Page 123 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Like . . .” He takes a few steps toward me.

I want to wake up next to you. At my place. At your place.

“Just things I forgot I needed to do. Deadlines.”

I want to learn about what it is that clouds your eyes and makes you go quiet.

“Deadlines?”

I want quiet nights with a glass of wine and you beside me.

“Yes.” I gather my things in measured movements, when all I want to do is shove them in the bag so I can rush out of here and let the tears fall. Even worse, I can feel the weight of his stare at my back, and I know he’s standing there watching me and wondering.

“Hey? What’s wrong?”

With a deep breath, I turn to face him. Standing a few feet before me, he’s throwing a shirt on, his hair has fallen over his forehead, but his eyes home in on mine.

Tears burn as my thoughts tumble and fight against the want to say them and the knowledge that they’ll only end in being hurt.

“Nothing.” I offer a tight smile.

“Dekker?”

I shake my head and swallow over the lump of emotion lodged in my throat. “This was a mistake. Again.” He chuckles over this ongoing banter we always have. I don’t sell the lie as well as I think I do, because his head tilts to the side. “But”—I look down to my purse strap in my hand and take a deep breath—“I don’t think we can do this anymore.” Because I hate saying goodbye to you. “We always said we’d know when this had run its course, and I think it finally has. You know, you and me and this.” Because it’s easier to walk away now than to confess my feelings for you and be destroyed when you reject me.

“What do you mean this has run its course?” He takes a step toward me.

“Just what it sounds like.” I offer a laugh that has no resonance. My smile warms but only by sheer force when I take a step toward him. “Don’t you think it’s better to part ways now, like it is with us . . . actually liking each other?”

Confusion etches the lines of his face as he leans his hips against the dresser behind us. “If that’s what you want.”

Ask me to stay.

“I think it’s for the best.” I nod to reinforce my clipped words.

Tell me this is more than sex.

“Okay then.” He runs a hand through his hair and blows out a breath that fills the room and suffocates my heart. “If you’re sure. I mean . . .”

Agree that I forgot our rules—no emotions, no obligations—and tell me you want more than this.

In what feels like the hardest thing in the world, I step up and press a kiss to his cheek. I let his arms slide around me and pull me into him. It’s the kind of bear hug that you can lose and find yourself in. It’s the kind that tells you you’re loved and that the person cares for you.

But his words don’t come.

Not when he leans back and gives me that lopsided smile that makes my heart melt.

Not when I walk toward the door, my heart screaming to tell him the truth.

Not when I turn back one more time and look at him.

There’s something in his eyes I can’t make out, something I wish I could read, but I know I’m staring through jaded eyes. Eyes that want to believe he doesn’t want me to leave for more reasons than the incredible sex. Eyes that want to believe he has feelings for me too.

Isn’t that the irony though? I want him to feel about me how I feel about him, but if he did, if he professed how he wanted more, I’d run the other way.

I learned about love the hard way.

I learned how you could love someone more than the whole world but that doesn’t save them from death. It won’t save you from being alone.