Page 98 of Beyond the Lines
But it didn’t work.
Not for me, anyway.
After a while, she looks up at me, and I meet her gaze. And she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Her cheeks are flushed, her curls wild around her face, but hereyes are startlingly clear. Too clear. Like she’s already calculating her exit strategy.
“That was…” I begin, not sure where I’m going with it, but hating the silence.
“Good,” she finishes for me, sitting up suddenly. “Perfect.”
She detaches from me and swings her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for her clothes. I watch her dress—panties, bra, jeans, and tank top—and seeing her do something so normal for what feels like the only time does something funny to my chest.
“So,” she says, not looking at me, “we got it out of our systems?”
I prop myself up on one elbow, studying her carefully. “Did we?”
She glances at me, then away quickly. “That was the plan.”
The plan.
Right.
The plan she came up with when she was drunk. The plan that sounded dubious then and sounds even more so now that I’ve had her in ways I’ve been dreaming about for weeks. But I can’t tell if it’s a two-way street.
“And you think it worked?” I press, because apparently I’m a masochist.
She shrugs. “It should. That’s what people do, right? Fuck to get over people?”
“Not in my experience,” I say. “But maybe if that’s what you want to happen…”
She looks around the room. “I should go.”
“Don’t.” I sit up, the sheet pooling at my waist. “I can make breakfast.”
She’s already standing, searching for her jeans. “I have… things to do.”
“Lea—”
“This was supposed to be simple, Declan.” She finally looks at me, her eyes a mix of frustration and something that might be regret. “One time, that’s all.”
“And was it? Simple?”
She pauses. For a moment, I think she might be honest—might admit that what just happened between us was anything but simple—but instead she nods and pulls on her ankle boots.
“Yep. Mission accomplished,” she says. “Completely over it now.”
Bullshit. Complete, utter bullshit. But what am I supposed to say? She’s made up her mind, and I’d be as much of an asshole as Ben if I kept pushing her past the point she was comfortable with.
“So I’ll see you at the project meeting?” she asks, hovering by the door.
I nod, trying to match her casual tone. “See you then.”
She hesitates, just for a second, and I think she might say something real—something honest. But then she’s gone, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that feels like the period at the end of a very short story.
I fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Some vaccine.
All I feel is more infected than ever.
