Page 68 of Hard Pass

More interviews, no doubt. Does she have anything yet?

Our eyes meet and a foreign fucking feeling spreads through my chest.

She’s not looking at me like everyone else is—waiting for me to screw up.

Not judging, not accusing, but more like she saw something out here and doesn’t know what to do with it.

I hold her gaze and then see her lips curl up in a ghost of a smile before she turns and walks back into the tunnel.

I almost call out to her.

“Yo.”

The shout pulls me out of my thoughts where my three worlds are colliding—football, friends, and whatever category Dublin falls into.

I turn to see the guys in the first row of seats, feet on the railings, acting like they own the place.

“We still hitting the bar after you’re done?” Tristan calls out.

“Is it Wednesday?” I ask.

“That would mean yes,” Malachi says as he reaches out to fist bump me.

I glance toward the tunnel, distracted by Dublin. “Give me a minute. I need to uh—”

“Take your time. Clearly by that practice, you need all the reps you can get,” Tristan teases.

“Fuck off,” I say and flip him the bird. Those words coming from anyone else would be an automatic fight. But from them, it’s like my own personal therapy. The whole it’s okay if your family teases you but no one else can thing.

And these guys are my family.

“My bad.” Tristan pats his chest and grins. “You’ll snap out of it soon. We have faith.”

“How about I have faith that whoever that woman was watching you is hot as fuck,” Jaxon says, lifting his chin toward the tunnel. “Who was she?”

“Who was who?” I feign cluelessness.

“You actually think we’re going to buy that a hot woman walked on the field and you didn’t notice her?” Malachi asks. He glances over my shoulder to where Dublin was standing. “Because we sure as shit noticed her.”

“That’s the investigator,” I say casually.

It takes a whole three seconds for the ohhhhs to drag out.

“The investigator,” Tristan says, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah. The one he referred to as fine.” Malachi whistles. “She was way more than fine.”

I smack his feet off the railing and roll my eyes. “Shut up.”

“Man’s under investigation and still pulling that kind of attention,” Jaxon says. “Mad respect, dawg.” He holds a fist out for me to bump.

I leave him hanging. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh,” Tristan says. “Sure it isn’t.”

I shake my head, grab a water bottle, and take a long pull on it simply to break up the conversation. “It’s that bad, huh?”

“Your arm or your hand?” Jaxon asks.