Page 53 of Off-Limits as Puck

“Because it hurts.” She looks up at me, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Because thinking about what-ifs is torture when we both know the ending.”

“Do we?”

“Yes. You’re chaos, remember? And I’m—”

“Perfect,” I finish. “Controlled and scheduled and everything I’ll never be.”

“I’m not perfect.”

“No,” I agree, spinning her gently. “You’re better. You’re real.”

The song starts to fade, and I know Jake’s probably back, lookingfor her. These stolen moments are ending, like they always do.

“Thank you for the dance,” I say formally, stepping back to appropriate distance.

“Reed—”

“Go back to him.” The words taste like ash. “Be safe. Be smart. Be everything you’re supposed to be.”

Something flashes across her face—hurt? anger? —but before she can respond, Jake appears with champagne and easy smiles.

“Hendrix,” he says pleasantly. “Thanks for keeping Chelsea company.”

“My pleasure.” I nod to them both. “Enjoy your evening.”

I walk away without looking back, but I feel her eyes on me. At the bar, I order water because whiskey and wanting are a dangerous combination. Weston reappears, eyebrows raised.

“That looked intense.”

“Just a dance.”

“Right. A dance that looked like foreplay with clothes on.”

“Drop it.”

“Nic—”

“I said drop it.”

He studies me, then signals the bartender. “Water for me too. Got to drive home.”

We stand there, two hockey players in uncomfortable tuxes, watching the party swirl around us. Chelsea and Jake work the room, her hand on his arm, his at her back. They look like what they’re supposed to be—young professionals at a charity event.

But I see the way she keeps touching her earring. The careful distance she maintains when they stop to talk. The way her eyes find me in the crowd, just for seconds, before looking away.

Patricia was right. Whatever’s happening in our sessions is working. Just not the way anyone thinks.

“I’m heading out,” I tell Weston. “Early practice tomorrow.”

“Want company?”

“Nah. I’m good.”

I make my rounds, shaking hands and playing nice, before escaping to the valet stand. While waiting for my car, I loosen the torture device masquerading as a bow tie and breathe deep.

Behind me, the door opens. I know it’s her before turning—that same magnetic awareness that’s been driving me crazy all night.

“You okay?” Chelsea asks softly.

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