Off Limits

by Vanessa Winters

  She laughs and stands up, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “I think you’ve gone above and beyond. I’ll work on getting your dad out of here so you and your beau can head home.” She waggles her eyebrows at me, and I make a disgusted face.

  “Oh my god.”

  She laughs again, grinning widely, and I excuse myself to go to the bathroom.

  It’s nice to be outside of the hoi polloi of the ballroom, and I take my time, washing my hands and making sure my makeup and hair still look okay.

  I expected to feel down on myself because of the beautiful woman Chris brought, but I don’t. I still look good, and I smile at my reflection, remembering the way Ian called me beautiful before we left.

  Maybe it hasn’t been such a bad night, after all.

  The bathroom door bangs open behind me, and in the mirror, I see Annie come rushing in. “There you are,” she says, sounding out of breath. “You need to get out there.”

  “What?”

  “Just come on!” She grabs my hand and tugs me out of the bathroom, and I hustle in my heels to keep up with her.

  I don’t have time to freak out about whatever she’s dragging me toward. We come around the corner to a little alcove outside the ballroom, and there’s Chris, leaning up to get in Ian’s face.

  Ian’s tall enough that Chris can’t meet him eye to eye, but he looks drunk and angry all the same. Ian’s just standing there, arms folded and face stony, but there’s a vein pulsing in the side of his forehead, and I can tell his teeth are clenched.

  I sigh and start to walk closer, ready to break it up, even though the last thing I want to do is go over there where Chris is. But I can’t let them come to blows right outside of my grandmother’s party.

  “Ian,” I say, letting my voice carry so I get his attention. “Let’s go, okay?”

  He sees me, and the anger in his expression clears a bit.

  “There you are,” Chris says, and a slimy grin spreads over his face. “I was wondering when you’d come say hello.”

  Ian’s lips downturn further. “You don’t get to talk to her. If you have anything to say, you talk to me.”

  “Says who?” Chris asks as he rolls his drunken eyes back to Ian.

  “Says me.”

  I’m frozen for a second, unsure of what to do. He hasn’t talked to me since the day I packed my things and left our apartment in tears. Not a call, not a text, not anything. Now, here we are. Chris suddenly wants to speak with me and Ian—my fake boyfriend—is doing the best he can to keep his anger under control. All the while looking like the incredible protective boyfriend he’s been to me since day one.

  I used to tell myself that if Chris apologized, I’d take him back. But that was months ago, before I realized I deserved better than him.

  So I don’t say anything.

  “What? Nothing to say to me?” Chris asks.

  “Why would she have something to say to you?” Ian asks.

  “Does it look like I’m talking to you?”

  Ian steps in between me and Chris. “You are now.”

  “Out of my way. Elizabe—huc!”

  The sound of Chris hiccupping makes me wrinkle my nose. He’s so plastered out of his mind that he can’t even think straight. I slowly look over at my sister and she’s frozen, watching the scene with widened eyes. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say. This is my Nana’s 50th marriage celebration.

  Why is Chris so hellbent on ruining that?

  Ian sighs. “You need some water.”

  Chris waves his hand in the air. “I don’t need anything. ‘Cept to talk to her.”

  “Well, you’re not going to do that.”

  “Why? Because you’re my replacement and you want to—huc!—look like the good guy?”

  Ian takes a step forward. “No. Because I know what you did to hurt her. I know everything. And you’re damn lucky I’m not speaking up in the middle of this party to say something.”

  I reach out and touch Ian’s arm as I move to his side, giving him a soft smile. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Chris holds out his hand. “Oh, no no no. I need to talk with you.”

  Ian growls lowly. “Go. Away.”

  I nod. “Chris, he’s right. You’re drunk, and whatever you have to say doesn’t matter at this point. What’s done between us is done.”

  Chris’ lips twitch. “Can I call you later, then?”

