Page 269 of Off Limits: The Firsts

Good question. It’s one I need to ask myself.

I take a few steps toward her as she does the same to me until we’re standing a few feet apart on the desolate tarmac.

“I’m not sure,” I murmur, more to myself than to her, wishing she’d take those damn aviator sunglasses off so I could see her eyes. At least then I might have a clue as to what’s running through that mind of hers.

“That’s helpful. I’m sure the chief taught you that if you don’t know what you want, there’s no way you can get it . . . so, uh, good luck figuring it out. Like I said, the airstrip is closed.” She lifts her eyebrows and turns as if to walk away.

My hand is on her arm in a flash. “What is your problem?” I snarl the words, and fuck if this woman can’t rile me in a flash.

Why the hell am I chasing a ghost? Why do I even care?

She jerks her arm from my grasp but doesn’t walk away. At least she’s not running. “You. You’re the problem.”

“Why’s that? What’s so wrong with being friends?”

“I have plenty of friends, Grant.”

“Not like me, you don’t.”

“Charming.” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Arrogance gets you nowhere with me.”

“What is it, Em? What is it about me that irritates you so much? What did I do that was so wrong that when you saw me on the Fourth you already figured out you hated me?” I step into her, my thoughts flying and temper flaring even though I swore I was going to try to calm the situation.

“I’m not irritated,” she sneers.

“Then what do you call it?”

“Hostile.” She gives me a ghost of a smile.

“I call it being defensive.” That one hit home. For a split second, her expression falls before she reins in whatever nerve I’ve hit.

“If you don’t like it, then why are you here?”

“I keep asking myself the same damn question.”

“Seems like we’re at an impasse.” It’s that blasé tone of hers that irritates the fuck out of me. It’s nothing but a mask she’s hiding behind, and I want to rip it off so I can examine what’s beneath it.

“I’m gonna wear you down.”

Fucking brilliant, Malone. I went from swearing she was too much trouble to now vowing to wear her down.

“No you’re not.” Those hands of hers find her hips again.

“I know your type, Emmy. You’re used to pushing people away the minute they get too close. You’re used to calling the shots and being in control. News flash, I don’t budge when I’m pushed and no one controls what I do.”

“For the record, behind my sunglasses I’m rolling my eyes at your macho bullshit tantrum.”

“You always did love to roll your eyes.”

“Stop!” She clenches her fists and fights to regain her composure. “I told you, I’m not the same girl you used to know.”

“Good thing,” I say as I take a step toward her, “or else we’d be having this discussion while making mud pies in my parents’ backyard and eating those gummy worms you used to love.” There’s a crack in her armor, a slight curl to one of her lips.

“There’s nothing wrong with gummy worms.”

I cringe in mock disgust. “And just like you’re not the same girl, I’m definitely not the same boy. I won’t try to sweet talk you into pouring salt on snails or covering your hand in honey to see how many ants we can collect. Bugs aren’t my thing anymore.”

She fights her smile, her ice melting. “What is your thing then?”