Page 82 of Blacklist

That’s not why I came back, I remind myself. Why is it so hard to remember that when she’s around?

“What does my brother want to talk to you about?” she asks.

“No business talk,” I tell her. “This is a date.”

“You’re really going to act like this is the real deal, aren’t you?”

“You bet.” I flash her a smile, and despite her best efforts, she grins back.

“So, what are we going to talk about?”

“There was a time we had plenty to talk about,” I remind her.

“Times change,” she says softly.

I clutch the steering wheel a bit tighter. Like it or not, we aren’t the same people we were back then. So much has happened to both of us. I’m not eager to share the last few years of my life with her. She’ll expect me to make amends. I don’t owe her—or anyone else—an apology.

I decide to focus on her. “That reminds me. Poppy said you’re not riding anymore.”

She flinches in her seat and, for a second, I glimpse her there, hiding behind the wall she’s built between herself and everyone else.

“You used to love to talk about your horses,” I remind her.

“I fell,” she says. “It was serious. I had to have surgery.” Each word comes out haltingly as if she’s choosing them very carefully. That’s how she works. She decides what to show others. It’s why we didn’t work.

“When was this?” I might have respected that years ago, but I have no patience for it now.

“A couple years ago.” She turns to stare out the window, and for a moment, I’m somewhere else in a different time, wondering how to reach the girl who’s right next to me. Maybe I never reached her then. Maybe I’ll never reach her now.

“And you still can’t ride?” I ask, trying to make sense of the skeletal information she’s giving me.

“It hurts,” she whispers. “There’s nerve damage. I can only last a few minutes before it’s too much.”

“So you gave it up entirely?”

“Wouldn’t you?” she says.

“I guess I’d steal a few minutes of happiness over losing something I loved entirely.”

“I guess we’re different people.” She’s back behind her wall completely now.

Our circumstances are different. We’ve become unrecognizable in some ways. But, no matter how high she builds her fortress or how carefully she wears her mask, I see what she’s trying to hide. She’s still there: the girl who broke my heart.

“Come up with me?” I ask as I pull into my reserved spot under Twelve and South.

She looks as if she’s considering this request, her eyes darting to the elevator at the corner. “I’m not sure you can be trusted in enclosed spaces.”

“I’ll be good,” I promise.

“Maybe I should just—”

“I’m sure Zeus would like to see you,” I say. Bringing up the dog is a stroke of genius, because she’s out of the door before I finish the sentence. She keeps her distance from me, walking with a healthy space between us.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Ford,” she warns as we step inside the elevator.

I draw a cross over my heart before hitting the button for the penthouse. We might be on opposite sides of the elevator, but I still feel the energy pulsing between us. I don’t have to press against her to feel her heart racing. A small bead of sweat trickles down her forehead. It’s hot but not quite summer yet. No, there’s another reason she’s heating up. When she thinks I’m not looking, she dares a glimpse in my direction. What would she do if I closed the space between us and pulled her against me?

She’d let me. I know it. But I’m not giving her the satisfaction of making the first move. Adair will wind up back in my bed—of that I’m certain. When she does it, she’ll practically crawl there and have no one to blame but herself.