Off Limits

OFF LIMITS HELENA NEWBURY FOSTER & BLACK For Leo CONTENTS 1. Erin 2. Danny 3. Erin 4. Danny 5. Erin 6. Danny 7. Erin 8. Danny 9. Erin 10. Danny 11. Danny 12. Erin 13. Danny 14. Erin 15. Danny 16. Erin 17. Danny 18. Erin 19. Erin 20. Danny 21. Erin 22. Danny 23. Erin 24. Danny 25. Becker 26. Erin 27. Danny 28. Erin 29. Danny 30. Erin 31. Becker 32. Danny 33. Erin 34. Danny 35. Becker 36. Danny 37. Erin 38. Danny 39. Erin 40. Danny 41. Erin 42. Danny 43. Erin 44. Danny 45. Erin 46. Danny 47. Danny 48. Erin 49. Becker 50. Erin 51. Danny 52. Erin 53. Erin 54. Danny 55. Danny 56. Erin 57. Danny 58. Becker 59. Danny 60. Erin 61. Erin 62. Danny 63. Danny 64. Erin 65. Danny 66. Erin 67. Danny 68. Erin 69. Danny 70. Erin 71. Danny 72. Erin 73. Danny 74. Jd 75. Erin 76. Danny 77. Erin 78. Danny Epilogue © Copyright Helena Newbury 2022 The right of Helena Newbury to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988 This book is entirely a work of fiction. All characters, companies, organizations, products and events in this book, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any real persons, living or dead, events, companies, organizations or products is purely coincidental. This book contains adult scenes and is intended for readers 18+. Cover by Mayhem Cover Creations Main cover model image licensed from (and copyright remains with) Wander Aguiar Photography Zero Day Edition 1 ERIN When I met Danny Briggs, I was a long way from home. I need you to understand how unusual that is for me. I don’t do so well outside of my cozy, secure little burrow and I avoid leaving it at all costs. But my brother needed me so I’d driven for thirteen hours and eight hundred miles, all the way from Vegas to a tiny town in the mountains of Colorado. Now I was sitting in a café, shivering, warming my hands on a mug of coffee and feeling way, way out of my comfort zone. Some of it was the cold. I was used to Vegas, where winter meant the temperature dropping into the fifties. Up here in Colorado, everything was covered in a thick blanket of snow and the thermometer read nine degrees. I’d driven through the night, fueled by gas station coffee and gummy bears, and the heater in my car doesn’t work. Halfway across Utah, with the stars overhead, I’d had to pull over, empty my suitcase at the side of the road and pull on more clothes. I’d wound up wearing two t-shirts, two shirts and a denim jacket. As I’d climbed into the mountains, it had gotten even colder and I’d stopped at a truck stop and bought a deerstalker with fluffy flaps to go over my ears but I was still freezing. Some of it, though, was the town. Las Vegas is one giant machine, designed to separate tourists from their money, and I live right at the heart of it. I can feel the data humming through the air all around me, see a million neon lights twinkling under computer command, hear the slot machines clatter and jingle in a carefully-tuned symphony. Heaven. Even better, Vegas is designed to be anonymous. No one knows you, no one wants to know you. Someone like me can just hunker down and be ignored. But this quaint little town was the opposite. I had one bar of signal on my phone and everyone in the café seemed to know each other. I slid lower in my seat and tried to hide behind my laptop screen. I checked the time: it was eight in the morning, still too early to call my brother and tell him I was in town. I brought up a tech jobs website and started job-hunting but the words blurred together. I took off my glasses and cleaned them but when I put them back on, I still couldn’t focus properly. I was in that dozy, morning-after fug you get after staying awake all night. That’s when I noticed the guy smiling at me from across the café. I blinked and checked over my shoulder…but no, there wasn’t some hot girl behind me. He was smiling at me, which didn’t make sense. Guys don’t smile at me. Guys don’t notice me. This one was about thirty, the same as me. But he leaned against the counter with an easy confidence I’d never have, a leather jacket open over a hoodie with the name of some band too cool for me to recognize. His smile widened as he saw me notice him: he was sort of good looking, if you went for the rough look. I felt my cheeks flare red. Why’s he smiling at me? Did I have a milk mustache, or— The guy collected his coffee and then strolled past me and out of the café’s rear exit, turning to give me a friendly nod. When he was gone, I sat there, stunned. This never happens. Deep in my chest, something flared into life. Cautious and flickering, ready to die at any second because better that it died than to have it snuffed out by someone else again. But it was there, fragile but hopeful. Maybe I’m not so weird. Maybe he really did smile at me because he likes me. I should have smiled back. Maybe it would have been the start of something. And my sleep-deprived brain started to fill up with daydreams: maybe the guy was a fellow nerd and techie. I imagined cuddling up and reading together, safe and warm…. Then I caught myself. What might have been didn’t matter. He was gone and I was only here for a day.