Page 98 of Hard Pass

“What are we looking at?” he murmurs, voice rough.

I don’t turn, don’t trust myself to, because if I do, I’ll know exactly how little space there is between us.

As it is, I can already feel him. The warmth of his body. The quiet presence of him standing at my back without actually touching me.

And he knows it.

That’s the problem.

He dips his head slightly, his mouth close to my ear so that the heat of his breath sends a shiver down my spine.

Every bit of it is intentional.

My grip on the remote tightens.

“Hmm?” he prompts.

What was the question, again? It’s not like I can think with him crowding my space and senses.

What are we looking at?

“Film,” I say, keeping my voice as even as possible. “You should try it sometime.”

He emits a soft huff of amusement. “I watch it all the time. But it’s hard to focus on this one when you’re blocking the view.”

“Then maybe you should stand up taller.” Please don’t touch me. I won’t be able refuse you. “I’m not blocking anything.”

“You’re blocking plenty,” he murmurs.

Don’t react, Dublin.

My pulse doesn’t listen. It jumps but at least I remain still outwardly.

His hands framing my arms scoot in closer so that now we’re so close I can feel the hair on his arms against mine and the fabric of his shirt against my back.

“Cole.” A warning. A plea. “I told you we can’t do this.”

“Do what?” he asks, voice threaded with just enough teasing to make my jaw tighten. “Watch film?”

I emit a slow exhale, refusing to take the bait. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then maybe you should be more specific,” he murmurs softly. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re analyzing my performance without me.”

I shake my head as if the action will physically reset the moment. It doesn’t. My body still wants and my mind still remembers. “Cole—”

“Yes?” He lifts one of his hands and very carefully moves my hair off my neck without touching my skin. It’s intimate. Simple.

“You’re distracting me—”

“Good.” He traces a finger up and down the midline of my neck. I fight the urge to lean into it.

“What I’m trying to tell you is I might have something,” I say, deciding to let him in on this—especially if my hypothesis is true. Cole’s body tenses as I hit play before he can distract me even more. “Watch.”

The film rolls. Cole’s on the line of scrimmage positioned behind his center. He takes the snap and drops back into the pocket. He releases the ball. Incomplete.

I lean forward slightly, putting space between us—or trying to—while pointing at the screen.

“There!” I say quickly. “Did you see it?”