Page 111 of Hard Pass

“It’s a valid question given the situation we find ourselves in.”

“It is, but not for pillow talk.” His tongue darts out to lick his lips as he studies me for a second. Is he deciding how honest to be? “Two-way street on the questions?”

“I have nothing to hide,” I say and take a sip of my wine.

“Okay.” He nods. “I date around. Nothing serious as of late. Doesn’t really fit.”

“What doesn’t? The dating part or the serious part?”

“Both?” At least he’s honest. “My life, my schedule, the demands on me . . . it’s a lot. I don’t have time to invest in someone like that and have learned from the guys that most women say they can handle it, but once the excitement of dating an NFL quarterback wears off, the stress of the situation shows the cracks in the foundation.”

“So you just . . .” I gesture vaguely trying to find the words that won’t wound me in the process. I fail. “Show up, hook up, and then walk away?”

His eyes flick up to mine. “Something like that.”

Gotta appreciate his honesty.

“Well, shit.” I bark out a laugh. “Doesn’t bode well for me now, does it?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you plan on walking away.”

My fingers still in his hair for half a second. How in the hell am I supposed to take that? “That sounds like a challenge, Valor.”

“Maybe it is.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “Pretty sure I’m the one who came knocking on your door tonight, Trouble. Maybe I’m willing to experiment.”

“And maybe you know where your bread is being buttered and don’t want to piss her off.”

He laughs, grabs my hand, and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to its palm.

It shouldn’t feel like anything.

It feels like everything.

“Your turn. Same question,” he asks.

“I guess it’s the same as you. I travel a lot for work. I don’t like to deal with bullshit in general and especially not someone else’s, so . . . neither are conducive to anything long-term.”

“So, no long line of broken hearts behind you?”

“Please,” I scoff. “I don’t stick around long enough for that.”

He grins. “I don’t believe you for a second.”

“You don’t have to.” I pause. “Says the man who probably has to sneak out because he can’t remember her name in the morning.”

“I believe you were the one trying to sneak out of my place.” He quirks a brow.

“I was not.” I feign innocence, placing a hand over his face that he wrestles playfully away.

“Uh-huh. You were.” He laces his fingers with mine to hold it still on his chest. “And hey, I love how there’s just an assumption that I’m a fuckboy.”

I arch an eyebrow. “If the shoe fits . . .”

He chuckles. “Don’t believe everything you read on social media.”