FOURTEEN
PASSION
Five Years Earlier
Westchester County, New York
The Diary of Cassandra Taylor
Dear Diary,
Humans are strange creatures. We lie every day, in a thousand different ways. The most common lie is, ‘I have read the terms and conditions.’ The second most common lie is, ‘I’m fine.’
Some people believe that actors are just professional liars, paid to manufacture personalities that aren’t our own. We create characters from our imaginations, interpret someone else’s words, dress in someone else’s clothes, become a different person for hours, days, months. We’re good at fooling people. We’re less adept at fooling ourselves.
The best actors keep all the parts of themselves in little boxes and bring them out in an unending parade of various combinations.
I used to be pretty good at doing that, on stage and in life, but ever since Ethan and I broke up, my compartments have been confused. In the filing cabinet where I keep my feelings for him, the drawer labeled ‘lover’ is now firmly locked. So is ‘boyfriend.’ The ‘friend’ drawer rattles and tries to squeeze open, but it’s so squashed beneath ‘hurt’ and ‘resentment,’ it’s practically buried.
I don’t talk about him anymore. Not to Ruby. Not to Mom. Not even to Elissa, who I confided in the longest because she always sought me out. Talking about him maintained tiny cracks in my resolve, and always made me bristle and want.
It’s better now.
I’ve locked my passion away. Put it in a strongbox and covered it in concrete.
Ethan and I go to class, do our work, avoid each other when possible and snark at each other when we can’t. We have no patience for these platonic versions of ourselves. Even now, more than a year after our breakup, our hearts and bodies fight against the distance and suppression, but we’ve gotten good at ignoring them.
We’re second-years now, and so far, we haven’t been cast in anything together. I think Erika has given up trying to mediate.
And so Ethan and I orbit each other. Get on with things. Learn the art of pretending. Hone our craft to lie to others as skillfully as we lie to ourselves.
And every morning, the first thing that goes through my brain when I see him is, “I’m fine.”
Erika leans on her desk.
“This term’s acting assignment focuses on passion. Romantic, sexual, suppressed, violent, artistic. I’ll be assigning each of you excerpts designed to confront and challenge you. Some of the material will make you uncomfortable. Turn those feelings into something you can use. A lot of the plays are controversial and contain issues of a sensitive nature. I expect you to handle it with maturity. Mr. Avery, please note, I’m looking at you.”
Jack gives his best “Who, me?” expression, and everyone laughs.
“You’ll have four weeks to rehearse and will present your pieces the week before Presidents’ Day weekend. Questions?”
Jack puts up his hand.
“Mr. Avery?”
“Please say you’ve given me something from Equus. I’ve always had a thing for horses.”
People laugh.
“As a matter of fact, no. You’ll be performing with Aiyah in a little piece called Soft Targets. It’s quite controversial, sexually.”
Jack rubs his hands together. “Ooh, tell me more.”
Erika suppress her grin. “It’s about men who enjoy having their female lovers sodomize them with monster strap-ons.”
Jack’s face drops. “What?”
Erika hands out the group lists as Jack turns to Lucas and says in a whiny voice, “She’s joking, right? That was a joke?”
I take the list and skim it to find my name.
The Killing of Sister George
Cassie—Sister George. Chain-smoking alcoholic lesbian. Ex-soap opera actor. Psychologically sadistic.
Miranda—George’s lover, Childie. Passive. Simple.
The character description makes me nervous. I like to think I can rise to a challenge, but this character is so far out of my wheelhouse, I have doubts I can pull it off.
I look through the list of the other plays. They all have an element of the shocking or taboo. It turns out Erika wasn’t joking about Jack’s excerpt. He’ll be playing a married businessman who pays a Dominatrix to regularly spank, degrade, and sodomize him. When I look over at Jack, he’s a little green. Aiyah, on the other hand, is grinning with sadistic glee. She often tells Avery how much she wants to smack him. Now she’s going to get her chance.
Miranda, Troy, and Angela are doing something called Picture Windows, in which people fall in love with inanimate objects. Lucas and Zoe are doing Unwrap Me, a play examining a married couple who enjoys cross-dressing, and Holt has been cast with Connor in …
I almost laugh out loud. It’s bad enough that Erika cast two guys who hate each other in the same play, but to make matters worse, Enemy Inside is a touching love story about a gay soldier coming to terms with his homosexuality.
