Page 1 of Off-Limits

Chapter 1

Mia

My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles ache. I've been driving for what feels like an eternity, trying to outrun the hollow pit in my stomach that's grown heavier with each mile marker I pass. The radio has been blaring a generic pop station, but even that hasn't been enough to drown out the thoughts swirling in my head. How did things go so wrong? When did he change? Was it always him and never me?

I shake my head, trying to dislodge these thoughts. There's no point dwelling on it now. It's over, and I'm better off without him. That's what I keep telling myself, anyway, even if it's not working very well.

Turning into the familiar driveway of my childhood home, a wave of nostalgia washes over me. The house looks just as I left it: a cozy two-story nestled among the tall trees. It feels like a lifetime since I've been here last.

I cut the engine and sit in silence for a moment, gathering my courage before I step out into the cool night air. The motionsensor light flickers to life as I grab my suitcase from the trunk, casting eerie shadows across the neat lawn. I drag my luggage up the front steps, each thud echoing through the still neighborhood like a drumbeat announcing my arrival.

The house is quiet when I let myself in, the only sound coming from the hum of the refrigerator down the hall. I lean against the closed door and sigh, feeling relief and apprehension settle over me. It's good to be home, but it also means facing the mess my life has become. I don't want to be here, but I also don't have enough money to go somewhere else.

I toe off my shoes and pad quietly through the house, flipping on lights as I go. The living room is just as I remember it—Mom's favorite recliner by the window, Dad's old fishing magazines stacked neatly on the coffee table. A sense of comfort washes over me, and for a moment, everything feels okay.

Then reality hits like a punch to the gut. This isn't my home anymore. Not really. I've traded in my childhood bedroom for a studio apartment in the city, swapped family dinners for late-night takeout, and replaced my parents' laughter with the sound of my own tears echoing off bare walls.

I shake away these thoughts, telling myself that things will get better soon. I just need some time to heal, to figure out what comes next. And maybe, if I'm lucky, this summer back home will help me find my way again.

As I turn to make my way upstairs to bed, a noise stops me in my tracks - the soft click of a door opening down the hall. My heart leaps into my throat as I strain my ears, listening intently. Another soft sound, then the creaking of floorboards beneath slow, steady footsteps. Someone else is in this house with me.

I reach for the nearest weapon—Dad's old golf club propped up by the door—and hold it tightly in front of me like a shield.My palms are slick with sweat as I take a deep breath and step forward, ready to confront whoever might be lurking in the shadows.

The figure steps into the light, and I gasp, nearly dropping the golf club in surprise. It's Jake Morrison—my brother Ryan's best friend since college, and someone who has always been off-limits in more ways than one. What's he doing here? How did he get inside? It doesn't make sense to me, and it's a little suspicious, too.

"Mia," he says softly, his eyes widening slightly as they take in the sight of me standing there brandishing a golf club like some sort of crazy person. "What are you doing here?"

I lower the club, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Uh, hi Jake. I could ask you the same thing."

He runs a hand through his messy dark hair, looking every inch the casual, rumpled bachelor he is. "Your parents asked me to house-sit while they're on their cruise," he explains. "Ryan told them I was between places, and they offered up your old room for the next couple of weeks."

"Oh." I swallow hard, trying not to stare at the way his plain white t-shirt clings to his muscles or how his pajama pants hang low on his hips. I shouldn't be staring. "Right. Of course."

A moment passes between us, an electric charge in the air that makes me acutely aware of my own body. I'm still wearing my traveling clothes—a faded band tee and cutoff shorts—but suddenly it feels like there's too much skin exposed, too many places for his eyes to linger.

Jake clears his throat, breaking the tension. "So, how have you been?" He asks, gesturing towards the living room. "Want to sit down?"

I hesitate for a moment before following him, my suitcase thumping along behind me like an awkward companion. As we settle onto opposite ends of the couch—me tucking one leg beneath me, him slouching back with his arms spread wide across the cushions—I try to remember how to breathe normally around him.

This isn't going to be so bad, I tell myself. It's just two weeks. Surely we can coexist peacefully under the same roof without causing too much trouble. But as Jake turns to face me, a slow smile spreading across his face, I feel like I'm lying to myself for thinking that way.

"Well," he says, his hazel eyes gleaming with amusement, "this is certainly an unexpected turn of events."

I roll my eyes at him, feeling the tension in my shoulders begin to ease. "You're telling me."

The way Jake's looking at me now, with that lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, sends a shiver down my spine. It's not the first time I've felt this jolt of awareness around him, but it's been a while since we've been alone together like this. Being back in my childhood homes seems to have stripped away some of the layers that time and distance have built up between us.

I can't help but let my gaze wander over him, taking in the way his hair is slightly disheveled, how his t-shirt clings to his broad chest and muscular arms. I force myself to meet his eyes again, only to find them already on me, a gleam of interest in their warm depths.

He's checking me out too, I realize, and it makes my cheeks flush with heat. I'm still acutely aware of every inch of exposed skin. The air between us feels more charged than ever, like static electricity before a storm.

I clear my throat, breaking the moment. "So," I say, "two weeks, huh? Just you and me in this big old house."

Jake nods, his smirk softening into something more genuine. "Looks that way." He props an ankle on the opposite knee, getting comfortable. "How's life been treating you, Mia?"

The question catches me off guard, mainly because Jake has never shown much interest in my life before now. We've always existed in each other's orbits due to my siblings' friendship, but we've never been close ourselves.

"It's... fine," I say, hedging. "You know. Same old, same old."

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