Off-Limits Box Set

by Ella James

  As they approach the balcony railing and start talking six or seven feet away from me, I panic; I can’t go inside without walking right past them.

  Mallorie laughs. Dash lights something, which I think will be a cigarette, but which turns out to be a cigar. Adam comes out, clad in khakis and a button-up, and Dash gives him a cigar, too. Adam talks to Dash and Mallorie for a few minutes before putting his cigar out and disappearing back inside. Another woman comes out—this one short and curvy, maybe forty or forty-five, with green hair, talking to Mallorie and Dash for a minute before she wanders closer to the doors and starts a conversation with two men who just stepped out.

  I shut my eyes and pretend to be asleep, because I do feel kind of sleepy. Maybe four glasses was too many…

  The air is warm and soft. I feel surprisingly comfortable here in my reclining lounge chair, even as my drunk brain tries to follow Dash and Mallorie’s conversation.

  But…I can’t.

  Whatever.

  Several times I peek my eyes open, noting more people coming and going. Once, Mallorie’s squeaky voice cuts into my bubble—I think I hear her saying something about her dog peeing—and I glance over to see Dash run his hand back through his shorter hair.

  Then more people come out, a whole gaggle of them. I sit up, and a cute guy, who turns out to be the animator intern from another summer team, steps over to flirt. He sits at the bottom of my chair, and we talk about motorized scooters and skateboarding, of all things. He invites me to the dance floor behind the house. When I tell him I’m about to go home, he leaves.

  I stand up by the rail, hoping to casually drift inside. Then a handsome older man offers to get me a drink.

  I tell him “no thank you” and notice Dash’s eyes on me from the other side of the now-crowded balcony.

  The black-haired man is an engineer for Imagine. He asks about my summer plans and tells me I should take a job here if I’m offered one. He asks me who I’m partnered with, and I say just “Dash,” because I’m drunk.

  “Dash Frazier?”

  I nod, feeling woozy.

  “Stellar guy.”

  I almost take issue with that comment, and that’s how I know I must be drunker than I realized.

  Oops.

  A few minutes later, I slink back over to my chair to grab my purse. I think I’ll go now. Get an Uber before I say or do something I’ll regret. I lean my head back, tipped up toward the sky, and am aware of movement beside me right as a familiar voice says, “See anything good up there?”

  I jump. Dash has just sat in the chair beside mine. He smells like cologne—and the dry cleaners. He gives me a lazy smile. “Having a good night?”

  “Yep.” When he doesn’t reply, just looks at me, assessing, I blurt, “I saw you talking to Mallorie. Are you two close?”

  He rubs his forehead, smiling like he knows something I don’t. “I wouldn’t say so, not especially.”

  “I think I caught something about her dog’s bladder infection.”

  Dash snorts, shaking his head. “She’s married to one of the seniormost animators at Disney, a woman who’s my mentor out in Burbank. She usually works out there, so I’m a friend of her and her wife.”

  “How old is her wife?”

  “I think maybe pushing sixty.”

  “Mallorie is a lot younger.”

  “Not really. She’s forty-nine.”

  I gape. “What about the house’s owner—er, hostess? How old is she?”

  “Sara? She is young.”

  “How’d she…?”

  “Get where she is?”

  Dash shrugs. “Talented and well-connected.”

  “Oh.” With nothing more interesting to add, I confess, “I had too much to drink.”

  “Did you now?”

  He leans back in his lounge chair, and I have a memory of another starry night, with Dash lying down and me sitting beside him on his roof.

  “I was nervous,” I say, noting that the deck has cleared out. There’s only one guy on the other side of the space, leaning on the balcony and talking on his phone.

  “How come?”

  How come I’m nervous, I remind myself; that’s what he asked just now. That little voice inside your head that keeps your mind on track? Mine is currently drowned in alcohol.

  “Don’t ask me that,” I tell Dash, wagging a finger at him. “I’m not sober enough to talk to you.”

  His eyebrows arch as he tucks his hands behind his head. “No?”

  “Nope.”

