Page 254 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“So, you trust your partner, but you wouldn’t trust a skilled instructor to tandem jump with you? They control the jump, pull the chute, and make sure you land safely.”

Goddamnit, Desi.

I see the maneuvering going on here, and I don’t want any part of the set up. I shift in my seat and try to find an out that won’t be so obvious.

“Tell me something, Desi,” Grant says as he leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees. “When was the last time you jumped?”

“Me?” She laughs. “You’re all out of your minds. There’s no way I would trust someone with my life.”

“And you just proved my point,” he says, and Desi just laughs harder. But that charming chuckle she has, which typically has all the men sidling up next to her, doesn’t seem to affect Grant.

Talk quiets some as we finish our dessert and Leo brings another round of drinks for those who are ready.

“I swear every time Desi invites me over, I leave having gained ten pounds,” Cassy groans as she adjusts the waistband of her pants and then points an accusing finger my way. “And, of course, you’re going to have another helping and grin the whole time you’re eating it.”

My hand stops mid-cut into another slice of cheesecake, but the guilt is only momentary. It’s too damn irresistible to pass up.

“Bitch,” Desi playfully comments.

“You always did love dessert.” It’s Grant’s quiet statement that has our friends turning their heads in his direction, the slow realization that he’s from the past I never talk about settling over them.

But he isn’t looking at any of them. When I glance up, his gaze is on me. Our eyes meet, and for a brief moment, I allow myself to wonder what it is he sees when he looks at me. His soft smile exudes warmth, but it’s his eyes that draw me into places and times and thoughts that don’t belong in this lifetime.

There’s a stirring in my belly that shouldn’t be there. The same one that has resurfaced each time the two of us have interacted in some way or another over the past few hours.

I need to stop thinking about the gold flecks in his brown eyes and how he still has the hint of a scar on his chin from when he tried to jump his BMX off a homemade ramp.

Familiarity.

That’s what he is, and it’s something I’m not used to outside the world I’ve created.

It’s too much. Too unexpected. Too close.

“You’re right. I don’t need this extra piece,” I say as I stand abruptly and begin to clear the dirtied forks that were discarded when the paper plates were tossed into the fire. My avoidance of eye contact only serves to compound the awkwardness and reinforce that I’m not acting anything like my normal self.

Once in the kitchen, I do things to busy myself. Wipe down the counters that have already been cleaned. Restack the dishwasher. Anything to settle the discord I feel.

“Emerson.” The deep rumble of Grant’s voice cuts through my thoughts. My hands still. My heart races. My feet turn to face him. “Is everything okay?”

Yes. No. I don’t know.

I meet his eyes and struggle with how to respond. “I worked a long time to make this life, Grant.” My voice is shaky, and I hate that it is, but there’s no way I can disguise the emotion.

“Okay.” He draws the word out as he cocks his head to the side, brows narrowing as if he’s trying to understand. “I wasn’t trying to interfere.”

“Then what do you want?”

“To get to know you again. To be friends. I don’t know, you’re my Emmy . . .”

The endearment from our childhood tears into parts of me I didn’t know existed anymore. “You being here . . .” I struggle to explain feelings I’m not even sure I understand. “You’re from another place and time I’ve tried to forget.”

He takes a step closer and leans against the counter, but his eyes never leave mine as laughter from outside floats in. He nods slowly, saying, “I didn’t know that my being here would upset you. I’m sorry. It’s just that since I saw you the other day, I haven’t been able to get you out of my head. I thought maybe we could be friends again. That’s all, Emerson. Nothing more.”

“I can’t be who you want me to be.” My thoughts explode into words I can’t believe I’ve said and want to take back immediately. For some reason, this conversation . . . he makes me nervous.

“Who’s that? I don’t want you to be anything.”

“A victim,” I whisper.