Page 11 of The Off-Limits Play

He smiles down at her, and I glare at him until he shakes his head and mutters, “Whatever,” before walking away.

Running my hand down her back, I move in front of her and check again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you.” She goes to pick up her phone, but I quickly stop her.

“Let me.” Collecting it off the concrete, I clean it off and make sure it’s not cracked, then glance up in time to see her brushing her hands across that perfect butt of hers. A spike of desire travels right through me, and I quickly realize I’ve made a fatal error.

I should have let someone else help her.

I should have turned and walked away.

But how could I?

She fell over. She got hurt. She?—

Taking the phone from my hand, she murmurs her thanks, and I get a whiff of something delicious in her hair.

Shit.

Walk away, now!

But instead, I’m holding out my hand and saying, “No way. Give that back.”

“What?” She glances up at me, her perfectly shaped eyebrows wrinkling.

“You obviously can’t be trusted to get to class safely. I’m assuming that’s where you’re going. So, I’ll hold it for you while I walk you there.”

“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes and laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t need you to hold my phone and escort me to class. I’m sure you have better places to be.” Lightly slapping my arm, she grins up at me. “Thanks for the assist, though.”

And then she fucking turns away and starts hobbling down the path.

Is she fucking kidding?

I scowl and chase after her. It takes me all of three strides to catch up, and then I have to slow my pace to match hers. “You’re limping,” I grumble. “Was the fall worse than it looked?”

“No.” She shakes her head, sounding totally unfazed by her obvious discomfort. “It’s just an old injury that flares up sometimes.”

“What happened?”

“Busted my leg.”

“Obviously.” I nudge her with my elbow. “How?”

Her eyes dart toward me, her lips pursing, but then she shakes her head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Come on. I’m curious.”

You shouldn’t be. If Coach sees you right now, your ass is dead.

She smirks, and I think she’s about to dish the goss when she fucking changes the subject. “Are you seriously going to walk me to class, Mr. Grumpy Face?”

My eyebrows pucker. “Please tell me that’s not another attempt at insulting me.” I shake my head, giving her a pitying frown. “It’s really lame.”

She laughs, and the sound catches me off guard. I didn’t realize laughter could be so pretty. But hers is. It’s got this lyrical quality to it, rising up and then dropping down again, her smile broad and beautiful.

Fuck. I don’t want to find her beautiful.

I’m used to admiring women, checking out their bodies, appreciating all the curves. Is it just because I can’t have this one that she’s somehow more enticing?

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