  “You want me to go inside?”

  I don’t—but there is alcohol inside. “You could go get me another drink.”

  He frowns. Then he gets up. “Be right back.”

  Dash returns with orange juice, and I notice as he steps onto the deck, spilling light across the cement floor, that the man who was talking on his phone is gone now. It’s just Dash and me.

  I take the orange juice. Dash reclaims his chair beside mine. I can’t read his face. I’m too drunk to think high-level thoughts.

  “You don’t have to sit out here,” I manage.

  “I could use a breather.”

  I look him over, surprised anew by how damn hot he is. “You’re Mr. Social. I guess you always were. I wasn’t.” I smooth my fingertips over the pattern on my dress and sigh. “People make me super tired.”

  “You’re in a sorority, though. I saw on your CV.”

  “That’s true. Different, though.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know…” I look at his strange, familiar-not-familiar adult Dash face. “I guess because I know the rules.”

  “Not here?”

  It takes me a second to discern what he means. “Definitely not here.” I bite my lip. “You’re here.”

  “There aren’t any rules with me, Amelia.”

  “Just Amelia,” I say, wagging my finger again. “None of that old nickname shit.”

  He nods.

  Then somehow, I spill my orange juice. Dash is by me, dabbing the hem of my dress with a napkin. I lean back, needing to get away from the heat of him, the smell of him. But my hand didn’t get the memo; I grab his arm and look into his hazel eyes.

  “I can’t believe this happened,” I say drunkenly.

  “What?” His voice is rough.

  “You’re my boss.” I give a bitter laugh.

  “I’m not your boss, Amelia.”

  “Partner, then.” My head feels unsteady, so I blink a few times. “I thought you were overseas.”

  “For a year. And that was a while back.”

  “I saw that somewhere…” I murmur, feigning casual; I hope he can’t tell from my face that I know because I stalked him online. “Did you like it?” I ask as he leans back away from me, one hand holding wadded napkins.

  “Yes—I did.”

  His voice is strange. I’m too drunk to know exactly how. Stupid Amelia. Leave it to me to get drunk and chat up Dash. I lean toward him, rubbing my finger over the scar I saw near his temple at work.

  “How’d you get this?”

  He leans subtly away from me, so my fingertip is touching air. “Hit it on something in the gym.” His voice sounds rough.

  “By accident?”

  “Fighting.”

  “Why were you fighting in the gym?”

  “Krav Maga. We were sparring.” He stands slowly, then sits back on his chair. His face, I notice, is excessively neutral. The kind of neutral that isn’t really neutral.

  I sit up, leaning slightly toward him. “Is that karate?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you show me some moves?” I giggle.

  He gives a low laugh. “Not here.”

  I get up, then plunk myself down at the bottom of his chair. I lean toward him and let my dumb thoughts flow out of my drunken mouth. “I liked it when you were sitting with me on my chair…”

  Eleven

  Dash

  I don’t know how often Ammy drinks or what she had tonig
ht, but woman is hammered. I wouldn’t pin her as the type to get drunk at a work gig, but if she doesn’t drink often, it could have been an accident.

  In fact, I’m betting on that.

  She’s got that drunk look that’s a combo of surprised, relaxed, and chatty as she perches on the feet end of my chair and leans over my legs.

  “I’m cold, Dash. Why is it windy out here?”

  I sit up, tug my jacket off. “Here.” I drape it over her shoulders, and Amelia wobbles as she gets her arms into it.

  Her eyes shut. “Smells good.”

  One look at her wrapped in my coat, and I know my dick can’t handle this shit. Not for long. I shift, moving my legs off the chair and leaning on my knee, my body already oriented toward the door.

  “You wanna go soon?” I ask. “You can catch a ride with me.”

  “Maybe I should.” She peeks at me through her lashes. “I get sleepy when I drink.” She blinks, then wrinkles her nose. “Did you drink water?”

  “Yeah.” I’m surprised she noticed.

  “You don’t drink?”

  I lift a shoulder. “Only once or twice a year.”

  “Why not?”

