Page 72 of Bend

I can feel it before he says anything.

That shift.

The one where the light piss-taking starts getting edged out by something heavier.

I look back down at the bike and reach for the oil bottle. “Go on then. Spit it out.”

He leans one shoulder against the post. “Say what?”

I glance at him. “The real reason you’re here.”

There’s a pause.

Then, “You’ve been avoiding me.”

I tip the bottle, then stop before I pour. “Have I?”

Wolfe watches me for a second, then says, “Yeah. And I know it’s because of this thing between us.”

I frown at him like he’s gone fully insane. “What thing?”

That gets him moving.

Not much. Just enough to come a little closer, enough that I’ve got to tip my chin up a fraction to hold his gaze, and suddenly the whole garage feels a bit too small for the pair of us.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” he says.

I let out a dry little laugh. “Do I.”

“Yeah,” Wolfe says, steady as anything. “You do.”

I shake my head and turn back to the bike, reaching for the rag like this is still about the oil change and not the fact he’s standing in my space making my pulse go stupid. “You’re reading into things.”

“Am I.”

“Yes.”

“Right,” he says. “So the motel meant nothing.”

My jaw tightens. “Didn’t say that.”

I don’t answer.

Because I can’t.

Because that’s the problem, innit? The second I answer one honest thing, the rest of it comes with it. The wanting. The panic. The fact I’ve spent the whole bloody week avoiding him because it’s easier to act irritated than admit I can still feel his mouth on mine.

Wolfe takes another step closer. “Thorne.”

“Don’t.”

“No, you don’t get to do that. Not this time.”

I turn on him. “Do what?”

“Act like you haven’t got a clue what’s going on here.”

I bark out a laugh. “Who the fuck said it’s an act? Maybe I haven’t a bloody clue what you’re on about..”