Page 368 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Couldn’t handle what?” I ask, lifting up one eyelid to look at them

“You think?” Grayson interjects as if I’m not even here and hadn’t spoken.

“Yeah.”

“What the fuck are you two talking about?” I growl. I’m tired. I’m drunk. And fuck me, I miss Emerson, and for more reasons than just because. This guilt and regret are eating away at me from the inside out.

“You looked her up, didn’t you?” Grady says, prompting me to close my eyes again and exhale. “Curiosity got the better of you, and you looked her up. Pulled her file or whatever the fuck you cops do so that you knew what you were facing.”

Ignore him. He’s just trying to goad you into talking.

“Just like our Grant to need all his ducks in a row so he knows exactly how to handle a situation, especially when that situation is a feisty, sexy handful who doesn’t just fall into his arms like every other woman on the planet,” Grayson adds with a chuckle that grates on my last nerve.

“Too bad a person isn’t a situation,” Grady says, the statement hitting its mark. Good thing I’ve had enough to drink that I’m mellow or I might just have landed that punch I was jonesing for yesterday.

Don’t take the bait.

“True,” Grayson muses. “I’m not saying that I’d ever follow through with it, but I can’t say I blame him.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s natural to want to know what you’re dealing with. I mean . . . we all know whatever happened to Em was fucked up . . . so, maybe Grant was being a good guy and wanted to know what triggers to avoid or some shit like that for her own benefit.”

“You’re giving him too much credit,” Grady says, and I clench my jaw. They may be enjoying making their damn point, but that doesn’t mean I have to react to what they are egging me on to. “You know our Grant. He just wants to swoop in and save the day like always.”

Another dig. Another bullshit dig.

“He did save our asses a few times,” Grayson says.

“But this is different.”

“It is different. It’s Emmy. And Grant’s in love with her.”

Grady snorts. “Hasn’t he always been?”

Patience snapped. Buttons pushed.

“Will the two of you shut the fuck up already? You’ve made your goddamn point even though you have no fricking clue what the hell happened,” I lie because they nailed it on the head, which makes it even worse. That I’m that fucking readable and predictable. I shove up out of the chair to pace, and it takes me a few seconds to gain my balance. The beer is hitting me, and I already know I need it to hit a lot harder.

Because they’re right.

I am in love with her.

Jesus Christ, when the fuck did that happen?

Probably about second grade.

I look at the list of texts on my phone.

Grant and his apologies and explanations and hurt I don’t want to deal with.

Christopher and his promises that we should have loan approval in a week or two, and since he’s charging me a below the rate fee, how about I repay him by going out for a few drinks. At what point will the man understand that it isn’t going to happen?

Desi and her daily check-in to make sure I’m okay and that I haven’t fallen off the face of the earth.

Leo and his questions about the classes over the next few days and how to arrange staff since I’m the one who typically does it.

I scroll through them again and then toss my phone to the end of the bed before snuggling deeper under the comforter. It smells too much like Grant and so I pretend the world outside and everything that happened doesn’t exist.