Page 94 of Hard Pass

Until her.

Dublin doesn’t look at me the way everyone else does. Not like a headline. Not like a quarterback. Not like someone she can get something from.

When’s the last time a woman pushed back on me or called me on my bullshit? Never.

It has to be the challenge that has me thinking about her nonstop.

Maybe.

But then I picture her standing in the rain on my doorstep telling me she was worried about me. I remember the stiff set of her shoulders, unintimidated, as she faced me down that first day in the conference room. I see her watching my dad tear me apart and not once looking at me like it’s my fault.

Those are the things I can’t shake.

Not the sex.

Okay, fine. Definitely the sex too.

But fuck. I run a hand through my hair. It’s more than that. It’s . . . her.

She sees me.

She has her life and her shit together and that’s so much more attractive than anyone I’ve dated before.

Something about her composure and dedication, about the way she looks at me even when having to pretend the other night didn’t happen, makes me feel . . . safe. Desired in a way so very different from the women wanting to bag an athlete with a large spending allowance.

Everything in my life feels so goddamn loud lately—my dad, the investigation, the fucking ability to throw the ball—and yes, I’m well aware Dublin’s responsible for one of them.

And yet for some reason, there’s a presence about her that quiets the noise and makes me feel like maybe I’m not losing my damn mind after all.

My phone buzzes. I welcome the distraction from the current mindfuck, but not the distractor.

Dad.

The name sits there on the screen longer than it should.

Then I do something I’ve never done before—I block his number.

Done—no hesitation, no second thought—just done.

Why though?

Because she saw what he does to you? Because the shame is still there?

Because I’m done pretending it doesn’t get to me?

Fuck if I know, but for now, it’s blocked.

No doubt he’ll show up sooner rather than later—again—just to let his presence be known, but for now, I’m making another choice to close him down. To choose to not listen to his shit.

I shove the phone back in my pocket and head down the tunnel, light from the field breaking ahead. This is something I understand.

Something I can control—or at least be able to.

My hand trembles again. Still off. Still not right.

But that’s not what’s running through my head.

A one-time thing. Something we got out of our systems. Something she can walk away from.