Page 56 of Off-Limits as Puck

I look up to find him across the room, tray in hand, watching me. Not trying to hide it. Not pretending to be interested in whatever Weston’s saying beside him. Just... watching.

Our eyes lock, and the cafeteria fades to white noise. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t smirk. Just looks at me with an intensity that makes me forget why breathing is important.

“Dr. Clark?” The nutritionist touches my arm. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I manage, tearing my gaze away. “Just remembered I have a... thing. An appointment. Excuse me.”

I flee like the coward I am, abandoning my half-eaten salad and what’s left of my dignity. In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face and give myself a stern look in the mirror.

I pull out my phone and open his contact. Still saved as DO NOT ANSWER, though that ship has clearly sailed.

Me:This has to stop.

I stare at the message, then delete it. Too vague. Too dramatic.

Me:We need to maintain professional boundaries.

Delete. Too clinical.

Me:Stop looking at me like that.

Delete. Too revealing.

Me:This has to stop.

I hit send before I can overthink it again, then immediately regret everything. What am I, sixteen? Who texts their forbidden attraction to please stop being attractive?

His response comes thirty seconds later.

DO NOT ANSWER:Then stop thinking about me.

I laugh despite myself—a sharp, desperate sound that echoes off bathroom tiles.

Me:I’m not thinking about you.

DO NOT ANSWER:Liar. You’re thinking about last night.

Me:I’m thinking about how inappropriate it was.

DO NOT ANSWER:Which part? The dancing? The jacket? The way you shivered when I touched your back?

Me:All of it.

DO NOT ANSWER:But especially that last part.

I’m typing a response when another message appears.

DO NOT ANSWER:I know because I’m thinking about it too. Haven’t stopped.

DO NOT ANSWER:Probably won’t stop.

DO NOT ANSWER:That dress should be illegal, btw.

Me:Reed.

DO NOT ANSWER:Chelsea.

Me:This isn’t funny.

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