Off Limits

Phoebe

I’ve tried to think of worse scenarios I can be in, than being stranded in a lonely road with no means to get back home.

For example, I could be running from a tiger whose intent is on biting and chewing all flesh and leaving only my bones to rot. Or I could be tied to a chair in a dark basement by a serial killer who keeps flashing me his miniature penis. Or I could be running from the FBI because I forgot to lock my house door and a super villain comes and decides my house is the best place to plant the evidence. Or I could be caged in a house with Jeremy and forced to listen to the latest song Gunna released on repeat until I’d rather gnaw off my arm than hear the song again.

But just because things could be worse didn’t mean they didn’t suck.

Stop. Think positive thoughts.

And now I’m talking to myself, great, I forgot the worst thing might be going Gaga in a place where no one knows you and not seeing Jeremy again.

“An Uber will show up…now.” I said out loud hoping that by doing so the gods of the universe will smile upon me.

Just then the weather decided to showcase that the gods of the universe are actually in a shitty mood, a rainstorm started.

I stared at my phone, biting back my frustration while the heavy downpour commenced

“You have got to be kidding me” I screamed when my uber app reassured me it was “finding my ride”, the way it had been for the past half hour. Better apps with reliable drivers should be available.

Normally, I’d be looking at the bright side of things as usual and be less worried about this situation because hey, at least I had a working phone and a wannabe shelter to keep me mostly dry from the pounding rain, emphasis on mostly because asides my hair and phone the rest of me is drenched. But Jeremy’s surprise farewell party was starting in an hour and his sister, yours truly who actually organized it isn’t there yet to ensure things are in order, I had come to pick up his surprise cake from his favorite bakery, which is on the outskirts of the town AKA lonelyvile and it would be dark soon. I may be a glass half full kinda gal, but I wasn’t an idiot. No one—especially not a college girl with zero fighting skills to speak of—wants to find herself alone in the middle of nowhere after dark.

Yep I’m gonna die, while actually trying to make Jeremy happy. Nothing good ever comes out from that.

I should’ve taken those self-defense classes with Steph like she asked.

I mentally listed my limited options. The bus that stopped at this location didn’t run on Tuesdays, and most of my friends didn’t own a car. Kiara has a car and driver car service, but she was at dinner with the rest of the bourgeois community, perks of being the daughter of the 3 richest man in the continent. Uber wasn’t working, and I hadn’t seen a single car pass by since the rain started. Not that I would hitchhike, anyway—I’ve watched horror movies, thank you very much.

I can’t call Jeremy either because who exactly calls the person whom you’re throwing a surprise party for when you’re stuck in the process. And I know Jeremy he wouldn’t just “pick me up” without bombarding me with questions as to why I’m at the town outskirts. Jeremy is the best brother but he’s also a bit overprotective and annoying, I love him but he asks me a lot of questions.

I only had one option left—one I really

didn’t want to take—but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

I pulled up the contact in my phone, said a silent prayer, and pressed the call.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings, nothing

Come on, pick up. Or not.

I wasn’t sure which would be worse—getting murdered or dealing with Peter. Peter, my brother’s best friend since he moved to this city for college. Of course, he just had to be the insufferable one, he was as cold as ice and not only towards me but towards the entire human population, I wonder how he’s friends with Jeremy who’s the exact opposite. There was always the option of calling Jeremy instead but the chances is that my brother would murder me himself for putting myself in such a situation, so Peter it is. That’s if he actually picks.

I tried calling him again

One ring, two rings ,three.

“What?”

I scrunched my nose at his greeting, typical from the angel of death but I had to be nice if I wanted him to come get me

“Hello to you too, Peter dearest. Did you forget that greetings should come up first?”

I could practically hear him glaring at me from the phone “You called me. You never call me. So I’m going to ask you one more time before I hang up. What?”

That insufferable angel of death, if I was in a better situation I’d consider insulting the shit out of him before I cut the call, but desperate situations calls for desperate measures.

“Are you in trouble Phoebe?” Yep that’s Jeremy rubbing off on him

“I wouldn’t say I’m in trouble,”

I hedged. “More like…stranded. I’m not near public transport, and I can’t find an Uber.”

