Page 67 of Off Limits

I still have conflicting feelings about that experience, and I’ve wanted to talk things through with Ellie, but it’s not the kind of conversation to have via text. It was eye opening, in a way, to see her back at home, surrounded by her family. It explains a lot about why she has such a hard time standing up for herself to Cal. And why she’s having such a difficult time declaring a major.

It’s painfully obvious that she doesn’t want to do what her parents are pushing her toward, and the fact that Cal gets held up as a model to emulate is … something. It must be really difficult for her.

In a way, maybe it’s good that my little sisters are so much younger than me. They don’t have to grow up in my shadow, with me being held up as a paragon of virtue, worthy of emulation. It helps that my parents are also much more relaxed. They’ve always encouraged me to follow my heart and do what makes me happy, and I’m sure they’ll do the same with my sisters as they get older. At ten, their biggest challenges are school and friends, which I suppose is still in the mix for me too, but they don’t have the added pressure of impending graduation and pursuing a career. That pressure on its own is enough without parents adding their own expectations on top of that. Sure, from a pragmatic perspective, my parents want me to choose a career that will allow me to support myself, but with a finance major as backup for my NFL plans, that’s not really anything we’ve had to fight over. I’ve never been more grateful that they’ve let me find my own way without trying to force their goals onto me.

Cal and Ellie, on the other hand? Their dad seems to view them as extensions of himself.

“Awww,” Ellie complains against my chest. “You’re getting all tense.” She lifts up and runs her hand down my chest. “Relax,” she coos. “You’re a much better pillow when you’re not bunching and flexing your muscles under me.”

With a soft chuckle, I tuck her into my side, her head on my shoulder now. She grumbles playfully about the change in position, but is happy enough when I kiss her and tangle my legs with hers.

“So this weekend …” I start. And now it’s her turn to tense up.

“What about it?” she asks, her voice wary.

I sigh, already unhappy with the way this is starting. She’s seconds away from sitting up and getting dressed, I can feel it in every taut line of her body. The body that was writhing under me in pleasure just minutes ago. And draped over mine in a relaxed stupor even more recently.

“It was kind of intense, that first night.”

“Uh-huh,” is all she says.

I wait, hoping she’ll elaborate, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t do anything. She stays just like she is, locked and loaded, a coiled spring ready to jump.

“Is it always like that?” I ask softly.

And I guess that was the right question to ask, because she melts against me once again, the coiled spring tension dissipating as her body turns liquid.

“Yeah,” she answers, just as softly. “Pretty much. It makes going home super fun.”

I let out a low chuckle at her obvious sarcasm. “I bet.” I chew on the corner of my mouth, wondering if I should even ask the question that’s been plaguing me since Friday night. “Why don’t you just tell him you don’t want to major in nursing?” I ask at last, because it killed me watching her dad rag on her like that and her mom basically nodding along. And even though Cal eventually jumped in and deflected some of the attention, it took him a while, and even then, it only gave their dad another way to slight Ellie. I wanted to say something, to jump in and shield her, but I couldn’t, not without making everything worse.

But why wouldn’t she say something? Wouldn’t that put an end to the conversation?

Ellie squirms against me, clearly uncomfortable with the question, but she doesn’t get up. Not yet, at least. “It’s not that easy,” she finally says.

“Why not?”

She just gives me a look like I’m an idiot, which makes me pull my brows together. “No, seriously,” I push. “I don’t get it. And maybe it’s because I don’t have overbearing parents, but wouldn’t it be better to just tell your dad the truth? And tell him what you actually want to major in instead?”

She pushes herself to sitting and swipes the hair out of her face with jerky, almost violent motions. “It’s not that easy,” she repeats.

I rest my hand on her back, kneading the tight muscles along her spine. She leans back into the motion, and I give her a minute to relax before pushing again. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to piss you off.”

Her head whips around, and she hits me with a glare. “Then stop.”

Sighing again, I sit up and wrap my arms around her from behind, kissing her below the ear, enjoying the way she sits back against me and lets me support her. “What do you want to major in?”

She throws her hands in the air and lets them fall back in her lap. “That’s the problem. I don’t really know.”

“Really?” That surprises me. “I guess I assumed it would be graphic design, because you spend so much of your time drawing cool stuff in the margins of all your homework and practicing your lettering.”

This time when she sits up and looks over her shoulder, she gives me a look of surprise, and then she frowns, looking down. “That’s just for fun,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s not—”

“Why not?” I interrupt. “Why isn’t it a real thing you could do? You’re good at it. Graphic designer is a real job. What’s wrong with it?”

She glances at me and looks away again, still frowning, but obviously considering my words. Then she heaves a sigh. “Because,” she says, like that’s a complete sentence.

“Because why?” I press, quietly but no less insistent for it.

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