Page 49 of Game Misconduct

I open my mouth, but no words come out. I can’t.

Not with him.

Not with my friends.

Maybe not even with my therapist.

“You don’t have to.” He’s still using that soft, soothing voice. The kind you use with a skittish kitten or an inconsolable child. “I’m here if you want to. But I’m also okay to just sit here. Can I sit here with you?”

A lump lodges in my throat, and it feels impossible to swallow, but somehow, I manage. I give a short, stilted nod, then force myself to inhale, hold the breath for three counts, and exhale. Then I do it again.

Nick gives me a gentle smile. “There we go.”

“Why are you being so nice to me? I’ve been nothing but nasty to you.”

“Because I know you,” he says simply.

I recoil. “No, you don’t.”

“I’ve heard Elsy talk about you for a decade. I didn’t know it was you, but I know you. And I’m not talking about that thing we don’t talk about.” His smile turns shy for a moment, a glimpse of vulnerability peeking through, before he covers it up. “We work together, we share friends and colleagues. They talk about you.”

My eyebrows dart into my hairline. “What do they say?”

“How cool you are. How fun you are to work with.” He takes another cheese fry, then pushes the plate back toward me. “It makes me wish you would show me that side of yourself, too. That I don’t get the stone wall.”

Reluctantly, I pick at the fries. I don’t want to eat them, not when I know he only ordered them to fuck with me. But I can’t deny I’m starving, and they’re here. I’ve always been a grazer; I eat what’s in front of me, even when I’m not hungry.

“I don’t know what to say to that,” I admit.

“There’s nothing you have to say.” He lifts one massive shoulder in a shrug. The cotton of his team T-shirt looks soft, and I have an inexplicable urge to bury my face in his chest, inhale the woodsy scent of his cologne and laundry detergent. Shove all my problems down deep and lose myself in him.

It would be too easy. Which is why I can’t allow myself to do it.

The bartender brings our meals, and Nick shoots me a wry grin as he unrolls his silverware from the napkin.

“This isn’t so bad, is it? Sharing a meal with me?”

“Could be worse,” I mutter.

“Aw, you love me.” He’s teasing. But he’s not taunting. He’s not being mean-spirited. If anything, I think he might be… flirting?

That’s ridiculous. He wouldn’t flirt with me. Not if he knows what’s good for him.

“Yep, sure do,” I tease right back. “Want to get married?”

As soon as the words are out, I regret it. We don’t have the kind of joking relationship where I can say things like that. Where I know he’ll take it how it’s intended.

His jaw drops, his face going slack with surprise. “Uh…”

I roll my eyes, trying to smother my sullen disappointment at his blank expression. “Forget I said it. I was being stupid.”

Nobody wants me. Nobody is interested in getting to know who I am, the real me. There’s a reason I’ve spent my entire life buried in textbooks and, now, work. Why I escape into fiction instead of muscling through reality.

“Bex—”

My phone vibrates on the bar between us, drawing my attention—and his. Elsy. My sister-in-law. His best friend.

The gravity of our situation washes over me like a cold shower. What am I doing? We’re so interconnected. He’s a patient, a player on the team I work for. This is crossing so many lines. I can’t flirt with him. I can’t even allow myself to want it.

No. This can’t happen. We can’t take back the past, but it doesn’t have to impact our working relationship in the present.

Nick nods to my phone. “Better get that before she sends you a fruit basket.”