  Ian lunges at him and I grab his arm, trying to hold him back. This can’t happen. Not here. Not now. I hear my sister rushing off, probably to get someone. And I know we have to get out of here quickly before yet another scene unfolds.

  “Ian, come on. Please.”

  I feel him trembling. “He deserves to lose his teeth.”

  I hiss. “Not at this party. Okay?”

  Chris grins and I want to slap it off his face. “I see you’re still defending me. You always were the stark protector of the two of us.”

  I snicker. “Yeah. And that was one of the many things wrong with us.”

  Chris’s face falls and I feel vindicated. Slightly. But, only slightly. The only thing that could even sort of entice me to sit down and talk with that asshole is if it came with an apology. Other than that, I have nothing to say to him. And it feels good, being face to face with him again and feeling as if I owe him nothing. It’s a new feeling for me. A freeing feeling.

  One I hope will continue long after this party is over.

  “Chris, please,” I whisper.

  I look up into his face and he finally pulls his eyes away from my grimy ex. Then, to my relief, he nods. He lets me pull him away from Chris and I link my arm with his, trying to get him to settle down. He’s grinding his teeth together. I see his eyes bubbling with anger. I lean my head against his arm as we walk off together, turning both of our backs to a man that no longer matters.

  And I don’t bother to look back.

  Instead, I take Ian out to the gardens. It’s freezing outside, even with the heat lamps spread out by the benches, and when Ian drapes his jacket over my shoulders, I smile up at him gratefully.

  “So what was that about?” I ask.

  He sighs. “Nothing.”

  “I thought the plan was to ignore him.”

  “I was ignoring him. And then he came over and started talking to me.”

  “What did he say?”

  He shakes his head. “I’m not going to repeat it.”

  So nothing good, then. I don’t even know how to feel about that, really. I know Chris doesn’t love me anymore. Hell, he probably never loved me, but the thought of him going over to bad mouth me to my new boyfriend is pretty shitty.

  “What did you ever see in him?” Ian asks, suddenly intense. “Because I talked to him for all of five minutes, and I didn’t see any redeeming qualities at all.”

  I shrug, “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Was it the money?”

  I pull back, stung. “Is that the kind of person you think I am?”

  “Well, it’s obvious you’re still hung up on him.”

  “I am not.”

  “You should’ve seen the way you were gawking at him.”

  I snicker. “I wasn’t gawking at him, Ian. And why do you care anyway? This thing between us is a ruse. Your part is almost played. I don’t understand why you care about it anyway.”

  He shakes his head. “Don’t you get it, Libby? Just because we aren’t actually together--.”

  “Say that a bit louder. I’m not sure the entire party heard you.”

  His face falls stone cold. “Just because we’re doing what we’re doing doesn’t mean you haven’t become a friend. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. And it kills me a little inside to see you still hung up on some asshole.”

  “Well, I’m not hung up on him. So, you can tuck in the ‘care for show’. No one’s out here to witness us anyway.”

  “Is that really the kind of man you think I am?”

 
“Depends. Do you really think I’m the kind of woman to be with a man simply for his money?

  Regret floods his face a second later, and he shakes his head. “No. No, of course not. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, I swear. It’s just … I don’t get it.”

  “Well, it’s not yours to get. Don’t get me wrong, I’m appreciative of what you’re doing. And after all is said and done tonight, I guess you’ll be a free man. But, I don’t appreciate you coming at me the way you did.”

  He pauses. “You guess?”

  I roll my eyes. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

  “I’m not. I’m simply pointing out something you said. You ‘guess’ I’m a free man?”

  “Ian, just stop. Please?”

  He narrows his eyes. “What’s going on in that head of yours? What aren’t you telling me?”

  I walk in front of him. “I could ask you the same thing. But, I know you won’t answer so it’s not worth the fight.”

  “This how you treat all of your fake boyfriends. Because I feel sorry for them, if this is it.”

