Page 3 of Off Limits

Her eyes are sharper and less glazed with sleep when I chance another glance and catch her studying me. Ellie’s not particularly shy about looking at me, but this feels like she’s peering inside me, weighing me to see if I measure up. To what, I’m not sure. But somehow I care very much about the answer.

I hold my breath, waiting for her verdict.

“You’re a good guy, Simon,” she says softly. Then another yawn shows off her tonsils.

“Thanks.” A wave of pleasure at her judgment washes through me. I’ve been called a lot of things by girls over the years—hot, huge, grumpy, withdrawn—but rarely do girls care much for what kind of guy I am. They care if they can get me into bed, and once there, if I can get them off. At least lately. Sure, I’ve had girlfriends before, but the last couple of years I’ve been focused on football and school, making sure I’m at the top of my game, working to help the school change divisions and give myself the best shot at an NFL Combines invitation, which will get me to the draft.

Even though Ellie’s done her fair share of ogling—not that I have any room to judge, since I’m guilty of the same thing—it seems like she sees me as more than just a hot, grumpy offensive lineman. A lopsided grin claims my face at the way she’s snuggling into the arm of the couch. She’s too cute for her own good. “You’re about to pass out on my couch.”

She waves a hand. “I plead the fifth.”

Without a word, I stand and head to my bedroom to pull out the extra blanket I use in the winter. Old houses get drafty when it gets below freezing. By the time I get back to the living room, Ellie’s breathing has deepened and slowed, and when I step as softly as possible in front of her, trying to skip the board that creaks the loudest, I see that she’s fully asleep, her hands tucked under her face, those perfect bow lips parted ever so slightly. She looks like one of the princesses in the stories I read to my little sisters when I was in high school, just waiting for Prince Charming to come in and kiss her to break the spell and restore her to her family and kingdom.

Too bad I’m no Prince Charming. According to everyone around me, I’m the opposite of charming—quiet, standoffish, too reclusive. Most people think I’m pissed half the time. One of my friends’ ex-girlfriends always told me I have resting bitch face.

Clearly not a Prince Charming candidate.

And it’s not like Ellie’s a princess in need of rescuing anyway. Despite her showing up seeking sanctuary tonight, I get the feeling that she’d be the kind of princess to befriend the dragon and rescue herself, no knight in shining armor required.

Besides, I remind myself for the millionth time tonight,she’s Cal’s little sister. I know how he feels about his friends sniffing after her. Apparently that was an issue in high school, not that she actually dated any of his friends, but they’d joke about hitting on her just to get a rise out of Cal. Which, I mean, it’s not exactly difficult to get him riled up, especially where Ellie’s concerned, so I can see why they’d choose that option to press his buttons. But I wouldn’t do that to him. I don’t get pleasure out of watching people get themselves all spun up about something.

I drape the blanket over Ellie and turn off the lights and the TV before heading back to my own room. I shoot off one more text to Cal to let him know that Ellie’s crashing on the couch and to be quiet when he comes home.

* * *

“Dude. Simon. Wake the fuck up, man.”

I blink a few times, trying to orient myself to reality and away from the vivid dream of Ellie sitting on my lap on the couch. Naked. Grinding on me.

Cal.

Cal’s in my room glaring at me expectantly as I blink a few more times. I grunt in response. The fucker. He woke me up just as she was lining me up to sink inside her.

I bite back a groan, because I have a giant hard on from the most vivid sex dream I’ve had in ages. And it was about his little sister. But damn if I’m not pissed I didn’t get to finish it.

I’ve been living like a monk for months as it is. Between spending the summer entertaining my little sisters while our parents were at work and then football practice starting with the new head coach, who brought along a new offensive line coach, I haven’t exactly had lots of time or energy to go out and pick up chicks to relieve any tension. Which I only do when I’m in dire straits anyway. Which is apparently now. I’ve reached that point.

Sighing, I realize I need to take Cal up on his frequent offers to be my wingman, if for no other reason than so I stop fantasizing about his sister.

Sitting up, I scrub my hands over my face and reach for my phone to check the time. It’s seven in the morning. No wonder I’m still so fucking tired.

“What the fuck, man? Why are you waking me up so damn early? We don’t have to be at the arena for hours. I need sleep.” I eyeball him still wearing the clothes he went out in last night. “You do too, for that matter. Are you just getting home?”

He rolls his eyes. “I crashed at Jackson’s house. He was the DD, and even though I felt okay, he wouldn’t let me drive home since I’d been drinking.” He rolls his eyes again at our teammate’s mother hen routine. Good for Jackson, though. I’d have done the same in his shoes. “But what the fuck is my sister doing on our couch?”

The thought of Ellie on our couch has my dick going steel-pole hard again, which is really inconvenient since Cal’s in my fucking room. I ignore my body’s response and give my roommate a flat stare. “Dude. I texted you like three times. Her roommate had a booty call and never gave her the all clear to come home. She stayed in the library till it closed, then trekked over here. What would you like me to have done? Slam the door in her face? Pretend I’m not home? Kick her out when I went to bed?” I bite my tongue on a few more options, like inviting her into my room or giving her Cal’s room, because I know that would cause an explosion that would likely wake Ellie up. The walls in our house are on the thin side.

Cal narrows his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he sucks in a deep breath. “Obviously not. But why did she come here? Doesn’t she have friends she can crash with instead?”

I shrug and lie back down, rolling over to show my disinterest in continuing this conversation. “I dunno, man. Ask her that after she wakes up. I’m too fucking tired to have this conversation. Go ’way. You can bitch at me some more in a few hours, okay?”

I keep my eyes closed while Cal huffs and grumbles, but after a moment I’m rewarded with the sound of my door opening and closing quietly and his footsteps heading down the hall. Opening my eyes, I listen to make sure he’s heading for his room and not the living room, because I’ll be damned if he’s going to kick his sister out at seven in the morning to do the walk of shame back to campus. Especially since she didn’t even do anything to merit a walk of shame. But stumbling back to the dorm early on a Saturday morning in yesterday’s clothes? Everyone will totally think that.

Of course thinking about Ellie doing a walk of shame home from my house combined with my vivid dream doesn’t do anything to ease the throbbing in my dick. And there’s absolutely no way I’m going to be able to go back to sleep like this. And it’s a game day, so I need my rest.

Sighing with relief as I push my boxers down and out of the way, I palm my cock and close my eyes, reliving that dream, taking it past where I was interrupted all the way to its foregone conclusion.

Maybe it’s wrong, but I don’t fucking care right now. The fantasy of sliding inside of Ellie’s tight heat is too tantalizing. Too tempting. And maybe the fact that I know I shouldn’t want her makes it all the more appealing.

---