Oh, my.
Connor is playing the closeted gay soldier. Ethan is the experienced and caring love interest who convinces him that loving another man isn’t a sin.
My, oh, my.
I find the concept vaguely arousing. In reality, I think the likelihood of Ethan pulling off a character who’s loving and patient is a major stretch. Also, he regularly glares at Connor like he wants to pummel him. Trying to convince an audience he’s attracted to him? Erika couldn’t have come up with a more difficult challenge.
I glance over at him. He’s frowning down at the piece of paper like he can make it say something different if he just concentrates hard enough.
A sharp laugh bubbles out of me. He looks up and scowls, so I suck the inside of my cheeks to stop myself.
Oh, this term is going to be fun.
Erika rubs her forehead and sighs. “Miss Taylor, you have to stop laughing. We’re wasting time.”
“I’m sorry,” I say as I fail to stifle my giggles. “I know it’s not funny. I just—”
I’m lying on the floor and Miranda is straddling me, and every time I laugh, she bounces up and down, which makes me laugh more.
“Miss Taylor!”
The giggles abate, and I take a deep breath to try and calm myself.
“I’m sorry. I’m ready.”
Miranda sighs. She’s used to kissing girls. I’m really, really not.
“Right. Let’s try it again. Remember, this is one of the truly intimate moments in the play. It’s when we see a brief glimpse of George’s vulnerable side. How she genuinely cares for Childie despite how she treats her. We need to feel the sexual tension between you. Are you clear?”
“Yes. Clear.”
It doesn’t make this any easier. Doing a love scene with Ethan was difficult enough. Doing one with another girl is totally out of the realm of my experience. Still, that’s what this whole term is supposed to teach us. That passion is passion, no matter who it involves.
My passion is kind of rusty. Maybe that’s why I’m having so much trouble.
“Okay. Stand and go to first positions. Take a moment to center yourselves.”
I stand opposite Miranda and close my eyes. Breathe. Remind myself to treat this just like any other character. I project myself into George’s mind, so I can discover her motivations. She’s experienced with women. With Childie. She loves her even though she torments her.
We start the scene. I’m agitated, but Childie calms me. Strokes my face. For once, she makes the first move. She kisses me gently then pulls back, hesitant as to how I’ll react. I’m shocked by how forward she is, and although my first instinct is to punish her, she’s looking at me with such hope, I can’t bring myself to do it.
I kiss her back, passionately. She’s so beautiful. As innocent as I am corrupt.
We fall to our knees and continue to kiss. Then, in an act of unparalleled boldness, she pushes me onto my back, straddles me, and grinds against me as she buries her fingers in my hair. I pull open her shirt and palm her breasts before flipping her onto her back and becoming the aggressor again. She wraps her legs around me as I kiss her neck.
We say the last few lines as we pant into each other’s skin.
The scene ends, and Miranda and I stand and await Erika’s notes.
“Well, ladies, that was—”
“Fucking amazing!” Jack leaps to his feet and applauds wildly. “Best play ever!”
“Mr. Avery!”
“No, seriously, Erika. Can these girls do that scene for the rest of the year? Because … yeah. It’s seriously … stimulating. Stirring stuff.”
“Dude,” Lucas whispers, “You might wanna sit down. It’s kind of obvious how much you enjoyed it.”
Avery immediately covers his crotch and sits. Everyone laughs.
“Shut up, bitches. There are hot chicks making out in front of me. What do you expect? Every straight guy in this room is currently sporting wood. Hey, Holt. Let’s see the size of your tent.”
Ethan rolls his eyes and flips him the bird, but I notice his legs are crossed in such a way that his crotch is hidden from view.
He looks at me for a moment before dropping his gaze and shifting in his seat.
The passion I’ve just dredged up for the scene is now snaking out toward him.
I shove the emotion down. It’s like trying to shove a pillow into a shoe box.
Stupid passion.
This is why we’re not friends anymore.
A huge roar of “Asshole!” comes from the next room, and Connor and I exchange a look. Our friends are playing some asinine card game, and as usual on these Wednesday night get-togethers at Jack’s house, Connor and I are in charge of snacks. I may not be able to cook, but I can open a bag of chips with the best of them, and Connor is the King of Frozen Pizza.
We make a good team.