  I shrug, feeling defensive. It’s not like I have a good answer. It’s not like I’m proud of the time I spent following Chris around like a puppy desperate for love. I’d take it back if I could and save myself some heartbreak. Except, I am much too curious as to why Ian seems so--.

  No, he can’t be.

  It’s not possible for him to be jealous.

  “People make mistakes,” I tell him. “I met him at a time when I felt like I didn’t have a lot to offer anyone, and he seemed to like me. I know it was stupid because he’ll never love anyone more than he loves himself, but it was a nice fiction while it lasted.”

  I look down at the cobblestone path, heart heavy. I usually like to think that the person I was then and the person I am now are pretty far apart, but sometimes I’m not so sure.

  I’m not even sure about Ian right now, and why he feels the need to say the things he’s saying. How do I always get myself into these insane situations with men? Why can’t I just have something real? Something normal? Something kind?

  “Hey,” Ian says, stopping and taking my hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a dick about it. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

  He lifts my hand and kisses the back of it for the second time tonight, and I let out a rough sigh.

  “It’s okay. Sometimes I ask myself the same question. I’m glad you didn’t fight him.”

  “I almost did. But I didn’t want to make a scene at your grandma’s party. He deserves a good solid punch in the face, though.”

  “Or a kick in the dick.”

  “One and then the other?”

  I laugh and agree. Ian cups the side of my face with one hand and leans down to kiss me, and I lean up to meet him halfway. His lips are cold, and I’m sure mine are, too, but that doesn’t stop us.

  He kisses me until I feel warm all the way through, and I don’t give a shit about Chris or his women or anything other than the heat that runs through me when Ian’s mouth is on mine.

  Ian

  I take Libby home with me after the party. Not because I want to make good on my comment about seeing her dress on the floor (even though I do), but because I don’t want her to be alone after dealing with Chris.

  She handled him well by ignoring him, better than I had, anyway.

  But I thought I’d been pretty restrained seeing as that asshole had come over to offer me some “friendly advice” about Libby.

  It was all degrading bullshit that I wanted to sock him right in the face for, and I was glad Libby wasn’t around to hear it. She deserves better than that.

  We go back to my place and have ice cream and hot cocoa, and then I bring her to bed with me, just to sleep.

  I can’t even remember the last time I had a woman in my bed just to sleep.

  I want her, of course I want her. She’s gorgeous and funny, no matter what she thinks about herself, but she’s not in the mood, and I can respect that.

  I guess, with the party over now, our arrangement is over. We haven’t worked out a plan for our break up yet, but I’m assuming it’ll be something tasteful and uneventful. Maybe she works too much or I work too much, or I looked at another woman’s ass while we were out on a date.

  No one would be surprised about that.

  But it probably needs to be something less dramatic so Darren doesn’t come kick my ass.

  Even though the ruse is over, I still want to be her friend. I still want to see her and hang out with her, and yeah, sleep with her.

  But we haven’t talked about what happens after this whole thing is done, so I don’t know what to expect.

  I wake up before she does the next morning, and I get out of bed to go make breakfast. What can I say, I’m a gentleman. I leave a shirt and some sweatpants at the foot of the bed for her to put on, just in case she doesn’t want to parade around my apartment naked.

  Not that I’d have a problem with it if she did.

  Cooking helps me clear my head and de-stress, so I pull out the stuff I need to make French toast and bacon, and get to work.

  It’s something I can make with my eyes closed, and I let my mind wander while I work, thinking about how gorgeous Libby looked last night, and how gorgeous she would look bent over my kitchen island.

  The smell of food wafts through the apartment, and it’s not long before I hear shuffling in the bedroom and Libby comes out, wearing the shirt, which is big on her, and not much else. She offers me a sleepy smile and comes to sit on one of the stools at the island.

  “Smells good in here.”

  “I thought I’d make some breakfast,” I tell her.

  “My hero. I’m starving.”

