Page 34 of Ruger's Rage

"That was..." I trail off, unable to find the right words.

"Yeah," he agrees, voice rough. "It was."

Reality crashes back as a child's laughter rings out across the park.

I'm suddenly remembering where we are, what we're doing.

Kissing the President of an MC in broad daylight, days after getting a threatening text from my ex.

What am I thinking?

"I should get back," I say, standing abruptly. "Lunch break's almost over."

He rises more slowly, studying my face. "You're panicking."

"I'm being responsible."

"Bullshit. You're running."

The accusation stings because it's true. "Maybe I have reason to."

"Because of what just happened, or because of what happened before I met you?"

The question hits home.

Am I reacting to Ruger, or to the ghost of Marco that still haunts every interaction I have with men?

"Both," I admit. "This—whatever this is—it complicates things. I can't afford complications right now."

"Life is complications," he says. "Question is which ones are worth navigating."

His perspective is so different from mine.

To him, problems are puzzles to solve.

To me, they're potential traps.

"I need to think," I say finally. "About all of this."

"Fair enough." He nods, giving me space. "Just don't overthink yourself into isolation. Not everyone is a threat, Tildie."

"You are," I whisper. "Just not in the way I expected."

Something shifts in his expression—understanding, maybe even vulnerability. "Same goes."

We walk back to the bar in silence, something between us shifting in that park.

At the door, he pauses. "I've got club business tonight. But I'll be by tomorrow to check on you and Ellie."

The simple statement of intent—he'll be back, I'll see him again—shouldn't send relief coursing through me. But it does.

"I'll be here," I say, the words carrying more weight than they should.

He nods, eyes lingering on my lips for a moment before he turns away.

I watch him stride to his bike, my eyes lingering a little too long at his toned ass.

Dammit.

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