Page 5 of Off-Limits as Puck

He’s not wrong. Even now, part of my brain is cataloging his behavior, filing away observations about athlete psychology and the way he can see me for who I am. It’s an occupational hazard I’ve never been able to turn off.

“You want an honest answer?”

“Always.”

“I can’t remember.” It should embarrass me, but there’ssomething about the way he’s looking at me that makes honesty feel safe. “Even tonight, even here, I keep analyzing everything. It’s like I can’t turn my brain off.”

“What are you analyzing right now?”

“You.” The word slips out before I can stop it. “The way you hold yourself, the way you talk about your career like it’s something that happens to you instead of something you control. The fact that you asked me to dance instead of just suggesting we go somewhere more private.”

“Would you have said yes if I’d suggested somewhere more private?”

The question hangs between us. The smart answer is no. The safe answer is no. But standing here in his arms, feeling more alive than I have in months, smart and safe feel overrated.

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I’ve never been in this situation before.”

“What situation is that?”

“Being attracted to someone I just met. Actually, being attracted to someone period. It’s been a while since I’ve let myself even look at someone.”

Something shifts in his expression at that confession. His hand tightens slightly on my back, and when he speaks, his voice is rougher than it was before.

“How long is a while?”

“Long enough that I’m probably out of practice at this whole flirting thing.”

“For what it’s worth, you’re doing just fine.”

The song ends, but instead of stepping back, Reed keeps his arms around me. The next song starts, something with a more upbeat tempo, but we continue our slow sway like we haven’tnoticed the change.

“I should really get back to my friends,” I say, though I make no move to leave his arms.

“Should you?” His thumb is still tracing those maddening circles on my back. “Or do you want to?”

“There’s a difference?”

“There’s always a difference.” He leans down so his lips are closer to my ear. “What do you want?”

The way he says that does something to me, makes me want things I haven’t wanted in years. Makes me want to be reckless, spontaneous, everything I’ve never been. Hell, it sounds like he’s daring me to do just that.

“I want to keep dancing,” I whisper.

“Then we keep dancing.”

I lean on his shoulder as we dance through three more songs, our conversation flowing as easily as our movement. He tells me about growing up in Minnesota, about learning to skate before he could ride a bike. I tell him about my undergraduate years at UC Berkeley.

With each song, we move closer together. What started as a respectable distance between our bodies gradually disappears until there’s no space left at all. His hand has migrated from the small of my back to rest just above the curve of my hip, and mine has found its way to the back of his neck, fingers playing with the soft hair there.

“I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to know you can say no,” he says during a particularly quiet moment between songs.

My heart starts beating faster. “Okay.”

“Would you like to get out of here? Maybe grab some coffee, walkaround, see the city?” He pauses, his eyes searching mine. “I’m not ready for this to end.”

I should say no. I should go back to my friends, stick to the plan, be responsible Dr. Chelsea Clark who makes good decisions and doesn’t follow strange men around Vegas at midnight.

Instead, I find myself nodding.

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