Off Limits

by Vanessa Winters

  I grin back. “That I made a mess of you, so you should let me clean you up before you go home.”

  “Why do I feel like this is going to end with you trying to get handsy in the shower with me?” she asks, hands on her hips.

  And fuck, that’s a good look for her. It draws attention to her curves and makes it hard to look anywhere else.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tell her. “I’m going to sit here on the couch and watch TV.”

  “Sure,” she says. “I believe that. Okay.” She goes off to the shower to clean up.

  To be fair, I do wait until I hear the water running before I get up and follow her in. By then she’s wet and naked, water running down her back in tempting streams that I want to follow with my tongue. It curves over the swell of her ass, and I’m stripping out of the last of my clothes and getting in the shower with her a second later, pressing her against the wet wall.

  Libby laughs. “I knew you had no self-control.”

  “What can I say, you bring it out in me.”

  Needless to say, it’s almost dark outside by the time Libby actually leaves my apartment. She’s dressed in my shirt and sweatpants, rolled up at the ankles with the drawstring as tight around her waist as it can go. Her fancy dress is in a bag, her hair is a mess, and all I really want to do is pull her back inside and get her naked all over again.

  Maybe it’s because I feel like I’m going to be losing this soon. Or maybe she’s just too damn irresistible for her own good.

  But I let her go, waving as she heads down to the car she called to take her back to her apartment.

  I would have driven her, but she pointed out rightly that it would have just ended up with me staying over at her place and she has to be at work in the morning.

  We didn’t get around to talking about what happens next between us, and I feel like I’m glad for that. Fear of the unknown has never been my problem. When I don’t know what’s going on, my brain always inputs the best case scenario by default. It’s dumb, and probably more than a little arrogant, but it’s been working for me for years with a few notable exceptions.

  This is going to be different, I tell myself when I’m alone again. And I think it extra hard to try and will it into being.

  Libby

  I guess I had it in my head that when the arrangement was over, I wouldn’t see Ian as much. After all, it was years since the last time I saw him when I ran into him in Paris, and we weren’t really friends before that. I’m not happy about it, but we both have lives, after all. He has women to get back to wooing, and I have other things to do.

  But that’s not the case.

  A few days go by after I leave his apartment the night after the party, and I’m walking to a restaurant to get lunch when my phone rings.

  I assume it’s someone from the office, but it’s Ian’s number on the screen. I answer it, surprised.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Hey. Not much. I’m headed out for a lunch break.”

  “Me, too,” I reply, and then wait to see if he’s going to get to the point of the call. Because of course he’s calling for a reason, right?

  “What’s on the menu?” he asks. “I bet you miss the charming little cafes in France right about now.”

  He’s not wrong. I’ve been lamenting the lack of good croissants and pastries since I got back to the States. Nothing I’ve had since has lived up to the ones in Paris.

  “You’re right,” I say. “I’m settling for a sandwich shop down the road because I’m starving and I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Work still busy?”

  “That’s putting it lightly. It’s like ever since I came back, they’re just piling more and more on. There’s talk about me getting a promotion, which is nice, but come on. Give a bitch a break.”

  “Speaking of breaks,” he says, laughing. “I was wondering if you’re free this weekend.”

  I pause, confused. We’re not pretending to date anymore, so why does he want to know if I’m free?

  “That depends,” I say slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I was thinking I could cook something,” he says. “And then we could move on to dessert.”

  Oh.

  That makes more sense. The sex between us is really good, and he doesn’t want to give that up. After all, why would he go hunting for someone new when he already has a sure thing, right?

  I wait to feel offended, but I don’t. I’m attracted to him, there’s no denying that, and he wants me. It’s flattering.

  It’s not like he’s the only one getting something out of it, after all.

  “Sure,” I agree. “I could do that. I think I’m going to have to do some work one day this weekend, but I can let you monopolize the other one.”

  “I’m flattered,” he teases, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “Let me know which one you decide, and I’ll do some shopping. Maybe I’ll have you over the counter again. That was a pretty picture.”

  I can feel myself blushing in the cold air as I walk. “You’re a menace.”

  “Yeah, but a hot one, right? One you can’t resist?”

  I can just imagine him waggling his eyebrows, and I burst out laughing.

  I agree to let him know when I’ve chosen a day, and we end the call. It’s later, when I’m at home eating a late dinner and wishing I could slam my head into a wall instead of doing work when I wonder if this is going to become the new normal. Me, going to see him just for sex.

  Like I said, the sex is good and it’s not like I’m not getting anything out of it myself, but I don’t want to be his long term, on-demand booty call or whatever.

  It’s one thing if we have the friendship and good conversation to go with it, but I’m not going to just let him use me for sex while he goes out with strings of other women, and I sit around lonely.

  That’s basically what I had with Chris, and while he was lying about it the whole time, I’m sure if he thought I would be okay with it, it would have been a different story.

  I don’t think Ian’s like that, but I can’t be sure.

  Just because I’m attracted to him in a way that’s magnetic and unavoidable, doesn’t mean I can’t make my boundaries known. I’ve learned that over the last several months.

