Page 32 of The Wrong Play

I hadn’t even buttoned my jeans yet when she said it.

“I need to go.”

I blinked, still in a post-orgasmic haze, my brain taking a solid three seconds to catch up. “What?”

But she was already moving. Fast.

She shimmied her dress back down, fixed her bra, and smoothed her hair. Then grabbed the door handle like she was escaping a crime scene.

I lunged for her wrist. And missed.

“Hey—wait a second.”

Spoiler alert. She didn’t wait. She bolted. She slipped right through the door and disappeared into the crowded bar before I could even breathe.

I stood there, my jeans half-zipped, completely fuckingstunned. Had I imagined that?

That insane, mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex?

Had I hallucinated the way she’d gasped my name like it was a fucking prayer?

I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at the strands as I tried to shake off the whiplash. What the fuck just happened?

I stared at the door, still swinging slightly from her rush to get the hell away from me. No. No way. That was not how this ended.

I was still reeling, still feeling her nails on my back, still aching to kiss every inch of her all over again, and she just ran?

I hurriedly zipped up my jeans, and shoved open the door.

The bar was a blur of bodies and music, the bass vibrating under my feet as I scanned the room, searching for that flash of dark blonde hair.

There was no sign of her.

I cursed under my breath, shoving a hand through my hair as I spun on my heel and bolted for the front door. My pulse pounded like the relentless bassline threatening to drive me insane as I yanked it open and stepped outside.

I scanned the street, searching, but she was nowhere. Just a bunch of people milling around, giving me weird looks—probably because I looked like I’d just gone three rounds with a wildcat.

I exhaled sharply, jaw clenching as frustration clawed up my spine.

Where the hell did she go?

I lingered for another second, half-expecting to see her slipping around a corner or ducking into a car. But there was nothing—no trace of her at all.

With a muttered curse, I stepped back inside, the door clicking shut behind me.

I exhaled through my nose, dragging my hands down my face before heading back to the bar.

I barely made it back before my legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the stool like I’d just gotten off a damn rollercoaster.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. I was wrecked. I’d said I was going to ruin her.

But I was the one who’d been ruined. Shaken to my fucking core.

My shirt was half-untucked, my collar pulled so wide it looked like I’d been in a fight. My hair? A total disaster, thanks to her fingers tugging it. My face burned from the heat still running through my veins, my skin buzzing like it had been permanently marked by her touch. I could still smell her on me.

And my chest hurt. Like, actually ached, and I had no idea what the hell to do with that.

I sat there, staring at nothing, trying to catch my breath, and then?—

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