Page 100 of Rogue Riders Duet

“I…” My voice breaks. I can’t even look at her fully. “I can’t.”

Her chest is rising and falling rapidly as she lets go of me, like she’s struggling to get enough air.

“That was…” I shake my head, eyes burning. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Accusation is blurred behind the tears in her eyes, and I can read it perfectly. She knew. She knew I’d ruin it, and she kissed me anyway.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry,” I manage, even though it’s not enough, not even close. “That was a mistake.”

I turn before I do something worse, like convince myself that there’s a world where this could work, where the ten years between us, and the history and promises to Dane don’t matter.

Dane. Right. Fuck.

“Call your brother,” I say without turning around. “Please. He’s worried.”

With that, I walk out, pushing open the door as if I can outrun everything about this. About her.

The gym door clicks shut behind me, and the full shame of what I’ve done isn’t even close to settling by the time I round the corner toward the elevator and nearly slam straight into Luc Delacroix.

He stares at me, eyes narrowing like he can read the guilt bleeding off me in waves.

“What the hell, Greer?” he asks, blinking at the wild look I know I must be wearing. “What are you sprinting from?”

He cranes his neck, looking past me down the hallway, but I just shake my head and push through the stairwell door.

It slams behind me, echoing down the concrete wall as I take the stairs two at a time.

My hand drags over my mouth like I can erase the kiss with friction, rub away the feel of her lips, but it’s useless.

The taste of her is still on my tongue.

The sound of her breath is still tangled with mine.

Fuck.

What have I done?

NINETEEN

The gym door clicks shut behind Finn, and I stand there, staring at the space he left behind like it might open back up and give me a do-over.

Another sob claws up my throat before I can stop it, but I choke it down. Barely.

What the fuck did I just do?

The air still smells like him. Sweat, soap, and something warm and syrupy that feels like safety, which is bullshit, because nothing about this feels safe.

My whole body feels peeled open, nerves flayed raw, the ghost of his hands still skating over every inch of skin I usually keep hidden, and his voice still reverberates in my head.

“Show me the truth of it.”

And I let him. I fucking let him see everything.

The scars. The damage. The wreckage.

I didn’t just let him see it, I guided his hand. Invited him in like I wanted to be known, and I could afford that kind of closeness.