Page 20 of Off Limits

She glances out the window then back at me, biting her lip like she’s uncertain. “Um, would you, maybe, want to come up? Autumn has a seminar class on Wednesday evenings …”

The unexpected invitation has me sucking in a breath, and fortunately this time I don’t choke. I hold my breath, considering my decision while looking at her hopeful face. This chick broadcasts everything. Does she even realize what an open book she is?

What would happen if I went up with her? In the end, does it even really matter? If Cal somehow found out I spent any amount of time alone with his sister in her room, he’d kill me, no questions asked.

“No,” I say at last on an exhale. “Better not. I’ve, uh, got homework. I’ll be missing classes Friday for an away game, so I need to get a jump …”

She’s nodding like a bobblehead before I even finish making my excuse. “Right. Yeah. Of course. I mean, why would you want to come hang out in my dorm room anyway, right? I mean, you have an actual house. You’re well over dorm life, I’m sure. And like … yeah. Sorry. Thanks. Right.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head, huffing out a laugh, but I get the feeling she doesn’t really find anything amusing right now. She meets my eyes and gives me a quick smile. “Thanks again for dinner. I’ll see you around.”

And before I can respond, she’s out the door, and it’s closing behind her, and she’s striding toward her dorm like she owns the world, and I didn’t just reject her.

“Damn,” I breathe into the silence of the car. “I’m so fucked.”

CHAPTER TEN

Ellie

“Ughhhh,” I groan once I’m safely inside my room and won’t be overheard by anyone. I set the box of cookies on the coffee table in the middle of the room where Autumn will definitely see them, plop down on the couch, and cover my face with my hands. It doesn’t matter that there’s no one here to see me, I still feel the need to hide.

I can’t believe I did that. I just invited Simon up to my room and made a point of telling him we’d be alone.

Of fucking course he turned me down.

It’s not like we were actually on a date, despite the fact that it really, really felt like one. It was an apology for ruining my date. Not a make-up date.

And anyway, a make-up date would have to be with Andrew. It’s not like I can just slot one guy in for another to balance some imaginary dating scales. That’s not how it works. People aren’t interchangeable.

Not like I don’t know that. Simon is nothing like Andrew at all. Getting information out of Simon is like going on a cave diving expedition, all full of dark nooks and hidden crannies, and you don’t know what you’ll find, but you know it’ll be exciting.

Andrew’s more like a flat landscape on a sunny day, everything there is to see is right in front of you. No hidden pockets or even places covered in shadows waiting for you to explore.

Simon’s quiet, polite, kind, considerate.

Andrew’s … arrogant and talkative. Not in an awful, unbearable way, but in a self-important way that gets exhausting. Like he needs to talk and project this image of confidence so that other people will mirror it back to him and reassure him that yes, he is important.

Simon doesn’t need that kind of reassurance. He knows who he is and what he wants and doesn’t need constant reassurance that what he wants is acceptable.

That must be nice—knowing yourself and what you want enough to work at it regardless of what anyone else thinks.

Sighing again, I drop my hands and let my head fall back on the couch so I can stare at the ceiling. Once again, everyone else has their shit figured out, whereas I have no idea who I am or what I want. I’m the flighty girl paralyzed by too many choices. I like all the things that I like—art, design, science, language—how can I be expected to pickonething to dedicate my life to at nineteen years old? And what about all the interesting things I haven’t even gotten to try?

I’m still lying on the couch when Autumn gets home, eating a cookie and pondering the various possibilities and contemplating how nice it must be to only have to pick between two options—playing pro football, which isn’t a guaranteed thing anyway, or working in finance—rather than the smorgasbord of options I’m unable to narrow down.

Autumn’s eyes brighten when she sees the cookie in my hand and the box on the coffee table. “Cookies? From Pastry Corner? How’d you get these?” Her purple hair falls in a wavy curtain as she bends over the box, flips open the lid, and pulls out a peanut butter cup cookie with an appreciative groan. “These are sooooo good. What’s with you? Why are you moping when there’s a box of delicious cookies in our room?”

Chuckling, I sit up, crumbs falling into my lap.

Autumn points a finger at me as she slides into her corner of the couch. “You’re cleaning up the crumbs later, got it?”

I put the cookie in my mouth and raise my hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.” The words come out muffled by the giant cookie, but they appease my roommate. It’s funny, with how easygoing and relaxed and boho chic she is, I never would’ve pegged her for a neat freak, but she is. Though I have to admit that having the shared space picked up and clean on a regular basis is really nice. I wouldn’t mind if my room were this way too, but the effort it would take keeps me from doing it on my own.

Autumn takes another bite of her cookie with an orgasmic sound, her eyes rolling back into her head, and then taps my leg, her face going serious. “Seriously, what’s up? Did your dog die, and your parents sent you cookies as a way to ease the pain?”

Snorting, I shake my head. “No. We’ve never had a dog.” Suddenly the loose threads on the arm of the couch are extremely interesting. I fiddle with them, plucking and rolling them between my fingers. “Um, Simon took me to the bakery tonight. For cookies, and he bought me dinner, too.”

“Reeeallly …” Autumn’s voice is thick with speculation, and she settles herself onto the couch like she’s waiting for a good story, her brown eyes bright and inquisitive. “And?”

I shrug, stuffing my cookie in my mouth and taking a huge bite. “And we have cookies,” I mumble with a full mouth, gesturing at the box.

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