Page 60 of Where I Should’ve Been

Clay nods and starts dealing to the rest of the table, and I don’t miss the little smirk Tad flashes me as I head for the bathroom.

The hallway is quiet, a stark contrast to the buzz of the bar. I make quick work of using the restroom, and as I’m finishing washing and drying my hands, my phone buzzes in my jeans pocket.

I check the screen, expecting it to be a dirty text from Tad, but I’m stunned into silence when I find I have a voice mail from Logan.

Against my better judgment, I press play as I step back into the dim hallway.

“Breeze, it’s me. Look, I know you hate me, and you feel betrayed and everything else. I know I’m the last person on the fucking planet you want to talk to, but I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing here. I’m drowning. Everything is going tits up with the galleries. You’re the only one who knows them inside and out. Just…call me back. Please. I’m begging you.”

His voice cracks on the last word, and the ache that follows is sharp enough to steal my breath. I lean back against the wall, phone pressed tight to my chest.

There’s a small part of me that wants to step in and save him. But the part of me that’s tired of sacrificing myself for everyone else’s needs prevents me from doing anything at all.

“You okay?”

My head jerks up, and there’s Tad, half shadowed at the end of the hall. His gaze is steady, too steady, like he can see the crack in my armor even in the dim light.

I waver between telling him the truth or just keeping it surface-level. Deep down, I want to tell Tad everything. And boy oh boy, that’s fucking scary.

Sure, one night I confessed to him about Logan and the galleries and how I ended up on hiatus in Red Bridge and he revealed fond memories about his mom, but that’s not something we need to be doing all the time.

Frankly, we shouldn’t be doing it all.

Because we’re supposed to be casual.

We are casual.

“I’m fine,” I eventually say and tuck my phone away.

He doesn’t look convinced. He takes a step closer, then another, until his presence is a wall in front of me. “You sure? You don’t look fine.”

“It’s nothing.” I force a smile that doesn’t quite fit.

For a second, I think he’s going to press, dig deeper, and urge me to be vulnerable with him in ways I shouldn’t be with a man I’m not in a serious relationship with.

But he doesn’t do that at all.

He kisses me instead.

His mouth crashes against mine, and it’s not gentle or teasing. It’s hungry. It’s raw. It’s deep and powerful in a way that I can feel all the way to my bones.

His hand cups the side of my face, the other anchoring at my hip, and every part of me screams yes, even as logic whispers, “we’re just casual” into my ear.

But the only thing I can do is kiss him back.

A little moan escapes my throat as I clutch at his shirt and pull him even closer to me. The world narrows to the taste of him, the feel of his tongue stroking mine, and the deep, throbbing ache between my thighs that’s screaming for more.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Clay’s voice booms over the speaker system, jolting us to abruptly end the kiss. “We’re going to take a fifteen-minute break. Grab a drink, use the bathroom, and remember, if you’re not back at your table in time, you’re disqualified.”

Instantly, footsteps start echoing down the hall as people spill from the poker room, and we break apart as quick as we can. We’re both breathless, and our eyes are still locked like we’ve just been caught doing something forbidden.

Which is ridiculous, I know. We’re both adults. We could walk right out there hand in hand, and no one could say a damn thing.

But there’s a rush in the secrecy. An electric, dangerous thrill that makes my pulse skip and my knees a little weak and makes me want more.

More of his kiss. More of being in his bed. More of his hands on my body. More of him and the way he makes me feel.

Tad leans in, and his mouth just barely brushes my ear. “Betsy,” he murmurs, low enough that only I can hear, “you better be in Tom’s bed tonight.”