  Another shrug, even as my chest aches. “Don’t care for it too much.”

  “You used to.”

  “That’s true.” Now it brings back memories best avoided.

  Amelia leans her head onto one shoulder, her coppery hair falling across her moonlit cheek. “You’re a mystery, Dash. Mr. Mysterious Boy Next Door.”

  “What do you want to know?” I wait, silent and still, hoping she’ll ask me why I left her. Despite the lack of drink for me tonight, I feel like I could tell her the whole fucked up story now, while she’s not fully present. Light spills over the balcony at that moment: a waiter stepping through the door.

  I note a few shorter glasses on his tray. “Water?” I raise my brows.

  He hands one to me.

  I pass it to Ammy. She takes it without a word, and has a small sip. I watch as she folds her hands around it.

  “Cold…”

  I try to give her a smile, but I can’t, so I just stare. I stare at her, and she at me, and then she sets the drink down on the cement floor.

  When she leans back up, she reaches for me. I can’t stop her. Not when her hand wraps around my shoulder or she sprawls onto my lap. My arms remember what to do: they go around her, not too hard, so she feels like I’m grabbing her, but enough so she won’t wobble off my lap.

  She lifts her face, hair falling down around her shoulders; then she dips her mouth to mine.

  I don’t have the discipline to move away. Damn me. I let her kiss me. She is smooth and silky, tasting like champagne and lipstick, making me rock hard in a breath.

  Our tongues brush, and as she opens more deeply to me, my cock throbs and I have to pull away.

  Her hands frame my face, then her mouth is covering my mouth again. I wrap an arm around her back and pull her up against me once more, kissing her as hard as I need before warnings rip through my head and I push her gently off my lap.

  I get up, starting for the door before I realize: this is what I did last time. I left. I can’t do that to her now, despite how much I fucking need to, so I step over to the rail.

  I hear my own hard breaths as I fist my hands, looking down at the forest on the south side of the house.

  I feel Amelia as she moves to stand beside me.

  “Dash?” Her voice is thin, almost childlike in its raw regret. “I’m sorry.” Her body sways a little, bumping into mine—making me want to grab her by the arms and push her up against the railing.

  “Nothing to apologize for,” I manage.

  “Dash…?”

  I shift my gaze to her face, finding her lips puffy, her cheeks marked by the scruff of my beard.

  “I...think I’m going to go.”

  I turn after her. “Let me call a cab for you, Am.”

  She stalks back to me, her eyes flashing with moonlight. “You never liked me, did you, Dash? You didn’t feel the same way I did.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Her eyes shimmer with tears. Then she whirls around and barrels through the doors. I let her go.

  Amelia

  I cry the whole way home. I’m so confused—and drunk. And confused. I wake up the next morning with a killer headache, and a bigger ache inside my chest.

  Why did I do that?

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  But I know. I know.

  I still love him. I love Dash. It’s stupid. So, so stupid. That, I know as well. But I love Dash. My heart and body still feel like he’s mine. I want him beyond reason, logic, safety.

  That’s why I’m here. That is why I took this job, I realize as I wash my old, stale makeup off my face. Why I got drunk and stayed outside when he came out there, too.

  Because I want him.

  I feel possessed, like there’s this shadow person living inside me who has her own plans, plans completely different than the ones Thinking Amelia has. I guess it’s a fight between head and heart, I think, as I chew cereal and hold my throbbing head at the apartment’s little table.

  Now that I know for sure, I feel like I should quit the internship. Before I do something really stupid.

  I walk around all day Saturday feeling shocked at how stupid I am. How much I want him. Have I learned nothing over time?

  My friend Lucy texts me ‘how’s it going’ and I send her the yellow-blue iPhone symbol with its hands up at its cheeks and its mouth in a screaming “o.”

  ‘I’m in love with Dash, and he’s the animator on my team. I’m doing stupid things and probably going to get my heart broken again. I want him so much, and I want to make him regret the way he left me. Send help!’

  I delete all that, typing instead, ’Kind of crazy. I’ll tell you about it in Southampton.’

