Page 52 of Off-Limits as Puck

She glances around, sees Patricia observing from the bar, several board members noting our interaction. Her jaw tightens.

“One dance,” she agrees, taking my hand. “And keep your hands appropriate.”

“When am I not appropriate?”

“Vegas. The laundry room. The equipment shed. Should I continue?”

I lead her onto the floor, pulling her in close but not too close. Professional but not distant. My hand finds her back, skin warm under my palm, and I feel her shiver.

“Cold?” I ask innocently.

“No.”

We move together, and muscle memory takes over. Her body remembers mine, falls into rhythm like we’ve done this a hundred times instead of once in a Vegas nightclub. She smells like expensive perfume and something uniquely her, and I have to focus on my breathing to keep control.

“You look beautiful,” I say quietly. “Jake’s a lucky man.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what? Compliment you?”

“Don’t pretend this is easy for you.”

“Nothing about you is easy for me.” My hand shifts lower, just barely, testing. “But I’m trying to be good.”

“Are you?”

“Dance with your boyfriend and find out.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

The words slip out, and she immediately tenses like she’s said too much. I force myself not to react, to keep moving like this information doesn’t rearrange everything.

“No?”

“We’ve been on three dates. That doesn’t make him—” She stops. “Why am I explaining this to you?”

“Because you want me to know. Because it matters what I think.Because—”

“Because I’m an idiot,” she finishes. “And this was a mistake.”

She starts to pull away, but I hold on gently. “The song’s not over.”

“Reed—”

“Please.” The word comes out rougher than intended. “Just... finish the dance.”

She settles back into my arms, tense but present. We move in silence while around us, Chicago’s elite celebrate their charitable contributions and pretend we’re all civilized.

“I think about it,” I admit quietly. “That morning. What would’ve happened if I’d woken up. If I’d asked you to stay properly instead of mumbling it half-asleep.”

“Don’t.”

“I think about finding you at breakfast. Learning your last name over coffee instead of in a locker room. Having your real number. Having time to—”

“Stop.” Her voice cracks. “Please. Just stop.”

“Why?”

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