Page 57 of Off-Limits as Puck

DO NOT ANSWER:Who’s laughing?

DO NOT ANSWER:You still have my jacket.

Me:I’ll return it.

DO NOT ANSWER:Keep it. Looks better on you.

DO NOT ANSWER:Everything looks better on you.

DO NOT ANSWER:Or off you. Vegas proved that.

Me:STOP.

DO NOT ANSWER:You texted me first.

DO NOT ANSWER:Mixed signals, Doc.

He’s right. I’m giving mixed signals like a broken traffic light. Stop, go, yield, crash into me and let’s burn together. This is exactly what Maddy warned about. The unsustainable tension that’s going to explode and take everything with it.

Me:No more personal texts. No more looks across rooms. No more dances at galas.

DO NOT ANSWER:What about therapy sessions?

Me:Professional only.

DO NOT ANSWER:I can do professional.

DO NOT ANSWER:Can you?

The challenge in those two words makes me grip my phone tighter.

Me:Yes.

DO NOT ANSWER:Prove it. Tomorrow’s session. 10 AM.

DO NOT ANSWER:Wear the blazer. The black one with the buttons.

DO NOT ANSWER:I promise to be very, very professional about it.

I’m saved from responding by someone entering the bathroom. I shove my phone away and escape to my office, where I spend therest of the afternoon accomplishing absolutely nothing except staring at those texts and wondering how everything got so complicated.

No, that’s a lie. I know exactly how it got complicated.

Vegas. The laundry room. The equipment shed. The dance floor. Every moment we’ve pretended we could control this thing between us.

My phone buzzes one more time as I’m packing up to leave.

DO NOT ANSWER:For what it’s worth, I’d rather be unprofessional with you than professional with anyone else.

DO NOT ANSWER:See you tomorrow, Dr. Clark.

I don’t respond. Can’t respond. Because what would I say? That I feel the same? That professional is starting to feel like a straitjacket? That I’m one more loaded look away from throwing everything away just to taste him again?

Instead, I grab his jacket from the hook, definitely not breathing in his scent, and head home to my safe, scheduled, appropriate life. Where I’ll have dinner with Jake tomorrow night and pretend he’s what I want. Where I’ll plan sessions that maintain boundaries I’m desperate to cross. Where I’ll lie in bed and think about Reed like clockwork.

Maddy’s right. This is going to blow up.

The only question is whether I’ll survive the explosion.

---