Page 47 of Off Limits: The Firsts

I can’t do it anymore. I can’t run another step, and so I stop, knowing I’m going to have to face him—right here, right now—with a mind and body so exhausted it’s going to be tough to keep my guard up.

With my hands on my knees, sweat stinging my eyes and lungs heaving harshly, I glance over at Easton, strangely satisfied to see he’s just as winded as I am. Hands braced behind his head, elbows out, he walks around this mecca of gray concrete to cool down.

“It’s not your time yet. Go away.” I know I’m being mean. I know he doesn’t deserve it. And yet I need to catch my breath so I can think straight.

“I have just as much of a right to be in this stadium as you do, Kitty.” The nickname is a taunt I try to ignore. He has a way of pushing my buttons, and that damn name is just one of them.

Especially when I remember how he was pleasing my body the last time he called me that.

And that pisses me off more. I hate that I’m supposed to feel like I don’t care when all I want to do is care.

“I’m not on the clock yet, so this is my time.”

“Like hell it is.”

If he was looking for my full attention, he just got it. And not only that, but my temper to go along with it.

“Excuse me?” I stand to my full height and look at him for the first time. And when I do, every part of my body wants to move toward him instead of rail against him.

“You heard me,” he says, meeting me glare for glare as he takes a few steps toward me. “I never figured you to be the love ’em and leave ’em type, but hey, you’ve already underestimated me . . . so I guess we’re even. Right?”

There’s a bite to his tone. A defiant rejection edged with bruised ego. And all of that and more is reflected in his eyes as he takes another step closer while I glance around frantically to see if anyone is within listening distance.

“No one’s close enough to hear me, Scout. Or to save you from having this conversation.”

“We’re not having this conversation, so it’s a moot point.” I begin to walk away, and he sidesteps to block me. I’m forced to stop, or else I’ll end up face first in his chest, and touching him right now is not exactly the smartest thing.

“We are having it because there’re a few things that we need to get straight. First one: I’ve had plenty of fun in my life, in and out of the sheets. But not once have I ever snuck off in the early morning and not faced what I did or didn’t do the night before. I’m a bigger man than that, and something tells me you are, too. So, you want to tell me what’s going on?”

His dig is real. His hurt breaks through the spite in his tone. I hate that my immediate urge is to apologize and explain . . . but I can’t. I must stand my ground with him. I have no other option.

“Like I said, I’m not on the clock.”

“You’re damn right you’re not. But I’m not your clock, sweetheart.”

“Leave me alone.” The comment is quick off my lips, my temper flaring and body on fire from his words. The ones that make me want to step into him and let him taste the anger on my lips.

“What? I thought you weren’t on the clock. Remember? So, that means you don’t get to tell me what to do for about . . .” He looks at his watch then back up to me with amusement in his eyes. “Fifteen more minutes.”

That grin of his is maddening. And sexy as hell.

“Exactly. So, if you’ll excuse me.”

His hand is on my arm in a flash, and now my back is against the corner of two walls, and he is directly in front of me.

“You’re determined. I’ll give you that.” He nods and squeezes my arm ever so slightly as he steps farther into my personal space. And now when I breathe in, it’s him I smell. His shampoo. His cologne. His fabric softener. Him. “But I’m wondering where that fast-talking, loud-laughing, carefree girl I was dancing with the other night went because, while you’re still goddamn gorgeous, all the rest of her is nowhere to be seen.”

“Everyone makes mistakes, Easton.”

His chuckle is a low rumble that fills my ears and echoes in my head as he moves so that our bodies are merely a whisper away. Heat. Want. Need. All three dance a troublesome tango inside of me as he leans in so his lips are by my ear when he whispers, “It wasn’t a mistake. You know what I think? I think I got to you. I think when you close your eyes, you think about me. I think you don’t want to, but you do, because God knows I think about you, Scout. About what we did. About how I want more of it. With you. And you can give me the company line all you want, about how you are under contract and so we can’t pursue this, but fuck that. I don’t like to play by the rules. A contract is business, Scout. But this? You. Me? This is pleasure.”

His words ignite every ember of desire within me. “You don’t understand.”

“Then try me.” The honesty in his words combats the promises I’ve made outside of this. When I refuse to meet his eyes, he provokes me. “I never figured you for a coward, Scout.”

“You know what? You’re right,” I state with an enthusiastic nod and a shrug of my shoulders. A ruse to mask the truth. “The other night was fun. Incredible. The best sex I’ve had in a while, but that’s all it was—sex. A little fun to let off some steam, and now that we’ve got each other out of our systems, we can forget about it. As you can tell by the way I left, I don’t do commitment. I don’t do more than what we did. So, thanks for the good time. Now let’s get to work.”

I try to dart past him, and end up with his hand back on my upper arm, refusing to let me run again.