  How far away is that? One week? Two?

  I check my phone and realize I’ve got two whole weeks ahead before Imagine’s annual summer break week, during which I’m going to Southampton with Lucy and our other besties, Mags and Charley.

  Shit.

  I hobble to the elevator and walk my achy, nauseated self to a nearby 711, where I grab a sports drink and a packaged sugar cookie. If I’m going to throw my sanity away, I might as well eat sugar while I do it.

  Then I return to my place, crawl under the covers, and take a nap. I wake up in time to watch some episodes of Girls, which I’m behind on, and text some with Lucy.

  ‘Crazy how? Like crazy sexy?’

  ‘I’m having some issues with the animator. Who is very sexy.’

  ‘Is he a sexy asshole?’

  ‘Yes. I want to kill him. Or have sex with him.’

  ‘Do it.’

  I laugh to myself. Lucy would go nuts if she knew what bad advice she was giving me. We were friends when Dash left me high and dry that summer, but since then, we’ve become best friends. If she knew what I was doing, she’d probably tell me I had lost my mind.

  Because I have.

  Late Saturday night, so late it’s almost Sunday, I get an email that makes my phone buzz.

  Feeling okay? Hope you got home safely. I’m sorry I didn’t take you.

  Dash.

  I sigh and spend the night trying to decide if I’ll reply. Sunday morning, I do, and with restraint: Fine, thanks.

  Just lacking all of my dignity and a working brain.

  Monday morning, I give myself a pep talk in the shower.

  He doesn’t want you. And even if he did, so what? Are you a whore? You’re not just a body. Don’t be stupid.

  I decide to fabricate a dentist appointment midday. I can get through a few hours in a room with Dash—Dash whom I kissed while drunk; Dash whom I still want.

  I can.

  I will.

  These things are within my control. I’ll make smart choices.

  I wear my plainest pantsuit, white, with a green paisley scarf and wedge sandals. I
show up just a minute or two early, and sit down with Meredith and Bryan, setting a print-out of our progress on Carrie’s vacant chair. (She’s sometimes late, having stopped downstairs for coffee).

  And Dash walks in. Walks right beside our little group on the way to his desk.

  He smells like sunscreen of all things. And he looks tan.

  He gives me a modest smile, as if to say that happened, but it’s cool; it ain’t no thing, then sets his fellow animators to work on something and rolls his chair over to my crew and me. He helps us fill in details—mostly visual ones—about the library, looking at me often as the subject shifts, and he’s chatting about his weekend on a guy friend’s boat. He acts like we’re not just friends, but friends with not one bag of baggage.

  And he smells amazing.

  Fuck him.

  Figuratively, of course.

  All day, he keeps it up: the just-plain-friends, no-history-no-baggage act. Until it’s five o’clock and I’ve forgotten my fake dentist appointment. My stupid teeth are throbbing like the rest of me. I’ve been bespelled and all I want is just to sit beside him, listen to him talk about dumb things like politics—who likes politics?—and baseball games and why it’s tedious and hurts his fingers to sketch feathers.

  Fury. That is all I feel.

  Fuck Dash and this stupid friend shit.

  All the other people working on our project are fulltime Imagine employees—all but Mallorie, and she’s out today—and this is bad because, as I wash my hands in the restroom, Weiss’ voice comes over the intercom, reminding all fulltime Imagine employees to come down to the lobby for a quarterly meeting.

  I dry my hands and tell myself that when I get back to our studio, I’m going to pack my bag quickly and go on home. Sometimes we work past five, but tonight doesn’t have to be one of those nights.

  As I step out of the bathroom and into the hall, I pass Adam, Ashley, Meredith, Bryan, Amber, and Carrie, all toting their purses and bags, headed in the direction of the elevators.

  “See ya later.” Meredith blows me a kiss, and Carrie waves. “We’re doing dinner after the meeting. I’ll text you if you want.”

  I nod reactively. All I can think about is that I have to go into our room, and for the first time since our kiss, it’s going to be just Dash and me.