Page 252 of Off Limits: The Firsts

I lean back in my chair as the conversation wears on. Leo talks about his most favorite dive in Machu Pichu. Desi flits between the twenty or so guests, making everyone feel at home with her easy charm. The fairy lights in the trees add a soft glow, there’s a welcome chill to the summer air, and the Carne Asada cooking on the grill smells like absolute heaven.

Even better, she’s kept her promise. I don’t see any unfamiliar faces she can try to set me up with. And while I don’t know most of them other than a casual hello, I’ve at least seen them before. It’s the perfect night.

“Don’t you think, Emerson?” Leo’s voice pulls my attention back from my thoughts, and I find eight pairs of eyes staring at me waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry. I was in La-la Land. What am I supposed to be opining about?”

“We were talking about—”

I don’t hear another word he says because, just over his left shoulder, I see Grant Malone standing in the frame of the door. He’s wearing shorts and a cream-colored Henley, and his hands are shoved in his pockets while his eyes are trained on me.

I hate that the sight of him makes my breath catch and causes a flutter somewhere deep inside me. I despise that when I meet his eyes, I want to see the little boy I once knew instead of the achingly handsome man he’s become. More than anything, I hate that he needs to go when all I want him to do is stay.

There’s an awkward moment where everyone notices my blatant distraction and falls silent. They shift to look at Grant before, almost as one, they turn back to stare at me.

“Excuse me,” I murmur as I rise from my seat, a mixture of anger and confusion rioting through my veins.

Desi broke her promise. And not only did she break her promise but she did so with the one man who made the dreams I haven’t had in years come back. Last night, I woke in a blind panic: Pillow soaked with sweat, hands gripped in the sheets, and heartbeat out of control.

My rational self knows it isn’t his fault, and yet, I blame him for scraping up the past, which is better left dead and buried.

If looks could kill, the one I shoot Desi would put her six feet under. The other guests murmur about who the stranger is as I make my way toward him.

“What are you doing here?” He smells incredible. Like soap and mint and why am I even noticing?

“Hi, Grant Malone. Nice to meet you.” Cool as can be, he ignores the irritation in my tone and holds his hand out for me to shake.

“Seriously?” I eye his hand and then look back to him.

“Oh, you’re going to remember that we know each other now? I’m sorry. I wasn’t quite sure if you were still playing the ‘I’m not Emmy, I don’t know you’ game like you were the other day.”

I grit my teeth because I deserve the dig, but hell if I’m going to let him know that. “What are you doing here?”

“Okay, so now we’re admitting we already know each other. That makes life much easier, don’t you think?” He drops his hand. “Desi invited me. She said she’s a good cook, and well, I like to eat.” The shrug he gives me is casual, as if there is no other explanation needed, and that smile of his never wavers from its boyish slant. I haven’t seen him in twenty years, and all the sudden, I cross paths with him twice in one week.

“In that case, she’s right over there.” I point to where Desi is sitting, cautiously staring our way. It’s only then that I realize most of the guests are also watching us.

“That, and I wanted to see you again.”

The words on my lips falter as I try to process why him being here has me so irritated, but it does. And just as bewilderingly, I can’t stop studying him. I can’t stop wondering about him and the man he’s become. Is he anything like the person my mind had conjured him to be on the odd occasion I thought about him?

I can feel the weight of everyone’s stares on my back and know they are wondering why I’m acting so bizarre. Normally, I’d hug whoever the new person was and welcome them into our transient circle without a second thought.

“Okay . . . well, then . . . beer is over there in the cooler and food is on the table. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the restroom.”

The kitchen is empty when I enter it, and I’m so very thankful for the silence to collect my thoughts. The irony is that the quiet doesn’t last long. Someone turns on the radio and music drifts in through the open french doors, along with my friends’ laughter and a voice that is unfamiliar yet familiar all at once.

I’ve come inside to get some distance from Grant so I can think, and yet I’m standing here studying him through the window. His dark hair and five o’clock shadow. How the sleeves of his Henley are pushed up to his elbows to showcase strong forearms. His natural ease talking with everyone and instinctual awareness of everything around him like his dad used to have when we were kids.

He’s just like the little boy I used to know and nothing like him at the same time.

That’s a brilliant thought, Em. He can’t be both of those at the same time . . . and yet, he is.

“Watcha looking at?”

I jump back at the sound of Desi’s voice and am shocked to find her standing beside me, admiring the same view I am. I was so lost in my thoughts that I hadn’t noticed her come in.

“Nothing. Just thinking.” Needing something to do with my hands, I turn on the faucet and begin washing them.