I watch as he unwraps a couple of frozen pies with the finesse of a magician.
I find myself staring at his hands. He has lovely hands. Actually, most of him is lovely. Sandy brown hair. Brown eyes. Handsome face. Nice body.
Best of all, he’s one of the sweetest, most caring men I’ve ever known.
It’s a pity that doesn’t seem to be enough for me.
“Do I have a booger?”
“Huh?”
Connor smiles, and suddenly the whole room seems brighter. “You were staring. I thought I might be sporting nose poop.”
I shake my head. “Nope. Just admiring the pretty.”
He shrugs. “Okay. I can live with that. But if you think those bags of chips are going to open themselves, you’re sorely mistaken. Get to work, lady.”
He passes me a bowl, and as I dump in the Doritos, he raises an eyebrow. “You making your famous salsa to go with that?”
I nod. “You know me well enough to not doubt my awesomeness by now.” I pull out a jar of salsa and open it. “Voilà! Cost me a hot buck and a half to get it just perfect.”
He smiles as he sprinkles extra cheese on the pizzas. “You’re so talented.”
“I know, right? You, too.”
He holds up the bag of cheese. “Yep, if I don’t make it as an actor, Pizza Hut managers all over the country will be lining up to hire me.”
“You make it sound like that’s your fallback plan. May I remind you that even if you do make it, you might still have to take a job as a pizza artist? Theater paychecks can be crappy.”
He laughs. “Yeah, but becoming stars in any capacity means we have to first pass this term’s acting class, and it seems like Erika’s making that as hard as possible with these passion scenes.”
He puts the pizzas in the oven and sets the timer while I grab two beers from the fridge and pass one over. “Well, I’d better start looking for my second job now, because I can barely get through my scene without giggling like I’m high.”
“Oh, please.” He uncaps his beer and takes a drink. “You have nothing to worry about. Your scene with Miranda was amazing yesterday.”
“Are you saying that because you’re a guy who gets off on two women kissing? Or are you basing it on our actual performance?”
He rolls his eyes. “Cassie, give me a break. I’m not Jack. I am capable of watching two women make out like demons without objectifying them.”
I raise an eyebrow.
He turns away as he mumbles, “No matter how fucking hot it was.”
At the mention of his name, Jack walks into the kitchen.
“Are we talking about Miranda and Cassie again? Cool, because I’ve been meaning to ask you a question, Cassie. Is Miranda a better kisser than Holt? Softer lips? Smoother skin? I’m sure the answer is yes, but I’d like to hear it in your own words. Be specific.” He goes to the fridge, grabs a beer, and opens it before looking at me expectantly.
“Forget it, Jack. Miranda and I don’t kiss and tell.” Plus, I’ve perfected the art of blocking out what it was like to kiss Ethan. I’d like to say that time dulls the memories of his mouth, but it really doesn’t. “Besides, Connor will soon be able to give you a play by play of Holt’s kissing technique. Aren’t you guys up to rehearse tomorrow?”
“Unfortunately,” Connor says, and takes a long pull of his beer.
Jack rubs his hands together. “I think Erika was going for maximum crowd entertainment when she cast you two together. I’m taking bets that it’s going to be the most awkward kiss in the history of lips. Cassie, you want in on the action? You could clean up.”
“No way. I have faith that Connor’s going to make it work.”
Jack laughs loudly before heading back into the living room.
Connor takes another slug of his beer. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but we both know Holt and I are going to suck. Ethan’s never made a love scene work with anyone but you, and if he can’t pull it off with the girls in our class, he has no chance with a guy. Let alone a guy he very clearly hates.”
“I don’t think he hates you.”
He gives me a look. “Every time I’m within five feet of you, he glares like he wants to beat the shit out of me.”
“Yeah, but that’s only because he doesn’t know you’ve done twelve years of karate so you can defend yourself against your asshole brothers.”
“Even if he did know, it wouldn’t matter. He’s still hung up on you, and I pity the guy who dates you next, because Holt will probably murder him.”
I lean against the counter and sigh. I doubt what Connor says is true. It seems as though Holt’s becoming more indifferent to me every day.
Connor chuckles and I look up to see him staring at me. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Don’t ‘nothing’ me, what is it?”
He shrugs. “I was just thinking that I should flat-out kiss you one day in front of Ethan just to see if his head would explode with rage. I suspect it would.”
