Page 85 of Playing the Field

“Yeah,” I whisper, my hands still resting on his chest, feeling the unsteady thrum of his heartbeat beneath my palms.

We stand there, breathing hard, caught in the wreckage of what almost happened.

Graham closes his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose before stepping back, putting space between us.

I don’t know if I feel relieved or devastated.

Maybe both.

I swallow, pressing my fingers to my lips, still swollen from his kiss. “We need to talk.”

He nods, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. We do.”

I move to the couch, curling my legs beneath me, and he follows, sitting across from me, his elbows braced on his knees.

For a moment, neither of us speaks.

Then—

“I heard Brooke.”

Graham’s jaw tightens.

I push forward, needing to get this out. “I heard her talking about the rumors. About how it looks that I might get the permanent team doctor position because of you.”

His gaze snaps to mine, sharp and unreadable. “Ana⁠—”

I shake my head. “Just let me say this.”

He clenches his jaw but nods.

I take a breath, steadying myself. “I need this job, Graham. Not just because I love it, but because I earned it. I need to know that if I’m chosen for the permanent position, it’s because of my work, not because of who I am—” I break off, voice faltering.

His eyes darken. “Not because of who you’re sleeping with?”

I flinch, but he’s not wrong.

The words hang between us, heavy and suffocating.

Graham exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Ana, I didn’t do anything. If you get this job, it’s because you deserve it. Not because I pulled strings. Not because of us.”

My throat tightens. “I want to believe that.”

He looks at me then, really looks at me, and I see the sincerity in his expression. “Then believe it.”

I exhale, my fingers curling into the hem of my sweater. “It’s not just the job, Graham. It’s everything. It’s—” I hesitate. “It’s what you said before. About me being immature.”

His shoulders tense.

I force myself to hold his gaze. “That hurt.”

Graham lets out a slow breath, his face drawn. “I know.”

The silence between us stretches, thick with unspoken words.

“I wasn’t fair to you,” he says finally, his voice quiet but firm. “I was angry. Frustrated. And I lashed out. You didn’t deserve that.”

I study him, trying to parse out the truth in his expression.