Page 326 of Off Limits: The Firsts

Thankfully, the jiggling of her tits as she walks to get our coffee steers my thoughts away from any further psychoanalyzing. They mesmerize me as she crosses the distance, and hell if I’m not blatantly appreciating them. It’s only when she stops at the edge of the bed and holds the cup of coffee out to me that I meet her eyes.

“You like what you see?” She laughs with a raised set of eyebrows, and I love that she is secure enough she can ask the question and make it sound sexy instead of conceited.

“No complaints here. I’m just trying to figure out how I can see this view more often.”

“Such a typical male. You get blown, fucked, then fucked again, but you still aren’t satisfied.” Her smile is wide as she sits on the bed facing me with one knee bent beneath her and the other leg hanging off the edge. “What’s it going to take, Malone?”

“More of you.”

There’s a silent moment that passes where her eyes soften and her smile slowly falls, vulnerability written all over her features before she throws her head back and laughs as if what I said is the funniest thing in the world.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” She takes a sip of her coffee but leaves her eyes on mine from above the rim.

“It will?”

“It will.”

“Good to know,” I say as I lean back against the headboard and look around her place. It’s small but has a pretty cool setup. The colors are muted, the furniture is modest, but it’s a complete reflection of her. Practical and minimalist. The best part is the series of windows that face out to the field and trees opposite the landing strip.

“Who do you rent this place from, again?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Travis Barnhardt.”

“I think I know him.”

“You do know him.”

“I do? Oh. Isn’t he Dean’s dad?”

“Dean?”

“Dean from Mrs. Gellar’s class.”

Her hand stutters in motion as she lifts her coffee cup to her lips. The quick aversion of her eyes tells me she doesn’t like this topic.

I push anyway.

“I don’t think so.” Her voice is soft as she sets the cup down, picks it back up, and then straightens the sheets some.

“Sorry.” I shake my head, hating that the simple mention of Mrs. Gellar’s class puts her visibly on edge. “You’re right. Dean’s last name was Meyers.”

I wait to see a reaction from her, but her expression remains stone cold. “Yes, that was it.”

Silence falls between us as we both stare into our coffees, but questions nag me more than ever before since running into Emerson. It’s her dig about not trusting me that she played off as one thing when she really meant another. It’s her need to stay detached even though we’re clearly sleeping together.

“About that day . . .” Fucking Christ. I’m so goddamn distracted by her incredible body sitting half-naked before me that I blurted out my thoughts.

“No,” she snaps as she shoves up off the bed.

“We need to talk about it at some point, Em.”

“Actually, no, we don’t.” She turns her back to me and walks toward the windows.

“Em—”

“Stop!” she shouts. “I’ve dealt with it. I don’t need you bringing it up, so don’t talk about it again. Now, get out before you break another rule because you’re walking a fine line with me, Grant. The spending the night was a mistake. You bringing that up, wasn’t cool . . . so, play time’s over. The benefits have been used up for now. I have to get to work.”

I study her for a moment—a silhouette against the morning light beyond—the curve of her waist, the shape of her legs, her strawberry hair falling down her bare back in tangles. There’s so much shit I want to say, but the defensiveness in her posture tells me she won’t hear a damn word of it.