Page 203 of Off Limits: The Firsts

I wake with a start.

The sun is streaming through the blinds I never closed last night and the bed beside me is still warm, but I remember everything about what happened.

There’s a thump in my living room and I slide out of bed, groggy, still sleepy, and still concerned for Hunter.

“Hunter?” When he doesn’t answer, I head down the hallway just in time to see him walking toward my front door. He looks back over his shoulder and our eyes meet. “What are you doing?”

He still looks like hell—eyes red, brow furrowed, like he hasn’t slept in years, when I know for a fact he just got a solid seven hours.

“I—uh—I’ve got shit to do.”

“Hey,” I say when he turns his back on me again. He was going to skip out without saying a thing. Hurt flickers through me that I try to justify and rationalize, and then give up all hope on. “What’s going on?”

“It was a moment of weakness.”

“What was?” I ask, but I already know the answer.

“Me coming here.”

“Weakness?” I laugh, the irony not lost on me that his weakness is akin to my mistake. My temper fires on a dime as I study him. He’s obviously still upset, but his choice to skip out is his way of using me . . . what feels like again. “You want to know what weakness is?” I take a step closer to him. “It’s me baring my soul to you. It’s me standing in a parking lot in front of an arena somewhere telling you exactly how I feel. That I’m willing to put my professional aspirations—ones dictated by my father and to benefit my family—aside, because of and for you. It’s me standing there telling you that it’s you. It’s always been you. The one I walked away from three years ago because I was too afraid of how I felt for you, and the one I walked into this time still afraid but with a job to do. It’s you, you asshole, and once again, I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re going to take the chickenshit way out and sneak away instead of face me and talk to me.”

I suck in a ragged breath, because my body is trembling and my temper is wired as I stare at him and wait for a reaction—anything other than the pained look. He’s going to do the same thing as last time and let me go.

“You don’t get it,” he says with a shake of his head.

“Then make me get it,” I shout, closing the distance between us. After how he made me feel last night—suddenly afraid of losing him but knowing if he lets me push him away again, he wasn’t good enough for me in the first place—I’m fed up. “You don’t get to walk in here like you did last night and need me and then leave without saying a word.”

“Or what?”

“Or it will never happen again.” My voice is a low, threatening warning.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He laughs the question out.

“It means I’m not yours to use, Hunter. I’m the shiny toy in the store you can’t have. You visit every once in a while so you can take me down and play with me so long as you put me back on the shelf when you’re done.”

“Fuck this, Dekk.” He gives a shake of his head as he moves toward the door. “You wouldn’t understand. You wouldn’t want to understand.”

“Then make me,” I scream, as I stalk after him. “Make me understand. Talk to me and tell me what I need to know, because I’m here, real and bleeding emotion while you’re standing there acting like it’s not a big fucking deal when it’s everything to me. When I’m realizing you’re more to me than I want to admit.”

“Dekker.” He stops with his hand on the door and hangs his head, my name an apology I don’t want to hear.

Tears well in my eyes. Just as I realize what I want—as I realize I want to see where things can go with us and, fuck yes, it’s scary and the end isn’t known and hurt is probably preordained . . . but I want to take a chance and figure that out.

Hurt reigns.

Embarrassment surges.

Anger wins.

“Then go. Get out. If you can’t face me, I don’t want to see you again either.” Emotion drives my words as my heart jumps in my throat, and what’s at stake hits me full force.

He turns and looks at me. His big body framed in the small entryway, and I swear to God if the tumultuous emotions in his eyes could be expressed, I’d be drowning in them. Every single one.

“You don’t mean that.” His eyes hold mine, the lines etched in his face so full of sadness that I look away when I speak my next words, my temper faltering despite my self-worth holding strong.

“I’m done being used. Just done.” I turn my back on him and walk to my bedroom.

Let him leave.