Page 205 of Wild Card 13

The old rhythm breathed once between us, just enough to become dangerous.

I stacked the legal folder over the printed travel report, aligning the corners with more precision than necessary. “Why are you here?”

Ty’s smile faded by degrees. He looked toward the darkened corridor, then back at me. “I saw your office light.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No,” he admitted. “It’s what made me stop walking.” He shifted his weight slightly. “You were still here.”

“So you came upstairs to confirm?”

“Maybe.”

“That is not believable.”

“I didn’t say it was my best answer.”

Despite myself, my mouth softened.

He took one step farther into the room, then stopped again, as if the distance between us had rules now and he was trying, carefully, to learn them. “I thought about going home,” he said.

“You should have. You have recovery in the morning. You should be sleeping.”

“I know.”

“And yet.”

“And yet,” he agreed. He glanced at the takeout container again. “Did you really only eat half?”

“It was a large portion.” I sighed. “How was Denver?” I asked, because small talk was safer than whatever this was becoming.

“Thin.”

I blinked. “The entire city?”

“The air. My lungs are still filing a complaint.” His smile warmed for one brief, lovely second. Then it softened into something that made my throat tighten.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“That is never true.”

“Just missed this.”

My lungs forgot their next instruction.

He looked around the office like he was giving me somewhere else to put my eyes if I needed it. “You correcting me. Pretending you’re not amused. Threatening me. Very on brand.”

I should have answered quickly. I should have rolled my eyes and told him his exhaustion was making him sentimental and sent him home before either of us forgot where we were.

Instead, I sat there with my hand on a legal folder and my heart behaving like it had not learned a single thing in eight years. “You can’t just say things like that,” I said quietly.

Ty’s gaze came back to mine. “I know,” he said.

He swallowed, and for a second, every trace of public Buzz fell away. No locker-room noise. No interviews. No bright, reckless confidence built to hold up under lights and attention and thirty reporters asking versions of the same question.

Just Ty. Looking at me like asking for anything mattered because my answer mattered more. “I’m not trying to mess up your night,” he said.