Page 69 of Off Limits: The Firsts

And the funny thing is, as much as I wanted to see him, as much as I feel like I need him tonight, he just pushed every wrong button possible by coming at me with anger when I did nothing wrong.

“Excuse me?” My voice is a quiet steel as I take another step toward him and his irrational temper.

“You heard me, Scout. What the fuck were you doing with Santiago?”

“First of all, I wasn’t with Santiago. And second, did I miss a point in time where you laid claim to me?”

“Not. At. All.” He rolls his shoulders. He shifts his feet. But between the dark night and the brim of his ball cap, I can’t see his eyes when I desperately wish I could.

“Great. Then you can move out of the way. I can leave. And tomorrow, when we meet up for your training, we can forget all about this whole getting to know you shtick and move on.”

His laugh fills the night, but falls flat. “It’s just that easy for you, huh? Run. Dodge. Avoid. Nice try, Scout, but I’m not letting you use that on me.”

“You don’t get a say in what I do or don’t do, Hot Shot.” I take a step closer to him, partly hurt, partly relieved that whatever he’s pissed about isn’t deterring him from whatever is happening between us.

“Nice skirt,” he says, completely throwing me for a loop with his change in conversation. There’s an underlying edge to his voice, though.

“Your point?”

“Can’t a man tell a woman who got dressed up she looks nice? I mean, I sure as shit know you weren’t dressing up for me. I get Nikes and sports bras, but Penski or Cameron or fucking Santiago gets a short skirt, long legs, boots, and fixed hair. ‘Dress to impress’ must have been the motto for the night, huh?”

My temper snaps.

“I don’t have fucking time for this. Or you.” I storm over to my car, hands on my hips. “Move.”

He doesn’t budge, just stands there with a clenched jaw and murder in his eyes that reflects how I feel. “You talk to Santiago with that mouth, too?”

“Fuck you!” I shout. He’s pushing for a fight, and you know what? I’m so game for one right now. I have a tornado of emotions whipping around inside of me—grief, loneliness, desire, need, uncertainty, fear—and it’s so much easier to be angry than to face any of them.

Or to admit that I’m hurt he could think I’d want Santiago when the only person I want is him.

I want him.

It’s a fleeting thought, one my temper overrides, but it’s loud enough to add fuel to the fight. Because if I fight, then I don’t have to acknowledge that, though I’m used to shutting everyone out, he might be the first I want to let in.

“Come on, Scout. Are you playing me?” I can hear the hurt in his tone, know he’s had a few drinks, like I have, and know that nothing intensifies bravado like alcohol. “Are you using the contract as an excuse to keep this your little secret? Do you keep pushing me away, holding me at arms’ length because you’re really dating one of them and you don’t want either of us to find out?”

What? My temper’s too far gone for me to think rationally, and so I do what comes next in line—lash out at him.

“Playing you? Glad to know you think so highly of me.” I step into him, our bodies inches away from each other.

“Well, you sitting there with Santiago tells me exactly what you think of me.” His words are guarded armor when he grits them out, quiet but loaded with vitriol.

“The way you’re acting, I shouldn’t think of you at all.”

We glare at each other. Hurt waging against hurt. Anger swirling in the cool night air. And neither of us attempt to back down.

“You know what? Fuck this,” he mutters, looks at me one last time through eyes laden with sadness, shakes his head, and strides out of the parking lot.

It takes me a second to process what’s happening. To realize he’s walking away from me. And at first, all I can think is that with him gone, I’ll be able to breathe for a second. Have a clear mind.

Let him go, Scout. If you do, then you can’t get hurt any further. Because people leave. They all do. Ford. Mom. At some point soon, Dad will, too. Chalk up Easton to having fun while it lasted. Some good sex, a new friend, but nothing harmed in the end. He’s too close. You’re too close. Push him away or you’re going to end up devastated. And alone.

Walk away now, like he will from you.

Clear mind. Hard heart, Scouty-girl.

But what if I don’t want a hard heart anymore?