Page 15 of Off Limits

She lifts her chin. “I forgive people who are generally nice and sometimes make mistakes. I’d like to think the people I care about would give me the same consideration, after all, so it seems like the right thing to extend to others, doesn’t it? And anyway, if you’re trying to say that my roommate is unreliable, like I said, I have Cal as a backup, so it’s not like I’d be stranded if a date went sour.” She spreads her hands in front of her. “I don’t need you guys staking out my dates anymore, okay?”

I nod mutely, not sure what else to say. Or what I expected. I mean, ostensibly this is going well. She’s accepted my apology, she doesn’t hate my guts, and while she’s probably still annoyed with Cal, from what I can tell, that’s sort of an ever-present emotion between the two of them.

“Well,” she draws out, and that’s when it hits me. The thing that I don’t like about how this is going. It’s too easy, which means it’s over too soon, and she’s about to dismiss me and go about her day like I haven’t been searching for her for almost a full week. Not that she knows that, and not that I intend to tell her, but I’m not ready for this conversation to end, even though in so many ways it’s a form of torture. What I want is for the crappy part to be over and then for us to have a nice conversation about something else. Something where I’m not an asshole and I have no reason to apologize.

“Cookies,” I almost shout, and she cocks her head to one side, her brows coming together even as her lips curve into a smile.

“What?”

“I wanted to get you cookies,” I clarify, feeling like a bigger moron by the second. “Like the ones you got for me. As an apology. But I don’t know where they’re from and have no way of getting them to you. But I’m free now. If you are, I mean. To take you to get cookies.”

Her brow clears, but her smile stays in place. “You want to get me apology cookies.”

I shrug. “You got me thank-you cookies. It seems like a reasonable response to ruining your date.”

With a soft huff of laughter, she looks away at the sun dipping low on the horizon, its golden light making her skin glow, highlighting her cheekbones and slightly upturned nose. “You don’t have to do that, you know. It wasn’t like you ruined my one chance with the love of my life or something. I’d already decided I probably wouldn’t go out with him again if he asked even before you interrupted.”

Something about that statement, even though Cal already told me as much, has my blood singing. I knew that guy was a dick. I could tell just by looking. “I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

She studies me, and I hold my breath, waiting for her verdict. “Alright,” she says at last. “If it means that much to you, you can take me for cookies.” A wide grin spreads across her face, and an answering one spreads across mine. “My mom would have a cow about me eating cookies for dinner, but that actually sounds delicious.”

Laughing, I gesture for Ellie to come with me toward the lot where my truck is parked, feeling lighter than I did a few minutes ago. She’s accepted my apologyandI get the opportunity to feed her. “The beauty of college is that your mom can’t police your diet the way she can at home. But if you need real food, I’m happy to supply that too.”

She looks up at me, glowing like the late summer sun, and my heart seems to expand in my chest. “You really do feel bad about ruining my date, don’t you?”

Not at all, actually. Not anymore. Because if I hadn’t, we wouldn’t be here. But I can’t tell her that. Instead I nod and say, “I just don’t want you to hate me.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “I’m not sure why my opinion matters at all, but I promise I don’t hate you.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ellie

Slowly at first, but then skipping to catch up to Simon’s long strides, I follow him to his truck. I’m not sure what to make of Simon’s insistence on buying me cookies. He’s Cal’s friend, after all, it’s not like he and I have a relationship of any kind that needs salvaging. I study him out of the corner of my eye, trying to get a better read on him.

Most of the time I’ve spent with him, I feel like I’ve done most of the talking, but I’m not sure if he’d see that as a good thing or a bad thing. Cal would call it a bad thing, but he’s an ass, and I’m pretty sure it’s more to do with the fact that I’m his sister than anything else. But Simon’s friends with Cal, so … he’s never been an ass to me, though.

“What’s the bakery called where you got the cookies?” he asks, phone in hand, his deep voice sending a wave of tingles racing over my skin.

“Oh, um …” I have to think about it for a second, because being so close to Simon is short-circuiting my brain. All I can think about is the way his bicep bulges as he holds his arm at a right angle, his phone at the ready, the way his scruff perfectly frames his perfectly kissable lips, the way his voice reverberates through me with even the most innocuous statement.

Those perfect lips twitch with amusement, his eyebrows raised as he waits for me to answer.

“The Pastry Corner,” I tell him at last. He types the name into his phone, pausing for a second to put the address into his map program, giving me the opportunity to look him over some more, taking in the way the sun picks up hints of blond in his brown hair, the way he studies the screen, giving everything he does his full attention. What would it be like to have that full attention on me?

I suppress a shiver at the thought of him studying me like that, spread out beneath him, naked …

Blinking rapidly, I tear my gaze away, hoping that he won’t notice the heat rising to my cheeks. Spending more time with him has done absolutely nothing to quell my attraction to him, unfortunately. And I don’t think this impromptu snack/dinner/apology will do anything to help with that.

Which is frustrating, because I know nothing can happen. That flash of fantasy will always remain just that, as disappointing as that is. For one thing, there’s no way he sees me as anything other than Cal’s little sister. I’m pretty sure he has little sisters too, so this is probably just his version of making up with his sisters when they piss each other off.

He obviously doesn’t realize that Cal gives zero fucks about pissing me off—and vice versa, if we’re being honest. Because if I cared, I’d never agree to let Simon take me anywhere, much less buy me treats.

We drive in relative silence, the phone giving directions in its robot voice, which totally fits my view of Simon. He doesn’t seem given to frivolity. Everything is functional and utilitarian, from his clothes—jeans or athletic pants and T-shirts—to his furniture—comfortable and neutral, not flashy or sumptuous. So why would he download a celebrity voice or an accent?

“I picked the British lady for my GPS voice,” I say out of nowhere. Mostly for something to say.

He glances at me, his eyebrows raised, a tiny smile playing over his lips. “Oh, yeah?”

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