Page 31 of Off Limits

“Honest answers only, Ellie. It’s okay. You can tell me. I won’t use the knowledge against you. I’m here to help.”

I swallow, then nod. “I do want him to be my friend. But I want more than that too. I like him, like a lot, and not just because he’s hot. He’s genuinely a sweet guy behind that stoic, gruff exterior.”

“Okay,” she says, placing my hands back in my lap and giving them a little pat. I open my eyes to find her smiling at me. “Good. That was really good. Sometimes it’s difficult to acknowledge what we really want even to ourselves. Now you know what you want. What are you going to do about it?”

I swallow, my chest tightening, a sick feeling swooping through my stomach at the thought of saying any of that to Simon. He’d reject me again. I’m ninety-five percent sure of it. His loyalty is to my brother, not to me.

“What are you thinking?” Autumn asks quietly.

Shaking my head, I stare down at my hands, twisting my fingers together. “It doesn’t really matter what I want. Simon won’t give it to me.”

Autumn makes a thoughtful sound, and I look up to see her twisting her mouth to one side and shaking her head, her long hair swaying gently with the motion. “That’s not entirely true. What you want matters very much. And while it’s true that Simon may not do what you want, that doesn’t make your feelings or desires invalid. But you have to decide what to do if he doesn’t want to explore your attraction. Are you okay with this hot and cold game of his? Are you willing to put up with it just to keep any amount of his attention? Or would it be better for you to keep your contact with him to a minimum until you move on?”

My breath leaves me in a whoosh, like she just hit me in the solar plexus.

She reaches over and pats my hand again, offering me a small smile. “I know,” she whispers. “It’s hard. But you matter, what you want matters, and if he can’t give you what you want, that’s fine, but you’re entitled to live your life free of confusion and frustration from someone who wants you but isn’t brave enough to commit to you. Tell him how you feel, and let him decide what he really wants. You can even do that trick with him, where you have him breathe deep, center, and answer your questions honestly. Either way, this has to end soon. It’s not good for any of us.”

And with that, she stands, gathers her things, and goes into her bedroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

* * *

The next time he texts me, I decide to take Autumn’s advice.I like you. I think you like me too. But I’m confused by your behavior.

The three dancing dots appear and disappear, and finally in a fit of frustration, I toss my phone in my bag and head out. Autumn’s right, this back and forth isn’t good for me. It can’t be good for Simon, either. It has to end.

The thought of putting an end to it myself, though, has my stomach twisting up in knots. But I’m not going to sit around staring at my phone and waiting for him to respond. I have a life. Things to do. Places to go. Homework that feels like death by a thousand cuts, but we’ll pretend that’s not the case.

I get out my door and as far as the sidewalk intersection a hundred feet in front of my dorm and stop, trying to decide which way to go. Am I hungry? It’s not quite late enough for dinner. Autumn’s still in class. I feel snacky, so maybe I’ll just grab a yogurt parfait from the coffee shop in the library and get through some homework—or at least work on my statistics homework until my brain feels like it wants to pop and then I’ll switch to practicing my lettering as a reward—then Autumn and I can get dinner when she’s out of class.

That decided, I take a left, and head held high, I stride confidently to the library. Once I’m at my table, I pull out my phone and send off a quick text to let Autumn know where I am and to come find me when she wants to get dinner. I pop the lid off my yogurt, sprinkle the crunchy granola over the top, give it all a stir, and dig in while I start slogging through my statistics homework. While astronomy is so boring I can barely keep my eyes open, statistics is the class that feels like banging my head against a brick wall. Or smashing it in a door repeatedly. It’s the class that makes me wish that sleeping on my textbook and learning via osmosis were a real thing.

Because this class is going to murder my GPA. And since I’m getting enough crap from my parents about my inability to pick a major, adding in a lower than normal GPA for this semester should make going home at Christmas extra fun.

I can imagine the conversations now. The mixture of disappointment and concern on my parents’ faces. The, “Ellie, we just want what’s best for you,” where what’s best equals doing what they want and not what I want.

Except I don’t actually know what I want, which is the problem variable in this equation.

Good lord, math is infecting my brain, and now I’m thinking in mathy terms. Too bad it’s not enough for me to pull my statistics grade out of the gutter.

I pull out the quiz we got back yesterday with the big, fat C at the top.

What’s so bad about a C, you might ask?

Well, a lot when you’ve always been a straight A student. Valedictorian. The smart one.

The smart one who can’t handle statistics, apparently. I sit, I take notes, I read the book—which is huge for me, because I can’t say I’veeverread a math textbook before. Hell, I barely even read the textbooks for other classes in high school. All the teachers told you everything you needed to know, for the most part, and the rest I could glean from reading the chapter headings and bolded sections.

But this is as opaque as the Greek system is to me. I don’t understand it. I don’t really want to understand it. I’m only taking it because my dad told me to. And I pull out my phone to look up the add/drop deadline, because I’m not sure this is worth the pain.

Of course then I’ll have to listen to the endless lectures about how winners never quit and quitters never win and how they’re not paying for me to go to college to waste my time. That I need to make a decision soon, or else …

A large body drops into the seat across from me, and I glance up to find the last person I expected to see today.

Simon dwarfs the spindly chair, and,Can that chair support his weight?flits through my mind. While it would be kind of amusing to see him fall on his ass—and I twist my mouth to one side to hide the smile that rises unbidden at the image—I’m now more confused than ever.

“Hi,” I say, making sure to put all my befuddled surprise in that one short syllable.

“Hi,” Simon returns, his lips curling in a smile that’s too sexy for my sanity.

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