“Where are you?”

I told him.

“What the hell are you doing there? That’s two hours from campus and the city!”

“Don’t be dramatic. I had work, and it’s a one-hour drive. One hour ,thirty minutes if there’s traffic. But who’s calculating.” Thunder boomed, shaking the branches of nearby trees. I winced and shrank farther back into the shelter, not that it did me much good. The rain slanted sideways, splattering me with water droplets so heavy and hard they stung when they hit my skin.

“Ouch “ I winced

“What wrong?!”

I can already hear him going k****u, so I had to insure he won’t

“Oh calm down K****u panda, the rain splattered and I got beat”

“I hope you’re aware you’re going to catch a nasty cold and Jeremy is not going to be happy” hmm this is probably the first time I’ve thought about this but this is the first time Peter has said more than four words to me “Hi” when we see and Jeremy’s there. “Jeremy’s calling you” when my brother screams my name and I pretend to not have heard it. That makes four words, in the entirety of 9 years that I’ve known Peter.

Wow, this is an improvement.

A rustling noise came from Peter’s end, followed by a soft moan.

I paused, sure I’d heard wrong, but nope, there it was again. Another moan and a Whimper.

My eyes widened in horror. “Are you having sex right now?” I whisper-shouted, even though no one else was around.

The hotdog I’d scarfed down before I left for my the bakery threatened to make a reappearance. There was nothing—I repeat nothing—grosser than listening to a someone while they’re mid-coitus. Just the thought made me gag.

“Not anymore” Peter responded not an ounce of remorse in his tone.

The statement had already ruined the rest of my night.

“Peter.”

“Hey, you’re the one who called me.” He must’ve covered his phone with his hand, because his next words came through muffled. I heard a soft, feminine laugh followed by a squeal, and I wanted to bleach my ears, my eyes, my mind.

“Okay that’s settled.” Peter said, his voice clear again. “So miss cockblock. Drop a pin on your exact location, I’m coming to get you when I’m done taking a shower “

“What do you mean a shower, I’m stranded hin the middle of no where! With rain drenching me, Pet”

It was already too late because the self proclaimed angel of death had already hung up on me.

Thirty minutes later, The bright beam of headlights slashed through the rain. I squinted, on a day like this I happened to forget my glasses so seeing things far away will be a hassle, my heart tripping in both anticipation and wariness as I weighed the odds of whether the car belonged to my ride or a potential psycho. This part of Seattle was pretty safe, but you never knew.

When my eyes adjusted to the light, I slumped with relief.

Good news? I recognized the sleek, black McLaren Artura pulling up towards me it belongs to Peter.

And I’m starting to rethink my choices right now.

I swiped the tip of my tongue over my dry lips as the car stopped in front of me and the passenger window rolled down.

“Get in.”

He didn’t raise his voice—he never raised his voice—but I still heard him loud and clear over the rain.

Peter Ambrose was a force of nature unto himself, and I imagined even the weather bowed to him.

“I hope you’re not waiting for me to open the door for you,” he said when I didn’t move. He sounded exactly how I felt

What a gentleman.

I pressed my lips together and bit back a sarcastic reply as I roused myself from the bench and ducked into the car. It smelled cool and expensive, like spicy cologne and fine masculine Leather. I didn’t have a towel or anything to place on the seat beneath me, so all I could do was pray I didn’t damage the expensive interior.

“Thanks for picking me up. I appreciate it,” I said in an attempt to break the icy silence.

I failed. Miserably.

Peter didn’t respond or even look at me as he navigated the twists and curves of the slick roads leading back to campus. He drove the same way he walked, talked, and breathed—steady and controlled, with an undercurrent of danger warning those foolish enough to contemplate crossing him that doing so would be their death sentence.

He was the exact opposite of Jeremy, and I still marveled at the fact that they were best friends. Personally, I thought Peter was an asshole. I was sure he had his reasons, some kind of psychological trauma which shaped him into the unfeeling robot he was today. Based on the snippets I’d gleaned from Jeremy, Peter’s childhood had been even worse than ours, though I’d never managed to pull the details out of my brother. All I knew was, Peter’s parents had died while he was young and left him a large inheritance which he had tripled the value of when he came into his inheritance at age sixteen. Not that he’d needed it because he’d invented a new security modeling software in high school that made him a multimillionaire before he could vote.

