Page 306 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Slow down, Turbo,” I say as I put some of my supplies back on the cleaning cart before taking a seat beside her. “It wasn’t like you’re thinking.”

“It wasn’t?” she asks, her smirk only growing wider. “Was it more swing from the chandeliers or more gasp for breath because your face is pushed into the mattress because he feels so good from behind?”

“Jesus,” I choke out but shouldn’t expect any less from her.

“Did you satisfy your curiosity then?”

“You know what they say about curiosity . . .”

“It killed the cat, yeah, yeah. But honey, by the grin on your face, I know your kitty meowed. A lot.”

“How about you stop or else you don’t get any details.”

Her face falls, and I know I’ve hurt her feelings when I didn’t mean to. I love the woman to death but subtlety is not her forte and overboard dramatics definitely are.

“Okay. I’ll shut my mouth so you can give me the 4-1-1.”

I laugh. We’ll see how long that lasts. “I don’t know,” I begin. “We had some drinks. We talked for a few hours. We were too tipsy to drive so we walked back to his house. On the way, we decided that if we got each other out of our systems, we might be able to stop this nonsense competition we seem to be in over who has to be in control. A one-time romp with no strings attached.”

“Get each other out of your systems?” She guffaws and just barely manages not to laugh at the idea. “Because that’s what normal childhood friends do when they reunite after twenty years.”

“Reunite? Is that what it’s called?”

“I am trying to be good here. What word should I use to describe it?”

“How about ‘fucked’?” She isn’t the only one who can deliver the shock value, and by the way she just choked on her next word, I’d say I was successful at it.

“Fucked. I can approve of that word.” She laughs. “But the question remains: Did it work? Did you get each other out of your systems?”

I stare at her as I try to figure out how to answer.

Of course it didn’t work. Being with him once only left me wanting more. Pride prevents me from acknowledging that every time my phone rings, I jump to see if it’s him, only to chastise myself that it doesn’t matter if it is.

One time. That’s all it can be.

My rule. Not his.

And I hate that the only time we’ve talked was when he called to apologize for his brothers showing up unannounced.

“So, the one-time thing,” she continues on, well aware that I haven’t responded to her last question. “Was this his rule or yours? My bet is on you.”

“You’d be correct. Don’t act so surprised.” I swat at her arm.

“I’m not surprised by the rule, I’m just surprised you fell for it.” She swats my arm right back and gives me a look that makes me think she’s privy to some type of knowledge that I’m clearly not.

“What does that mean?”

“You guys have been playing Control Wars for what? Two, three weeks?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Don’t you find it awfully convenient that, all of a sudden, he let you call the shots when he’s been vying for the top?”

“Are you saying he played me?” I hate that the coin she’s just put in the slot drops down and hits with a loud, ricocheting clank.

“You’re damn straight he did. Damn brilliantly, too.”

She laughs, and her face has an incredulous expression on it I don’t really feel like recognizing.