I smile and shake my head. “Yeah, let’s not do that.”
He puts his beer down and places his hands either side of me on the counter. He’s not as tall as Ethan, but I still have to look up to see his face.
“You’re right. Even with my karate training, I’d run the risk of him landing a lucky punch. A better idea would be for you to kiss me. He’d never hit a girl. Especially not you.”
He stares at me in a way that says, I’m joking, but not really. Kiss me.
I’m spared the humiliation of turning him down when Jack comes back in to retrieve more beer.
“If you two are going to make out in here, just know there is no fucking on the kitchen counter. I don’t want my meat going anywhere near where your meat has been, if you know what I mean.”
Connor grabs the chips and salsa, and mutters, “I’ll take these in to the guys,” before exiting to the living room.
I feel myself blush, and hate it.
Jack shakes his head as he takes the caps off four more beers. “Goddamn, Taylor. You’re not content to have Holt completely tied in knots? You have to bewitch poor old Connor, too? The boy has it bad.”
I scrunch up the empty Doritos bag and throw it into the trash. “I’m not bewitching anyone, Jack. Connor sees me as a friend. That’s all.”
He lets out a short laugh. “Okay. Sure, he does. And I watch porn for the plotlines.”
I know he has a point, but thinking about it makes me tense. Since the breakup, Connor’s become one of my closest friends, and I love him like I love Ruby. But every now and then, he stares at me in a way that reminds me he wants more.
Ethan, on the other hand, stares at me less often these days.
I’m ashamed to say I miss it.
“Okay, stop there.”
Ethan drops his head and steps away from Connor. They’ve been working on this part of the scene for the past forty-five minutes, and it’s not getting any better. Both of them are faking the emotion.
They’re both frustrated, and so is Erika.
“This is a lesson for everyone here,” she says as she stands and walks onto the stage. “There will be times when you have to perform scenes with people who hold no attraction for you, but you still need to find a way to make it work. If you share a natural chemistry, that’s great, but if not, you need to train yourself to manufacture it.”
“Easier said than done,” Holt mutters.
Erika ignores him. “This sort of scene is particularly difficult for men, because there’s a heterosexual indoctrination that implies being gay means you’re not a real man, and let me tell you, that’s absolutely not the case. This story is about homosexual men who put their lives on the line for their country. And it’s written by a man who lived it.”
She turns to Holt and Connor. “So, you two need to get past whatever macho bullshit is holding you back from being intimate with each other, and understand that sometimes, you can’t choose which body your soul mate resides in. Love is love. Passion is passion. And people who are lucky enough to feel it should grab it with both hands. That’s what this play is about.”
Holt slumps onto one leg and rubs the back of his neck. He seems completely at a loss as to how to make it work. Connor’s much the same.
Erika calls them over. “Might I suggest you both take a moment to close your eyes and recall a person with whom you’ve shared a strong emotional or sexual connection? Picture that person in your mind. Let the way they made you feel invade your body, stir your emotions, boil your blood.” Both men close their eyes and breathe. Their postures relax a little. “Do you feel that?”
They nod.
“Stay in that moment. Let the sense memory of that connection infuse you.”
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and turn to see Jack leaning forward. He whispers, “How weird would it be if they were both thinking about you? Like, seriously?”
He smiles and sits back, and I try to squash the rush of flutters in my stomach.
Yeah, that’d be too weird.
Erika preps the boys for a few more minutes, then gets them to start the scene again.
Ethan closes his eyes and breathes, and when he opens them, his whole demeanor has changed. His expression softens. His voice lowers. As he speaks, he slowly moves closer to Connor.
“You want me, Ty. You can deny it all you like. Doesn’t make it not true.” He’s calm. Self-assured.
Connor counters his calm with barely suppressed panic. “I do deny it.”
“I can see it in your eyes.”
As Ethan closes in, Connor crosses downstage to put distance between them. “We’re not just mindless animals.” “We control our actions. Our actions don’t control us.”
Holt isn’t deterred. He maintains his slow pursuit. “You can tell yourself that, but it doesn’t change the fact that you watch me.”
Even now, Connor watches him. Mesmerized. “I don’t.”
“Everything about me turns you on. It scares the hell out of you, and so you yell, and rage, and push me away, but it doesn’t change anything. You could live a hundred lifetimes and never find what you have with me.”