  I decide it’s much too late for deep thinking and decide to head to bed. Just as I shut off the living room lights, my cell phone chimes. I grab it out of my sweatshirt pocket and glance at the screen, twice, before I can actually believe what I’m seeing.

  Hey. It’s Chris.

  There’s an immediate knot in my stomach and my heart starts racing. It feels like time has come to a standstill and my lungs have forgotten how to expand. The room tilts as every single hurtful detail of my time spent with Chris bombards my mind. Like the way he looked buried in the backside of that gorgeous woman. All of the nights he asked me if I was sure I’d be working late. I thought about all of the times I cried myself to sleep because of him. All the times I cuddled up to him at night and wondered where the sweet smell of his cologne had come from. Tears rush my eyes. My hands tremble. And as I stumble with my phone, I hear it chime again. Pulling me out of my trance.

  Please don’t ignore me. I’m sorry about the party. Can we talk?

  What is he doing? Why is he texting me? How does he even have my number? I feel like I should ignore it. Ignore him. Ignore this entire night. Things are done. They are over. Both with Ian, and with Chris. I don’t know how he got my number, but I did know how to block him. All I need to do is press a few buttons, and boom. Gone again. Forever, if I’m lucky. But then my phone chimes again.

  I am really, REALLY sorry. Please, Libs?

  A teeny part of me softens and I want to slap myself. Am I some glutton for punishment even considering answering his texts? This was the man who destroyed me. Who burned me to the ground. Who had the audacity to look me in the face while screwing around with another woman and actually empty himself into her. While
I’m standing there! And yet here I am feeling guilty that he’s reaching out and I’m ignoring him. As if he’s the one I hurt, instead of the other way around.

  What is wrong with me?

  I regret being such an ass. Please. I need to apologize. For everything.

  I’ve been waiting so damn long for those words to leave his lips. For him to acknowledge what a jerk he’d been to me. How he’d taken my love for granted and only cared about himself. How he ruined me when it came to love and trust. Tears rush my eyes. I study the string of one-sided messages on my phone and, for a moment, I consider screenshotting them. Sending them to Ian. I consider thanking him, because surely that’s what prompted this. Chris saw me with another man at this party and now, all of a sudden, he needs my attention because I’m not fawning over him.

  And I wish I wasn’t weak enough to still need to hear them, but I am.

  I pace the hall outside my bedroom for a good minute before I finally decide to reply.

  Thanks for the apology, I text back.

  There. It’s done. I can officially block him and get on with my life. My lungs finally draw in air and I feel as if I’m panting. My heart jumpstarts again and the world quickly settles back into its rightful place. I feel vindicated. I feel as if I accomplished more than I set out to do. This was better than making Chris jealous. This was better than sticking it to him. Finally getting the apology I was rightfully owed was an outcome of this night I didn’t see coming. And it tastes like victory.

  I feel home-free. Released from my chains. I feel on top of the world as I focus on my phone, working my way to the settings of my phone. I have every intention of blocking him. I don’t ever want to see that wretched number pop up on my phone screen again.

  Only, it does. It does pop up again.

  In the form of a telephone call.

  Holy hell.

  He’s calling me. That asshole is actually calling me. I feel my heart freeze in my chest. The audacity of this man knows no bounds, and Ian’s words echo off the corners of my mind. How did I convince myself to end up with a man like him? How in the world could I have been so blind as to not see the kind of arrogant, incessant, deliberate, manipulative asshole this man really is. And as the phone keeps ringing, my disgust keeps growing.

  Until I toss the phone on the floor like it’s covered in hot lava.

  I don’t answer. I can’t. I can’t have a conversation with that man. We were over. We were done. And now, I got to move on. That’s my path. Forward, and onward, into whatever future I want to carve out for myself. I watch my phone until it finally stops ringing. I watch the screen quickly light up with a voice message. I need to delete it. I need to not give into my desire to hear his begging voice. The phone falls black and I drop down onto my knees to pick it up.

  And then, it lights up again. With yet another fucking text.

  Libs, I know you’re there. Pls pick up.

  I can’t even remember the keystrokes necessary to block his number before the phone starts ringing again. And I know the only way to satiate him is to pick up. Otherwise, he’ll keep me up all night with his craziness.

  So, I draw in a deep breath. “Chris?”

  “Hey, Libs.” Chris’ voice is strained and a bit awkward, “I’m glad you answered. I really just needed to talk to you. I just needed to apologize. I know I wasn’t good to you and—”

  “Chris,” I sigh, “How did you get my number?”

  “Your mom.”

  “Really? You asked and my mom willingly gave it to you?”

  “Yeah, I mean—I had to beg—and apologize, but after a good thirty minutes, she handed it over.”

  “I’m not ready to do this right now.”

  “Alright, then how about tomorrow—or the next day? We could get lunch, just talk.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Please, Libby. I owe you this—and seeing you again—and then acting like an asshole, I just need to do this in person.”

  “Chris . . .”

  “I promise you won’t regret it. Please? What if we just do coffee?”

  I sigh, uncertain if I really want to do this.

