Page 33 of Off Limits

I didn’t know how to respond. Didn’t have the words. And there aren’t any equations that communicate feelings. At least none that I know.

But there are actions. I was trying to figure out the best course of action when her second text came in announcing her location and telling me to find her when I was ready for dinner.

And there it was. Exactly what I needed to do laid out in black and white—or blue and white as the case may be. It’s the closest thing to a relationship playbook I’ll ever have. In past relationships, my inability to find the right words and do the right things has always caused a breakdown. Or at least that’s how it’s always seemed. There were layers of meaning behind statements that I couldn’t parse. Didn’t know to look for. And I always wished things could be direct and simple.

With Ellie, when it’s just her and me and I can pretend all the other factors don’t exist, it is that simple. She’s been direct, and she deserves as much from me.

Or at least that’s what I thought at first. When she said that she’d meant to send the text to her roommate, my stomach had dropped. She didn’t want to have dinner with me after all.

Still, though, this is my chance to clear things up. To put my feelings out there and see what she wants to do with them. She’s already mentioned not wanting to make her brother mad, so it’s possible this is my one and only chance to take her to dinner. That night at the bakery doesn’t count. That was for apology cookies. Dinner wasn’t the plan.

This, as far as I was thinking when I headed for the library, was something a lot closer to a date. Which is why I made an effort to look nice and managed to score a last minute reservation at Luigi’s, so I’m glad she agreed to come with me right away, because otherwise we would’ve missed it. But for her, I’d figure something out.

I lead the way to my truck in the library parking lot, and Ellie walks beside me in silence, her eyes occasionally darting my way. When I open the passenger door for her, she pauses to look at me—that look she gives me like she’s trying to see inside my brain to figure out what’s going on—before climbing in.

Don’t worry,I think.I’ll fill you in on the details inside my brain soon enough.Maybe notallthe details. Not right away, anyway. But maybe eventually, depending on how this dinner goes. Because there are some very detailed fantasies floating around in there. Ones I started off trying to ignore, but we all know that repression just makes things worse. So I’ve been rationing them instead, dipping into the realm of fantasy Ellie when I’m home alone. I’d happily share some of those fantasies with her and see if any of them can be turned into reality if I know she’s open to them.

“Where are we going?” she asks, hesitation thick in her voice, as I turn onto the road that leads away from campus.

“There’s a little Italian place downtown. Luigi’s. Have you been there?”

I glance over to see her shaking her head, a solemn look on her face as she studies my clothes, then glances down at her fitted maroon T-shirt and skinny jeans, a filmy black cardigan the only protection against the cool evening air. “Is it fancy?”

“Not really.” Which isn’t exactly a lie. I mean, it’s definitely nicer than a big chain restaurant, with white tablecloths and romantic lighting, and while there are likely to be people dressed up for a nice dinner out, this is the northwest. The culture isn’t all that fancy in general. Jeans and T-shirts are perfectly acceptable clothing choices almost everywhere.

“Does Cal know you’re here? With me?” The questions come out stronger, almost defiant. She’s fiddling with the edge of her cardigan, though. She’s worried about my answer.

“No,” I say quietly. We both know why it’s a bad idea for Cal to know we’re texting regularly and that I’m taking her out to dinner at a well-known date restaurant. Helping her with her statistics homeworkmightbe okay with him, but even that’s iffy given how he tends to act when anyone he’s friends with even notices her existence.

I get it. But at the same time, he needs to chill the fuck out.

“Does Cal’s opinion matter to you?” I ask in the same quiet voice.

She sucks in a sharp breath through her nose and holds it. “It’s not so much his opinion,” she answers after a moment in a thoughtful voice, “it’s dealing with his reactions that I care about.”

“It’s not like you live with him,” I quip, and she snorts.

“True. But I will have to be trapped in a car with him for hours both in November and December, and then I’ll be stuck at home with him during Christmas break, so …” She finishes with a shrug, and I glance over at one of the stoplights to find her studying me. “You do have to live with him, though. And he’s one of your best friends, isn’t he? Doyoucare about his opinion?”

Like her, I take my time considering the question before answering, and by the time I do, we’re pulling into a downtown parking lot close to the restaurant. “It’s not that I don’t care about his opinion,” I tell her as I help her down out of my truck and close her door behind her, hitting the button on the key fob to lock it before pulling up the parking app on my phone to pay for parking. I guide Ellie toward the sidewalk with my hand on her lower back, acutely aware of her posture, but she doesn’t stiffen up at the gesture, so I leave my hand there, wishing things were settled enough that I could hold her hand. Maybe after dinner that’ll be a possibility.

“So what is it then?” she prompts.

I grin down at her, slowing as we reach the door to the restaurant and turning to face her, taking in her upturned face, the dimple in her left cheek as she returns my smile, her eyes sparkling in the fading sunlight. “It’s that his opinion isn’t the only thing that I care about.”

That has her eyebrows raising. “Oh? And what else factors in?”

I lift one shoulder and let it drop. “My opinion. It matters more than Cal’s.”

Her throat works as she swallows, and I swear she sways toward me. “And what’s your opinion?” she asks in a voice that’s distinctly more raspy and sexy on this question.

My feet move closer to her almost of their own volition. “I like spending time with you,” I tell her, just above a whisper. “I like you, and I’m sorry I’ve been sending you mixed signals.”

“Okay,” she breathes. Her lips part, and her tongue darts out to wet them, pink and shiny and so, so tempting.

The restaurant door opens, and a laughing group of people comes spilling out, jostling past us and pushing Ellie into me. I reflexively put my hands up to catch her, gripping her arms, and she has her hands on my chest, her dark eyes wide as she stares up at me.

I have to kiss her.

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