Page 17 of Off-Limits

Jake's grip on my hand tightens at that, his jaw clenching as if he's barely holding back his own anger on my behalf. Emma, on the other hand, looks outraged.

"What a jerk!" she exclaims, shaking her head. "You deserve so much better than him, Mia."

"I know," I sigh, leaning into Jake's touch even more. "But it still stings, you know? Finding out that someone you cared about doesn't feel the same way, and then having them flaunt their new relationship in your face..."

Emma nods sympathetically, then grimaces as she speaks up again. "Well, at least you didn't have to deal with something like this," she says, gesturing vaguely towards her date. "I mean, don't get me wrong—he's nice enough. But he just... isn't my type."

"Really?" I ask, surprised. Emma hadn't mentioned anything about not being into him before now.

She shrugs helplessly. "He's great, and I like him a lot. Just not... romantically." She pauses, then adds with a small smile, "But hey, at least I get to dance with you tonight, right?"

I laugh, grateful for the moment of levity. "Right," I agree, squeezing her hand briefly before letting go.

As Emma and her date drift away to join another group of people, Jake and I find ourselves alone again on the dance floor.His hand returns to its place at my waist, pulling me close once more as we continue moving together in time with the music.

"She's right, you know," he says softly after a moment. "You do deserve better."

As we start dancing together again, I'm keenly aware of every point where our bodies touch—his strong hand on my lower back, guiding me; his other hand holding mine, fingers entwined with mine; his breath ruffling the hair at the top of my head as he rests his chin there. It's both comforting and agonizing all at once.

Because God, I want him. More than I've ever wanted anyone before. But wanting him means risking so much—what we already have, my brother's trust, my own heart. And right now, standing here with him in the dim light of the dance floor, it feels like a risk worth taking. But when we're not wrapped up in this bubble, when reality comes crashing back... I don't know if I'll feel the same way.

He feels so good, so right, holding me like this. His scent—clean and masculine—surrounds me, making my heart race even as it calms my frayed nerves from earlier. I could stay here in his arms forever, but that's exactly what scares me. This is supposed to be temporary, a moment out of time while we're both away from our real lives. But the more time I spend with him, the less certain I am that I want it to remain just a moment.

And then there's my brother again. Ryan has always been overprotective, always treated me like his little sister who needs looking after. He'd lose his mind if he knew about this—about how close I've gotten with Jake, about what I'm feeling for him right now. But even thinking about that makes me angry. I'm not a kid anymore; I can make my own choices, even if they're difficult ones.

???

The drive to the hotel was silent, the surrounding air suffocating with unsaid words and lingering glances in the rearview mirror. We had to book a room because the wedding was in another city, and we knew we wouldn't be able to make it back the same day.

Now, as we step into the grand lobby, I can't help but feel a sense of unease settle over me like a weighted blanket. This place is gorgeous—too gorgeous—and it only serves to emphasize just how out of my league Jake truly is.

He moves with an effortless confidence that I can't quite match, striding up to the front desk while I hang back, clutching my overnight bag like a lifeline. I hope that the person behind the desk doesn't think we are a couple, because we aren't.

As he checks us in, I take a moment to appreciate the sight of him—the way his muscles shift beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, the casual tousle of his hair, the sharp line of his jaw as he speaks to the concierge.

God, why does he have to be so... Jake? Why can't I just look at him without feeling this insistent ache in my core?

But even as these thoughts race through my mind, I know that none of it matters. He's off-limits—my brother's best friend—and more importantly, someone who has promised not to touch me with a ten-foot pole, even though he's already kind of failed at that.

Still, as we make our way towards the elevator, I can't shake the feeling that tonight is going to be difficult. The tension between us is palpable, like a physical force pressing against my skin, urging me closer even as it warns me away.

When the elevator doors ding open, revealing the empty car beyond, Jake steps inside and holds the door for me. As I slip past him, I'm acutely aware of every inch of space that separates us—too much distance to maintain this charade of indifference, but not enough to keep my thoughts from straying where they shouldn't.

The ride up to our floor is agonizingly slow, each second stretching out like taffy as I try desperately to focus on anything but the heat of Jake's body beside me. When we finally arrive at our room, I'm almost relieved—until he slides the keycard into the lock and the little light turns green.

As soon as we're inside, I drop my bag onto one of the queen-sized beds and turn to face him, crossing my arms over my chest like a shield. "Okay," I say, trying my best to sound casual despite the fact that my heart is hammering in my ears. "This is... nice."

Jake raises an eyebrow at me, clearly not buying my attempt at nonchalance. But he doesn't call me on it, instead gesturing towards one of the beds. "Which do you want?" he asks.

I bite down on my lip, still overly conscious of how close we're standing—close enough that I can see the faint stubble shading his jawline, smell the clean scent of his cologne. "Either," I say, my voice coming out softer than I intended.

He nods, then moves to the other bed and begins to unbutton his shirt, revealing inch after inch of tanned skin and sculpted muscle beneath. My mouth goes dry as I watch him, unable to look away even as a voice in the back of my mind screams at me to stop staring.

He's doing that on purpose.

"Mia," he says, his voice low and warning. "Don't look at me like that."

I snap my eyes up to his face, heat flooding my cheeks as I realize he's caught me staring. "Like what?" I ask, trying to sound innocent despite the fact that we both know damn well what he means.

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