Things We Never Said (Hart's Boardwalk 3)

The sight of Michael Sullivan standing there in his cop uniform caused a little flip in my belly.

He jerked his head in a “c’mere” motion.

Shit.

Since our confrontation at the diner, Michael had broken up with Dillon. She had been a moody, petulant mess about it, and I was feeling all kinds of contrition. I’d consequently been ignoring Michael’s calls and texts for the last six weeks since their breakup.

“Can I help?” Rita asked from the front of the room, her eyes on Michael.

Michael stepped inside the doorway. “I need to speak with Dahlia McGuire.”

“Oh. Dahlia?”

I glanced at her.

If Michael was tracking me down at school while he was clearly on the job, then I guessed he wouldn’t stop hounding me until I spoke with him. As much as I wasn’t ready for it, I knew I needed to get this over with. “Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

I got off my stool. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Rita nodded and turned to another student.

My legs shaking a little, I ambled toward Michael. His intense regard made me flush.

Halting in front of him, I was more than a little annoyed about being ambushed. And about how hot he looked in his cop’s uniform. “What are you doing here?” I hissed.

He scowled. “Is there somewhere we can talk in private?”

I nodded and brushed past him, hating the tingle of awareness that shot through me as I did. Leading him down the hall, we strode in silence until we came to the photography department. There was a row of lockable darkrooms here. A few were already locked but the second to last opened and although photographs were being processed, the room was empty. I ushered Michael in and closed the door, locking it behind me.

In the back of my mind, I knew it was a bad idea.

A horrible idea.

But it didn’t stop me.

“A darkroom?” His handsome face was awash in the low red hues of the safelight.

“No one will disturb us in here. Now, what do you want? And why are you in uniform? Rita probably thinks I’m in trouble, thanks to that getup.”

Michael’s expression turned incredulous. “I’m in uniform because I’m working. I’m on break, I was in the area, and I thought to myself, ‘I’m going to go see Dahlia to ask her why she’s avoiding my texts and calls

after I broke up with Dillon.’ Six weeks, Dahlia. Six weeks. You want to tell me why you’ve left me hanging for six fuckin’ weeks?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, unable to look at him. “Michael, you know why.”

“No, I don’t. I dated Dillon for less than three months, and we never had sex.”

Jealousy and anger at the mere thought of him touching her curdled inside me. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“Dahlia …” He stepped toward me, and I stumbled against the door, trying to maintain distance. I heard his exasperated huff. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking dating your little sister, and I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorrier than I can say.”

That was all well and good, but he’d completely screwed us over. My sister would hate me if I dated him after this and it would be more ammunition for my mom. It would support her opinion that I was selfish and spoiled.

“Yeah. Me too.” I scrambled for the lock and the door handle.

“Don’t.”