watch the evening pass me by.

I move on autopilot, forcing a smile at the concierge on shift and riding the elevator to my apartment. And the second I’m inside, my eyes drift to my balcony, and the image of Hayden standing out there shirtless fills my mind.

No one has been to my apartment. I keep my work and personal life separate. Not that difficult, seeing as I don’t really have a personal life.

After locking my door, I make my way through to my bedroom, stripping my dress off as I go. The second it plummets to the floor, I almost step out of it and leave it there in a pile, but I can’t. I love it too much. Wearing just my heels and my panties, I pick it up and take it into my walk-in closet and hang it up as it deserves. Then I lower my ass to the bench and set about undoing my shoes.

I wince when I put my weight on my bare feet, and I hobble through to the bathroom to remove the rest of tonight from my body. If only it could be as easy to erase my memories.

No matter how hard I’ve tried, I can’t get the events inside the elevator out of my head.

With a face clear of makeup and my hair twisted in a knot on top of my head, I pull on my pajamas and an oversized Vipers hoodie before making myself a drink, grabbing my cell, and curling up on my lounger on the balcony.

I’m not sure why I think it’ll help. All I can see out here is him. The way his big body took up almost all of the lounger opposite me. The sharp lines of his torso, specifically the two deep indentations that disappeared beneath his shorts. After tonight with him pressed up against me, I have a very good idea of what he’s hiding down there. I squeeze my thighs together as I give up the fight and finally allow myself to remember every moment of our time in that elevator, from the moment it jolted to a stop to having to force ourselves away from each other.

In that moment, it was the last thing I wanted to do. I would have happily spent the rest of the night in that small box, enjoying whatever Hayden wanted to give me. And that’s a problem. A really big fucking problem.

With fire licking through my veins and the desire to finish off the job he started all those hours ago, I make the colossal mistake of looking at my cell.

I gasp when I find a single message from him among all the other notifications that have come through since his last message.

My heart begins to race, and my stomach knots.

Hayden: I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable tonight. That was never my intention. If it isn’t already obvious, I like you, and I think you’re hot as hell. But I understand that you’re not in the same place, and I’m sorry if I got carried away. I blame it on the enclosed space. I hope you enjoy the rest of your night.

“Fuck,” I breathe, collapsing against the lounger. The thought of him being home alone now, feeling like he’s fucked up, doesn’t sit right with me, and despite knowing better, I find myself typing a reply only a few seconds later.

Hailee: Please don’t feel like you have to apologize, we were both there tonight, and both aware of our actions. You didn’t push me into anything. I’ve just got home and finally taken my heels off. Did you enjoy your night?

I hesitate to ask the question, aware that doing so will invite a response and will inevitably lead to a conversation, but in the end, I press send. If he’s gone home questioning everything, then a little light chitchat is the least he deserves.

As if he’s waiting for me, my message shows as read instantly, and then the dots begin bouncing, kicking my already racing heart into overdrive.

Hayden: Hey, I wasn’t expecting you to reply. I thought I’d blown it. I’m sorry for asking you to leave early. That was…wishful thinking, I guess. My night got considerably worse once those elevator doors opened, but I guess you don’t really want to hear that.

I squeeze my eyes closed, remembering all too well seeing what I assume was his Uber driving off after I went running after him.

I can’t tell him that, though. It’ll give him ideas…dangerous ideas…