He was a genius and he knew it. He was the only person in Thayer’s history to complete its five-year joint undergrad/MBA program in two years, and at age twenty- four, he was the CEO of one of the most successful real cyber security development companies in the country. He was a legend, and he knew it.

Meanwhile, I thought I was doing well if I remembered to eat while juggling my classes, extracurriculars, and three jobs—front desk duty at the State secretariat, Waiter at finesse and my side hustle A makeup artist, for anyone who would hire me. Graduations, engagements, birthday parties, I did them all.

“Are you coming to Jeremy’s party?” I tried again to make small talk. The silence was killing me.

Peter and Jeremy had been best friends since they roomed together at Larsen College Nine years ago, and Peter had joined my family for Thanksgiving and assorted holidays every year since, but I still didn’t know him. Peter and I didn’t talk unless it had to do with the hi and Jeremy is calling you like I earlier said. “Yes.”

Okay, then.

Guess small talk was out.

My mind wandered toward the million things I had to do that weekend. Edit the photos from the Graysons’ makeup shoot and, work on my application for the Makeup Academy, help Jeremy finish packing after—

Crap!

I’d forgotten all about Jeremy’s cake.

“So…” I pasted the biggest, brightest smile on my face. “Don’t kill me, but we need to make a detour to sweet tooth.”

“No.” Peter stopped at a red light. We’d made it back to civilization, and I spotted the blurred outlines of a McDonalds and a Lofus through the rain-splattered glass.

Okay quick backstory because I know you must be wondering why I didn’t pick up the cake where as I came to the outskirts for a cake. Well I lost my way and ended up under a wanna be shelter, and apparently I had.. oh 17 minutes until the bakery closed, Yayy.

My smile didn’t budge. “It’s a small detour. It’ll take fifteen minutes, max. I just need to run and pick up Jeremy’s cake. You know the strawberry shortcake cheesecake he loves so much. You know he’ll be in London for a year and they don’t have the sweet tooth cake standard there..”

“Stop.” Peter’s fingers curled around the steering wheel, and my crazy, hormonal mind latched onto how beautiful they were.

That might sound crazy because who has beautiful fingers?

But he did. Physically, everything about him was beautiful. The ocean blue eyes that glared out from beneath dark brows like the ocean and the beach; the sharp jawline and elegant, sculpted cheekbones; the lean frame and thick, light brown hair that somehow looked both tousled and perfectly coiffed. He resembled a statue in a museum come to life.

The insane urge to ruffle his hair like I would a kid’s gripped me, just so he’d stop looking so perfect—which was quite irritating to the rest of us mere mortals—but I didn’t have a death wish, so I kept my hands planted in my lap.

“If I take you to sweet tooth, will you stop talking?”

No doubt he regretted picking me up.

My smile grew. “Sure whatever you want.”

His lips thinned. “Fine.”

Yes!

Phoebe Lawrence: one

Peter Ambrose:Zero

When we arrived at the bakery, I unbuckled my seatbelt and was halfway out the door when Peter grabbed my arm and pulled me back into my seat. Contrary to what I’d expected, his touch wasn’t cold—it was scorching, and it burned through my skin and muscles until I felt its warmth in the pit of my stomach.

I swallowed hard. Stupid hormones.

“What? We’re already late, and they’re closing soon.”

“You can’t go out like that.” The tiniest hint of disapproval etched into the corners of his mouth.

“Like what?” I asked, confused. I wore jeans and a T-shirt, nothing scandalous.

Peter inclined his head toward my chest. I glanced down and let out a horrified yelp. Because my shirt? White. Wet. Transparent.

Not even a little transparent, like you could kind of see my bra outline if you looked hard enough. This was full-on see-through. Red lace bra, hard nipples ,airconditioning—the whole shebang.

I crossed my arms over my chest, my face flaming the same color as my bra. “Was it like this the entire time?”

