Page 103 of Hard Pass

“Okay. Thank you,” she says as she stands up and starts gathering her things.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“It’s getting late and I’ve put in a lot of hours. I’m heading home.”

She says the words, but I swear to fucking God there’s something else here she’s hiding. Because she just went from clearing me to . . . I don’t know what.

“I’ll walk you out,” I say.

“No need to. I’ve got it.” Her smile is strained, demeanor totally changed.

“Dublin?”

“I’m fine. Really,” she says, shouldering her tote bag and going to walk past me.

I grab her arm. “I didn’t ask how you were. I only said your name.”

She blinks and swallows, those bee-stung lips of hers parted slightly and so fucking tempting.

“You want to tell me what’s wrong?” I ask, my voice quieter now, but there’s still an edge to it I don’t bother hiding.

It’s one thing to say we can’t do this again. It’s another to dismiss me completely.

Her gaze flicks away first.

That tells me everything I need to know.

“The case will be over soon,” she says. “I don’t know. I guess that means . . .”

“Means what?” I press.

Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag. “It means this”—she gestures between us, quick and dismissive, as if she can erase it if she moves fast enough—“needs to be over too.”

My chest tightens. It’s immediate and unexpected.

“You want this to be over, or you think it should be over?” I ask.

“I don’t know what to think,” she fires back, frustration bleeding through now. “That’s kind of the problem.”

I chuckle. It’s short and humorless. “Funny, because you keep telling me it is and at the same time, you keep bringing it up. Sounds to me like your wants are louder than your thoughts.”

Her eyes snap to mine. “I’m the one actually trying to follow the rules,” she says.

“You mean, your rules.”

“Rules nonetheless.” She lifts her chin.

Yeah. There she is. Pushing back. Fighting it.

“I’m trying to protect my job,” she adds. “Your career. If this gets out—”

“Stop.” I take a step closer, itching to goddamn touch. “Stop hiding behind that excuse.”

Her breath hitches.

Yeah, she remembers every fucking second just like I do. The kisses. The fingernails dug into my biceps. The half-moan, half-begged call of my name as she came.

“It’s not an excuse,” she whispers.