  Libby

  I still can’t believe I’m doing this. As I sit in the coffee shop with my caramel cold brew and a pastry I can’t stomach, I keep staring out the window. Wondering when he might show up. The phone call from last night rings sharply in my head. How Chris begged. How he pleaded. How all he wanted was ‘to get coffee’ and ‘talk things through’. That he ‘owed me at least this’ and how he ‘wanted to really apologize’.

  I still didn’t believe him, though.

  I mumble to myself. “You’re an idiot for doing this.”

  “Libs?”

  I cringe at the nickname. “Libby is fine.”

  “Oh, come on, Libs. Don’t be like that.”

  I don’t bother looking up at him. “If you don’t want to listen to something as simple as what I’d rather you call me, then this meeting is over.”

  He pulled out the chair beside me. “Okay, okay. Sheesh.”

  My eyes gravitate to him and I want to slap him right across his face. Of course, he wore my favorite suit on him. The deep, rich navy with the thin, white, pinstripe lines. It was the suit I met him in. It was the suit he wore on our first date. And as he sits there, smiling warily at me, all I want to do it rip it off him and burn it.

  How dare he try to gussy himself up for something like this.

  “Can we make this quick, Chris? I have plans?”

  “With your boyfriend from last night?”

  I nod. “Yes. With Ian.”

  He nods slowly. “So, how long have you two been together?”

  “We aren’t here to discuss my relationship. We’re here to discuss your apology.”

  “Can’t you at least indulge me?”

  “I believe you indulged enough while we were still together.”

  He winces. “I deserved that.”

  I nod. “And a great deal more.”

  He folds his hands in his lap. “Libs--.”

  “Call me that one more time and I walk out.”

  “So, what? I can’t even call you by a nickname anymore?”

  “You’re the only person who’s ever called me that. The nickname dies with our relationship.”

  He grins. “That hard to move on from me, huh?”

  I stand. “And we’re done.”

  He takes my hand. “Libs—I mean, Libby—I’m just kidding.”

  I rip away from him. “Well, I’m not. And I’d appreciate it if you kept this coffee outing to it’s specific purpose. Which is your apology you wanted to deliver in person.”

  “If you sit down, I will.”

  I want to tell him that he doesn’t make the conditions here. That he doesn’t make the rules. But, I sit. Whether it’s because I’m that weak or I’m that desperate, I’m not sure. All I know is that I’m ready for this apology. I’ve braced myself for it. I gaze into his eyes and wonder what I ever saw in them. They’re cheeky, and snarky, and they still hold that mischievous glance that is little more than manipulative, at this point.

  I feel sorry for the girls he ruins.

  But, I don’t feel sorry for myself.

  “Can I at least ask--?”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ll start it for you. ‘Hey, Libby. I’m really sorry for being balls-deep in another woman while you were out there slaving away at a career.’”

  He grits his teeth. “Are you really going to be like this the entire time?”

  “Depends. Are you going to get to the point?”

  “I just want to have a conversation with you.”

  “About who I’m seeing.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why do you care?”

  He shrugs. “I care about what happens to you.”

  I laugh bitterly. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

  He takes my hand. “Look, I just--.”

  I slip it away. “You’re skating on thin
ice and I’m done warning you. Your charms don’t work on me anymore.”

  He grins. “That a challenge?”

  “I should’ve smacked you when I had the chance.”

  He sighs. “I’m sorry, Libby. I really am. Look, what I did was wrong. Completely and totally, one hundred percent wrong.”

  “I know.”

  “You deserved better than that from me. Hell, you deserve better than that from anyone. Which is part of why I wanted to meet with you in person.”

  I quirk an eyebrow. “Where is this going?”

  “I don’t think you should be with that Ethan guy.”

  My voice falls flat. “Ian.”

  “Right. Yeah. Whatever. I don’t know, he just kind of strikes me as…”

  “Another you?”

  He nods. “Yeah. Another me, for lack of a better term.”

  As much as I hate myself for it, I search his eyes for some sort of lie. Some sort of manipulative tactic he had brought with him in his arsenal. But, I find nothing. Just a man, who clearly hasn’t gotten much sleep, wanting to tell me what is really on his mind. It makes me sick. And it breaks my heart.

  Even though I didn’t think my heart could break anymore than it had already been broken.

  “That’s what you think,” I said.

  Chris shakes his head. “It’s what I know. I know myself, Libs—Libby. I know myself well. And I know what I look like. I know the games I play, and the things I do. And I know how to spot guys like me.”

  “You do, huh?”

  “Yes. I do. Just like you know how to find people who are like you to make friends, I know how to do the same. And that Erin guy?”

  I roll my eyes. “I know what you’re doing and I know you know his name.”

  He sighs. “Ian, right. That Ian guy? He’s just more of the same. He’ll do to you what I did and he won’t think twice.”

  “Is that your way of telling me you never thought twice every time you had that woman over while I was working?”

  His eyes hold mine and it tells me everything I need to know. I turn forward to gaze out the window as I watch people walk by. Women pushing their children in strollers. Men holding the hands of the ones they love. An elderly couple walk in front of the coffee shop window and I see the way they look at one another. With sparkling eyes and all the love in the world as the man pulls his wife in for a small kiss.