They’re really inhabiting the scene. Becoming their characters. Ethan has transformed. He’s incandescent. It’s good. So good, a whole mess of emotions I can’t grasp or stop wells up. My heart kicks into overdrive, and there’s a roaring sound in my ears.
“Rage all you want,” Ethan says. “Curse my name. Pretend all of this passion is coming from a place of hate, but I know better. Your passion for me is strangling you. Telling you that you’re someone different than who you thought you were. Urging you to be bigger and braver than the tiny box you’ve shoved yourself into for all these years.”
Then he touches Connor. Lovingly. Reverently. Connor is vibrating with indecision. Terrified by their obvious connection.
The way Ethan is, the words he’s saying … it’s too much. Something primal stirs inside me, low and snarling. It wants what it sees. That Ethan. The strong and brave one. The one staring at Connor and speaking words that resonate through all of my layers.
“It’s not working, is it?” he says as he strokes Connor’s face. “You’re miserable. Unfulfilled. Hollow and aching for the one thing that’s going to make all the whispers of longing shut up, once and for all. Me.”
“No—” He touches Connor’s lips, and Connor closes his eyes and sighs.
“Yes. And the sad thing is, you know the more you deny it, the more miserable you’ll become, and still you’re desperate to continue pretending.”
“Mark—”
Then Ethan steps in and cups Connor’s face before he leans down so their lips are almost touching.
I can’t breathe. Jealousy fires in my belly, blasting outward until there’s a firestorm under my skin.
“Ty, what we feel for each other isn’t the enemy. Why do you insist on continuing to fight it?”
“I know how to fight. I’ve been doing it my whole life.”
“Isn’t it time you found some peace?”
“I—”
Ethan leans down. “I’m going to kiss you now. If you don’t want me to, say stop.”
“This isn’t who I am.” Connor squeezes his eyes shut.
“No excuses. Just one word.”
“You’re asking too much.”
“You’re expecting too little. Say it.”
“I … can’t.”
“Good.”
They seem to go into slow motion as they move closer while gripping each other. Then Ethan kisses Connor. They both inhale, and I want to look away but can’t. Ethan’s jaw tenses as he kisses Connor again, and my lungs are burning from lack of oxygen.
I clench my hands painfully around the armrests. I can’t see this. I really, really can’t.
I stand and stumble out into the aisle. People berate and shush me as I squeeze past, but I ignore them.
I all but run for the exit, and as I throw open the door, the class bursts into applause. I can still hear the cheering and whistling as I sprint toward the bathroom.
Music thumps straight into my bones as I throw back the shot and then slam the glass onto the table.
“Another!”
Usually at these weekend parties at Jack’s place, I spend the night trying to avoid getting drunk. Tonight, it’s my only mission.
Ruby holds the tequila bottle just out of reach. “Cassie—”
“Shut up, Ruby. You’re forever trying to get me drunk and handsy, and the one night I want it, you tell me to ease up? Just pour me another damn shot.”
She shakes her head but does it. “You’re going to regret this tomorrow, you know that, right?”
I down the shot and breathe through the burn. “Don’t care. Worth it. More.”
She complies. “What happened with you today? Zoe said you stormed out of acting class. Something about Holt kissing a guy?”
She’s taking too long, so I grab the bottle and drink from it. “Don’t wanna talk ’bout it More booze.”
“No.” She snatches the bottle and holds it out of my reach.
“Ruby!”
“I’m cutting you off until you tell me.”
I wave at her. “Whatever. I’m gonna dance.”
I stagger to the dance floor. The music is loud and bass-y, so I close my eyes and sway to the beat. People surround me. I don’t know who they are. Don’t care. Just wanna feel part of it. Of something.
The beat echoes through me. Of course it does. Noise is more reverberant inside big, hollow spaces.
One song merges into another. Arms wrap around me. Someone nuzzles my neck.
“Hey, beautiful.”
I open my eyes. It’s Nick. We’ve been flirty. Gone out a few times. Shared a couple of mediocre kisses and some light groping.
It never goes any further. My choice, not his.
Why does he keep coming back? Doesn’t he get it by now?
Still, he smells good and keeps me upright, so I sway with him.