“Yes.”

Yes.

“You could’ve told me.”

“I did tell you. Just now.”

There were days, I wanted to strangle him. I really did. And this is one of them, And I wasn’t even a violent person. But something about Peter provoked my dark side.

I exhaled a sharp breath and dropped my arms by instinct, forgetting about my see-through shirt until Peter’s gaze flicked down to my chest again.

The flaming cheeks returned, but I was sick of sitting here arguing with him. Sweet Tooth closed in seven minutes, and the clock was ticking.

Maybe it was the man, the weather, or the hour and a half I’d spent stuck under a wannabe shelter, but my frustration spilled out before I could stop it. “Instead of being an asshole and staring at my breasts, can you lend me your jacket? Because I really want to get this cake and send my brother, your best friend, off in style before he leaves the country.”

My words hung in the air while I clapped a hand over my mouth, horrified. Did I just utter the word “breasts” to Peter Ambrose and accuse him of ogling me? And call him an asshole?

Dear God, if you smite me with lightning right now, I won’t be mad. Promise.

Peter’s eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch. It ranked in the top five most emotional responses I’d pulled out of him in eight years, so that was something.

“Trust me, I was not staring at your breasts,” he said, his voice frigid enough to transform the lingering drops of moisture on my skin into icicles. “You’re not my type, even if you weren’t Jeremy’s sister.”

Ouch.

I wasn’t interested in Peter either, but no girl enjoys being dismissed so easily by a member of the opposite sex.

“Whatever. There’s no need to be a jerk about it,” I muttered. “Look, Sweet Tooth closes in two minutes. Just let me borrow your jacket, and we can get out of here.”

I’d pre-paid online, so all I needed was to grab the cake.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I’ll get it. You’re not leaving the car dressed like that, even wearing my jacket.”

Peter yanked an umbrella out from beneath his seat and exited the car in one fluid motion. He moved like a panther, all coiled grace and laser intensity. If he wanted, he could make a killing as a runway model, though I doubted he’d ever do anything so “basic”

He returned less than five minutes later with Sweet Tooth’s signature pink-and-golden cake box tucked beneath one arm. He dumped it in my lap, snapped his umbrella closed, and reversed out of the parking spot without so much as blinking.

“Do you ever smile?” I asked, peeking inside the box to make sure they hadn’t messed up the order. Nope. One Strawberry Shortcake Cheesecake, coming right up. “It might help with your condition.”

“What condition?” Peter sounded bored.

“Stickuptheassitis.” I’d already called the man an asshole, so what was one more insult?

Wait did his mouth just curl up? I might’ve imagined it, but I thought I saw his mouth twitch before he responded with a bland, “No. The condition is chronic.”

Did he just make a joke too? Wow I’m hitting the points this night. “D-did you make a joke?”

“Explain why you were out there in the first place.” Peter evaded my question and changed subjects so quick I had whiplash. Of course he did.

He made a joke.

I wouldn’t have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes.

“I wanted to get the cake and I also had to..”

“I don’t care about the details”

A low growl slipped from my throat. “Why are you here? Didn’t figure you for the chauffeur type.”

“I wonder who called me mid-sex, disrupting my pleasure and the pleasure of a lovely female specie. I swear if you weren’t Jeremy’s little sister I would’ve blocked you immediately I heard why you called me” just then Peter stopped the car in front of my house which is also next door to Jeremy’s, it’s unbelievable that we were able to hide the party from him given the fact that we live a door away.

I huffed out of the car. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and I smelled damp earth and the hydrangeas clustered in a pot by the front door. I’d shower, change, then catch the last half of Josh’s party. Hopefully, he wouldn’t give me shit for getting stranded or being late because I wasn’t in the mood.

I never stay angry for long, but right then, my blood simmered and I wanted to punch Peter Ambrose in the face.

He was so cold and arrogant and…and…him.

It was infuriating.

At least I didn’t have to deal with him often. Jeremy usually hung out with him in the city, and Peter didn’t visit Larsen even though he was an alumnus.

Thank God. If I had to see Peter more than a few times a year, I’d go crazy.