Obsessed

Chapter 29

Ronnie stirred under the soft weight of her blankets, the morning light barely peeking through the curtains. Her head ached—nothing unbearable, just that dull throb behind the eyes that hinted at one too many glasses of wine. She groaned, shifting onto her side and squeezing her eyes shut.

Then it hit her.

Her eyes flew open as last night rushed back like a tidal wave.

The Blue Ribbon Ball.

The dancing.

The drinks.

The kiss.

“Oh my God,” she whispered into the quiet room, covering her face with both hands.

Her cheeks burned as images flashed through her head—Mark’s smile, the way his eyes had lingered on her dress, how close they had danced. And then… her pulling him by his tie, her lips on his, her mouth against his neck. Heat prickled over her skin, mortification lacing her every thought.

She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling in absolute horror.

“I kissed him,” she groaned. “I kissed him, and then I climbed him like a tree. Jesus Christ, Ronnie.”

A tiny, traitorous smile tugged at her lips.

It had been a good kiss. His lips had been warm and firm, just the right mix of gentle and demanding. And the way his hands had fit around her waist—she swallowed hard.

But then she remembered the way he’d pulled back. The softness in his eyes when he said she was drunk. The way she must’ve looked—half in his lap, lipstick probably smudged, throwing herself at him.

“What if he thinks I’m easy?” she mumbled, sitting up and burying her face in her hands. “What if he’s mad? What if I made everything weird?”

Her panic was like a snowball rolling downhill, picking up speed. She tried to shake it off as she stood, stretching her arms above her head and heading into the bathroom. After a quick shower, she went into full damage-control mode—taming her curls, brushing on some light makeup, and pulling on a soft gray turtleneck, black slacks, and ankle boots. Understated. Professional. Not “I-got-drunk-and-threw-myself-at-my-colleague.”

As she sipped her coffee and glanced at the clock, the dread only deepened.

She had to see him.

Had to look Mark in the face.

The drive to the precinct was a blur. Her heart pounded in her chest the entire time. Every red light felt like both a blessing and a delay in her impending doom.

When she finally parked, she didn’t move. She sat in the driver’s seat, white-knuckling the steering wheel like it might offer moral support.

“You’re a grown woman,” she muttered to herself. “You can handle this. It’s fine. Just act normal. Say good morning. Pretend nothing happened.”

Except something had happened.

And she had no idea what he was thinking.

With a deep breath, she stepped out of the car and walked up to the building, each footfall heavier than the last. The second she walked through the doors, she made a beeline for her office, clutching her coffee like a shield and praying for invisibility.

She saw him.

Out of the corner of her eye, Mark stood near the bullpen, leaning against a desk and talking to Jackson. As soon as she walked in, his gaze snapped to her. She didn’t look directly at him, but she felt the weight of his stare, the slight uptick at the corner of his mouth.

He smiled.

Oh God.

Ronnie quickened her pace, her heels clicking rapidly on the floor as she all but sprinted into her office. She shut the door and exhaled, her back against it, her heart racing all over again.

Ronnie stayed hidden in her office for as long as humanly possible. She organized paperwork that didn’t need organizing, re-labeled folders that were already labeled perfectly, and responded to emails with an urgency that bordered on obsessive. Anything to keep her mind—and eyes—off the man across the hall.

She sipped her coffee and watched the hallway like a hawk, flinching every time someone passed by her frosted glass door. Every so often, she caught a glimpse of his silhouette moving past. Tall. Confident. Casual.

She groaned again.

Why did he have to be so calm? So cool? So Mark?

There was a gentle knock on her door. Her entire body went rigid.

“Ronnie?” came Mark’s voice from the other side.

Panic.

She launched out of her chair and whispered, “s**t,” before darting toward the coat rack and grabbing her blazer. “Just a sec!” she called, praying her voice didn’t crack.

She flung the door open with a fake smile, blazer half on, trying to seem preoccupied and oh-so-busy.

“Oh—hey, Mark! Sorry, just about to run to, uh, Records. I have a few files to pull for that hospital follow-up, remember?” she said quickly, avoiding his eyes and slipping past him before he could say anything.

He blinked, slightly amused. “Need help?”

“Nope! All good! Totally manageable!” she called over her shoulder, disappearing down the hallway like her life depended on it.

And that was the theme for the rest of the morning.

Every time Mark rounded a corner, she suddenly had something urgent to do elsewhere. If he entered the break room, she was suddenly full of water and didn’t need coffee. If he lingered near her office, she “forgot” she had a call to make and shut her door.

Jackson noticed.

“Okay,” he said as he leaned over her desk around noon, chewing on a toothpick and smirking. “What’s going on with you and Marshalls?”

Ronnie looked up from her computer screen, horrified. “Nothing! What? Why would you think something is going on?”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “You just said that like a guilty teenager.”

“I did not.”

“You so did. And you’ve been doing parkour around the precinct trying to avoid him all morning.”

She groaned and covered her face with her hands. “It was the wine, okay? And the dancing. And maybe… some light… making out.”

Jackson blinked. “You made out with Markus Marshalls?”

“It was a moment!” she hissed. “A very brief, very drunken moment that I’d like to never talk about again.”

Jackson looked like he was about to burst from holding back laughter. “Oh, Ronnie. He’s been trying not to smile all morning.”

Her eyes shot up. “What?”

“Yeah. You practically sprinted past him earlier and he looked like someone handed him a puppy. He’s so into you.”

She glared at him. “Jackson.”

“Just sayin’.”

Before she could respond, Mark’s voice echoed through the hallway.

“Ronnie? You have a minute?”

Ronnie flinched. Jackson grinned and backed away slowly with both hands raised. “I’ll leave you two alone,” he whispered like a traitor, disappearing into the bullpen.

She took a deep breath, turned in her chair, and stood up just as Mark stepped into her doorway.

His expression was calm, neutral. That half-smile always teasing his lips.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she replied a little too fast, fiddling with a pen that didn’t need fiddling.

Mark stepped closer. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“I have not.”

“You literally bolted out of your office like I was holding a grenade.”

She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “Look… about last night—”

Mark held up a hand, stepping forward with a gentleness that made her chest tighten.

“Ronnie, it’s okay. I’m not mad. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

She swallowed. “But I… I kissed you. I threw myself at you. That’s not exactly how I planned to—”

“It was a kiss,” he said simply. “A damn good one. But I didn’t want it to happen when you’d been drinking. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want it.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“I just didn’t want you to regret anything,” he added, voice low.

Ronnie blinked at him, her mouth slightly open but no words forming. The soft, unreadable look in his eyes sent her brain into a tailspin.

He gave her a crooked smile and took a step back. “Coffee later? I’ll try not to take advantage of your caffeine buzz.”

She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and nodded.

“I’d like that.”