Page 11 of Off Limits

“Oh, uh, well, no.” I busy myself picking up a French fry and stabbing it into the tiny ramekin of ketchup.

“Oh? I guess I just assumed. You hang out with a few of the English majors and you seem so passionate in your answers in class.”

I give him a smile, his words warming my insides. He pays attention to my answers in class, meaning he’s interested in me for more than my looks, so that’s nice. “Thanks. But no, I’m not an English major. I’m not even sure what you’d do with an English degree other than teach.”

“So I take it you don’t want to be a teacher,” he says with a wry smile.

“Nah.” I shrug. “I’m good at school, but I didn’t much like junior high or high school when I was there, so I don’t see how going back after finally escaping would be at all fun.”

Andrew chuckles. “Well, you’d be in charge, so there’s that.”

I make a face of mock horror. “That’s even worse. Don’t put me in charge. I’m not qualified for that.”

He laughs again, his wide grin showing off a dimple that takes his cuteness up a notch. “You don’t like to be in charge. Noted. Though arguably, if you were a teacher, you would be qualified to be in charge of a classroom by the time you got there.”

“I suppose,” I sigh. “Still, I don’t think that’d be a good fit for me.”

He cuts a bite of his breaded chicken. “So what would be a good fit for you?”

I let the question dangle for a bit, racking my brain for an answer other thanI don’t know.But ultimately, thatisthe only answer. I lift one hand in a gesture of helplessness. “I haven’t quite figured that out yet. I’m not really sure where I fit.”

His eyes are serious as he studies me, as though he’s seeing all the layers of meaning behind that simple statement. “That sounds difficult,” he says softly after a moment.

Tears prick my eyes, and I blink them away quickly, shrugging off his observation and wishing I weren’t so transparent. This is a date. A first date. It’s supposed to be light and fun. Crying has no place here. And why is sympathy from a near stranger enough to cue the waterworks anyway? Ugh.

“It is what it is,” I say dismissively, sucking in a breath and sitting up straight. “So are you going to be a psychologist or a psychiatrist? And what exactly is the difference?”

He gives me a sympathetic smile but doesn’t protest the subject change. “A psychiatrist is an MD. They go to med school and prescribe drugs. I’m going to be a psychologist. Clinical psychologists do therapy.”

“Ah, okay.”

“You know,” he starts, but he’s interrupted by a large shadow and an overwhelming presence looming over our table.

I look up to find Simon standing painfully close to us, his arms crossed, biceps bulging, jaw flexing, his face thunderous. “Everything okay here, Ellie?” His voice is little more than a growl that sends heat bubbling through my veins, but I do my best to ignore that feeling and focus on the real issue.

Namely, what the fuck is going on right now?

I blink up at Simon, waiting for him to offer an explanation, because while I know he and Cal are here as some kind of self-appointed bodyguards, Cal’s never interrupted one of my dates before. I glance at Andrew, who’s staring at Simon, his eyebrows raised. And dammit, Andrew’s inflating his chest and putting his napkin down. I need to intervene before this escalates.

“Simon, what are you doing here?” I try to strike a balance between annoyed firmness and surprise. The surprise doesn’t have to be faked, becausewhat the fuck is he doing here?This is Cal’s thing, for one, staking out my dates. He did it almost every time I went out last year too, but he never brought anyone along. He was just this silent presence, letting me know that he’d have my back if I needed it. I didn’t then, and I don’t now.

Before Andrew can rise from his seat, I do, because despite my question, Simon still hasn’t looked at me. I give Andrew an apologetic look. “I’m really sorry about this. I’ll just be a minute, okay?” Then I grab Simon by the arm—and holy hell, his forearm is as big as Andrew’s bicep, and it’s firm and warm under my hand, but I’m on a date withAndrewand Simon is my brother’s friend and I’m not allowed to be into him regardless of how nice he usually is or what he looks like when he’s not staring down my date like he wants to pound him into the floor.

Simon doesn’t budge until I poke him in the ribs as hard as I can, the same move I always used on Cal growing up when he was being a shithead. He flinches, the same way Cal always does, finally turning his glare on me. But his face softens, his eyes turning warm and concerned. “I saw you,” he says quietly, like we’re the only two people here, even though Andrew is literally sitting a foot away from him and servers are squeezing past us. “You looked like you were about to cry. If this asshole is making you cry, you don’t have to sit through the rest of this shitty date.”

Andrew makes a strangled sound, and I lean around Simon to make eye contact. “I’ve got this. Just gimme a sec, okay?”

Andrew subsides back into his chair, a thoughtful look on his face as his eyes dart from Simon, to my hand on Simon’s arm, to me, and back again. But I don’t have the time to wonder what he might be thinking. I’ll have to deal with that once I’ve gotten Simon out of the way.

Dropping my hand to my side, I curl my fingers around my palm, wanting to hang onto the feel of his skin for as long as possible. Because let’s be real, I’m probably never going to touch him again. I square my shoulders and take a deep breath, tilting my chin up so I can meet Simon’s eyes. “Simon. While I appreciate your concern, it is misplaced. Andrew has been a perfect gentleman and this isn’t a shitty date, or at least it wasn’t until you interrupted it.”

His normally stoic face is extra expressive tonight, morphing from concern to horror in a matter of seconds and just as quickly going back to stubborn mulishness. “I know what I saw, Ellie. You were blinking away tears. I’m a big jock, but I’m not a dumb one.”

I let out a snort and cross my arms. “All present indications to the contrary, I’m actually aware of that, thank you. Yes, I had an emotional moment. It happens. I’m an emotional person. However, Andrew was not the cause of my tears, or at least not in the way you think. We’re having a nice time, and it’s time for you to go.”

“Yeah, man,” Andrew pipes in. “Fuck off.”

With a sigh, I close my eyes. That’s not at all helpful.

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