Page 305 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“Shit.” I rub a hand over the top of my head.

“Now, I know I was poking pins in the Voodoo doll I have to punish you for avoiding me, but I didn’t think it would actually work.”

“Very funny,” I say as I roll my eyes, step away from the plane, and wipe my hands on a rag.

Desi stands with her hands on her hips, head angled to the side, and a scarf that looks like a rainbow threw up all over it wrapped around her neck. It’s ridiculous and bright and girly, but she pulls it off and makes it look uniquely fashionable.

“So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

She huffs, as if she’s trying to explain thermonuclear dynamics to a kindergartner, and takes a step forward. “Avoiding me. Not taking my calls. Not returning my calls. Pretending like Grant never called me two nights ago and told me not to show up at the bar because he was going to otherwise occupy your time. You know”—she shrugs—“that kind of avoiding me.”

“No.” I avert my eyes and finish wiping off the windshield of the plane with Windex to—yes—avoid her. “I’ve just been busy.”

Her laugh is rich and bounces off the concrete floor and echoes back to me. “Like bow-chick-a-wow-wow kind of busy?”

I level her with a glare. “You’re so childish.”

“And you refuse to admit you slept with Grant.” She’d be a really good interrogator. I don’t plan on telling her that.

“Who said I slept with Grant?” I feign innocence, trying to keep the act up for some reason.

“You did.”

“I did not.”

“Uh-huh.”

“If I haven’t spoken to you, then I obviously haven’t told you I slept with him.”

“Your silence speaks volumes.” She purses her lips as if victorious, and all I can do is attempt to follow her messed-up logic.

“Silence doesn’t speak.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. It can scream sometimes, and honey, yours is louder than a sonic boom.” I lower my hands from where I’ve moved on to the side windows and just shake my head. “Admit it. I need to hear it.”

Another glare. A repeated sigh. A confession that I’m not sure why I’m keeping so close to the vest when I usually share everything with her.

“Yes, I slept with Grant.”

“Woohoo!” She pumps her fists and jumps up and down as if I just completed an Ironman. “I knew it. He had sex all over his voice when he called me. It was so damn hot I almost had to get myself off.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“And you got laid. So . . .” She pats the makeshift bench of a two-by-six piece of wood sitting atop two spaced out sawhorses. “You better not leave out a damn bit of detail.”

“You really want a blow-by-blow?”

“Ohh, you naughty girl!” She screeches. “You blew him, too. I love it!”

“No—I—oh my God, I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

“So, you didn’t blow him?”

“Desi!”

“Yes, that just means there’s going to be another time to explore all other avenues you haven’t ventured down yet.”