Page 195 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“And then what?”

“And then I bailed to my room. It was much easier doing that than trying to sort through my feelings with him sleeping right beside me.”

“But you felt something, right?”

“I felt fucking everything,” I admit without hesitation and know how stupid it sounds. To run away from those kinds of feelings, but the fact that she doesn’t point it out makes me feel a little better.

“And when you confronted him?”

“He acted like I was asking him about the weather.”

Brexton turns to face me and puts her hands on my shoulders so I’m forced to look at her. “The question is, what are you going to do about it, Dekker? Are you going to let him walk away a second time when you know damn well he’s the only one who’s lit your fire emotionally and sexually?”

“Christ.” My cheeks flush.

“No. I’m being serious. What are you going to do? Rob yourself of the chance of seeing what happens because you’re too chickenshit to try?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Why isn’t it? Maybe what’s not fair is how we’ve let you sneak by doing this and not really living for anything other than work and a false sense of security with people who put water on your fire like Chad.” She gives a little shake to my shoulders. “So the question is . . . what are you going to do about it?”

“There’s nothing I can do about it. I can’t ask him to be a client and want to have a relationship at the same time. I can’t—”

“Fuck that.” She waves a hand at me. “We’ll figure it out. Dad will have to deal. There are always solutions to every problem. We can handle him.”

“But that doesn’t fix the other problem.”

“Other problem?”

“Like how other clients would perceive me sleeping with a client I’m going after.”

“Then he’s not with the agency or we pass him off to one of us to represent. Done. Next excuse.” She flashes a dazzling smile my way, and I groan because the next one isn’t so easy.

“You can fix all the things in the world on the professional side, Brex, but nothing will make Hunter see me as anything other than a no-strings notch on his busy bedpost.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“Good for you.” I move back toward my desk and the stacks of paperwork, hoping that if I ignore her, maybe this conversation will go away.

“If Hunter didn’t have feelings for you, do you think he would have gotten all butt-hurt when you left after Callum saw you that night?” She lifts her eyebrows and crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you think he would have been more of a dick and less dismissive when you confronted him in the parking lot? You made him feel like you put work before him . . . and I’d say that screams that he has feelings for you.”

I see what she’s saying but . . . “You weren’t there.”

“You’re right. I wasn’t. But if you want him to see you as more than a notch—which I already think he does—then force him to.”

“He closes off emotionally before anyone can get too attached. It’s like he doesn’t feel like he deserves to be cared for or loved.”

She coughs through a laugh and throws her hands up. “The irony.”

“Shut up.” But I laugh with her this time as my mind spins and whirls and contemplates if she could be right.

Could Hunter have feelings for me but not know how to show them? Could he be just as fearful of letting someone in as I am? If so, how do I push him past that—how do I push myself past that—to give us a chance?

“Say I buy into what you’re saying—”

“You do. And you should.”

“Then what do I do next?”