Page 37 of The Off-Limits Play

Wrestling my jeans on, I scowl at the concrete floor. When the fuck did pizza in a no-nothing town become more appealing than car sex?

I am seriously losing my fucking mind!

Yet I still grab my shirt like I’m running late and throw it on, cramming my shit into my bag and heading for the door.

“I’m out,” I tell the guys.

“What, you not gonna shower, you disgusting douchenozzle?” Grady calls after me.

Douchenozzle. It’s hard not to crack up laughing.

Spinning with a smirk, I raise my middle fingers at him. “Chicks like me sweaty.”

Zander rolls his eyes, and I turn back for the door as Wily shouts, “You smell like ass!”

“Shower in a can, dickheads!” As soon as I make it through the doorway, I wrestle the deodorant can out of my bag and spray under my pits and across my chest before reaching my bike and pulling out my leather jacket.

Shit. I probably do stink, but I didn’t want to get caught in the locker room for too long. I’ve got places to be. Pizza to eat. A girl with playful brown eyes and a teasing grin to hang out with.

I wonder what she’ll call me tonight.

Damn, I shouldn’t be doing this.

But like hell I’m staying in Nolan for dinner.

Revving my bike, I squeal out of the parking lot and head north. Google Maps told me it would take forty-six minutes, and I get there in forty-two. It’s not hard to find the pizza place. The ranching town has like twenty shops, including a diner and candy store along Main Street, and most of them are closed up for the night.

Shit, I couldn’t live somewhere this small. Nolan’s considered a small college town, and that’s like ten times the size of this place… if not more.

Parking my bike a block down from Mama Luna’s Pizzeria, I take in the river to my left. Moonlight is making the water sparkle, bathing the walkway and grass in a milky white glow. It’s kinda pretty. I don’t normally notice this stuff, but now I’m imagining walking along there after dinner, Nylah beside me, and… holy fuck.

Stop it! You’re just here to eat food. That’s it.

Running a hand through my hair, I dump my helmet on the seat and head across the road.

Mama Luna’s is pretty busy but not bursting at the seams. I can imagine it’s overflowing on a Friday and Saturday night, but it’s Monday. And most of these country folk are probably tucked up in their little houses eating dinner around the table with their families.

A sharp memory punches me in the gut. Mom always insisted we eat dinner at the table, and Dad would sit across from me, his tall, strong body too big for the table. He was like a superhero. All muscle with his big, bushy beard and stubby ponytail. His arms were covered in tattoos from his biker days. He even had some on his neck. I used to love tracing them with my fingers. As much as I complained about eating dinner at the table and not in front of the TV, I secretly loved it.

Dad would nudge my foot under the table, pull funny faces at me, make games the nights we had to eat peas. He’d secretly roll them across the table when Mom wasn’t looking or chuck them at me while she was talking about her day. I always got the giggles, especially when her eyes snapped up and then narrowed. Dad would give her an innocent smile, then tell her how gorgeous she was, and she’d forget about manners and give him a mushy smile.

Yeah, dinner around the table was the best.

My insides go hard and cold as the memory fades, replaced with newer ones that taste like ash and smell just as bad. Fuck.

“Can I help you, sir?”

I glance at the waitress with her sweet smile and cute ponytail. It swings as she tips her head and looks up at me.

“I’m meeting someone.” My voice comes out harder and gruffer than I mean it to.

Her smile falters. “S-sure. Um…”

“I can see her.” I point past the girl who must only be a teenager and she nods, stepping out of my way so I can walk to the table by the window.

I plunk down in my seat, dumping my bag by the wall and practically growling, “So, I’m here.”

Nylah grins at me, completely unfazed by my salty mood. “Welcome to my table, sunshine.” She pats my hand, and I can’t even summon my standard “Lame” because it’s glaringly obvious that she’s being sarcastic.

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