  “That’s me, saving the world, one plate of French toast at a time.” I load up a plate with French toast, bacon, and fruit, and present it to her with a theatrical flourish.

  She laughs and it, like my shirt, is a good look on her.

  We eat in companionable silence, and I let my mind wander for bit, thinking about what it is I want. Usually I know exactly what it is. I can tell within a few minutes of meeting a woman how we’re going to get along. Whether she’s going to be pushy or clingy or need too much from me. But Libby’s always been something of a mystery. Harder to read. Back in the day, I could never tell if she was talking to me because she wanted to or because I was her brother’s friend or because she felt like she had to. Now, I’m more sure that she does actually like me, but maybe she’s counting down the seconds until this arrangement is over and she can get back to her life as it was before.

  I went into this because it seemed like a good chance to get to have someone who’d always been off limits before, but coming out of it, I somehow made a friend and found someone I wanted to be around.

  It goes beyond the sex. Well. Okay. The sex is fucking great, but I’m pretty sure if Libby said she doesn’t want to sleep with me ever again, I still will want to be around her. She’s just that funny and interesting, and she seems to get me in a way that I don’t find often.

  But I have no idea what she wants, and I don’t want to ask because sounding clingy and needy isn’t sexy.

  Speaking of sexy, her sitting there with my shirt on, bare thighs on display, drives me to distraction. I almost miss my mouth with a dripping piece of French toast and get syrup on the counter.

  She’s so effortlessly hot sometimes, and I don’t know what it is that makes me want her so much, but fuck.

  It’s like an invisible tether, making me want to grab her and pull her close to me and kiss her until she can only moan my name.

  Every time we have sex it’s better than the last, and for once there’s nothing looming over our heads. No meeting the parents, no fancy parties. We’ve jumped through all the hoops we had to jump through, and now it’s just us.

  I wonder if she’ll still want me as much with that being the case.

  It’s not like me to worry about stuff like this, s
o I do what I’m used to, and I take action.

  When we finish eating, she helps me clear the counter and load the dishwasher. We move around the kitchen easily sidestepping each other while we work. Sometimes I let a hand brush her side or her lower back, reminding her I’m there, and she smiles at me, eyes warm.

  When the counter is clear, I move so we’re both near it and I really can’t take it anymore. She’s just too damn hot wearing almost nothing in my kitchen.

  I crowd her back against the counter, placing a hand on either side of her hips, so she doesn’t have anywhere to go. Her eyes are wide, and I can see that her nipples are getting hard under the fabric of the shirt.

  “You want to know the thought I had this morning?” I ask her, leaning right into her personal space.

  “What?” she asks, and she sounds breathless.

  “How fucking good you would look bent over this island with my cock in you.”

  Her lips part, and she licks them, pink little tongue darting out, making me want to chase it back into her mouth with my own tongue.

  She always tastes good, and now I know she’ll taste like syrup and strawberries, too, and I want it. I want her.

  I lean in until my mouth is just a breath away from hers, warm breath mingling. “Say yes,” I whisper, pressing just a bit closer to her, letting her feel how hot and hard I already am for her.

  “Yes,” she breathes back, and that’s all I need to hear before I pounce, biting her bottom lip before kissing her hard.

  I let instinct take over, kissing her breathless and grabbing her hips to hoist her up onto the countertop. She doesn’t weigh much at all, and I lift her effortlessly, which, judging from the low moan she gives against my mouth, she enjoys.

  I make her spread her legs wide enough for me to stand between them, and she wraps her arms around my neck, kissing me hungrily.

  She has on panties under the shirt, but that’s it, and I slide my hands under the fabric to touch her soft, warm skin, gliding up her sides and then around to the front so I can grope and squeeze at her breasts.

  They’re perfect, just bigger than a handful, soft and full against my hands. Her nipples are hard, and I tweak one and then the other, enjoying the sound she makes against my mouth while we keep kissing.