He kisses my neck. I shiver, but not in a good way. When I turn around, he cups my face and kisses me. I almost gag. Not because of him, but because the room is spinning.
I pull back and close my eyes. Doesn’t really help.
“Cassie?”
“I’m fine.”
“Really? Because it looks like you’re going to be sick.”
“M’okay.”
“Want me to take you home?”
“No. You go, have fun. I’mma go t’the bathroom.”
“Do you need help?”
“Nope. M’fine.”
I push through the crowd and head toward the hallway but stop short when I see Ethan there, his expression like thunder.
He’s been coming to more and more parties recently. Of course he’d be here tonight. The one night I really didn’t want to see him.
All of my control systems are confused. Malfunctioning. Having him here isn’t helping.
I push past him and stumble to the bathroom. Inside, I just make it to the toilet before most of the tequila makes its way back up.
Ten minutes later I emerge from the bathroom, still drunk, but more in control. Ethan has disappeared. Despite not really wanting to be alone, I don’t feel good, so I find Ruby and tell her I’m leaving.
“Want me to drive you?”
“Nah. I’m gonna walk.”
“Really? It’s cold out there.”
“I want some fresh air. Clear my head.”
“You sure?” Ruby asks. “It’ll take you nearly an hour.”
“I don’t really have anywhere else to be.” Or anyone to be with.
“Okay, but keep your phone in your hand and call me when you get home.”
“K. See you later?”
“Probably not. See that big guy in the corner? He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to be taking me home tonight.”
“Haven’t you slept with him before?”
“Yep. But he’s definitely worth a repeat performance. Hung like a horse and knows how to ride.”
I laugh and grab my purse. “In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Probably.”
I’m nearly at the front door when a hand closes around my wrist.
“Hey, you’re not leaving?” Nick puts his arms around me, and I can smell the alcohol on his breath. “Why is it that you always seem to be running away from me, Cassie Taylor?”
I sigh, too tired to pretend. “Not running. Just going home.”
“Let me drive you. I could … come in. Tuck you into bed.” His tone suggests he has a little more on his mind than just tucking, although it rhymes with it.
“Not tonight, Nick.” Or ever. Despite his physical hotness, I’m completely disinterested. “I’m wiped. Seriously.”
He sighs and leans his forehead against mine. “Okay, fine. But at least kiss me good-night.”
“Probably not the best idea. I vomited a little while ago.”
“Your breath smells minty.”
“Well, yeah, I rinsed with mouthwash, but still—”
“Good enough for me.”
He kisses me, and even though I’m not really into it, I try to kiss him back. I don’t really understand why he doesn’t arouse me. He’s nice enough. Handsome. Decent kisser. Good sense of humor. But no matter how hard I try to feel it, there’s just nothing there.
When I’m with Nick, it always feels like there’s a tiny Ethan sitting on my shoulder whispering, “It doesn’t matter how similar we look. He’s not me. He’ll never compare to me. Give up now and accept that for the rest of your romantic life, no one is even going to come close to making you feel what I could.” The sad thing is, I know that tiny shoulder-sitting Satan-Holt is right. And it depresses the hell out of me.
I should just tell Nick we’re not going to work out, so he can move on with someone else. He deserves passion. Mine’s currently unavailable.
Before I can say anything, he shoves his tongue in my mouth and presses me back into the wall. I pull back, but he grabs my face and kisses me again.
“Come on, Cassie,” he says as he grinds against my hip. “We’ve been dancing around each other for months. Let me make you feel good.”
“Nick, stop—”
He pushes my hand between us and leans into it. “Just touch me. Please. Dammit, I’ve been hard for you since the first time we met.”
“Nick—”
A hand closes over Nick’s shoulder and pulls him back.
“She said stop, asshole. Are you fucking deaf?”
Ethan’s there, scowling and angry. He steps in front of me and stares down a confused Nick.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Someone who can tell from across the room that she’s not interested. Have some fucking respect.”
“Ethan, I’m fine.”
Nick laughs. “So a guy’s not allowed to kiss his girlfriend around you?”
Ethan and I react in absolute unison. “What?!”
Ethan spins around to face me. “You’re his girlfriend?”
“Nick, I’m not your girlfriend.”
“Cassie, come on. We’re dating.”
“Not really,” I say. “I mean, we’ve been out on a few dates, but that’s it.”
“Well, I think our relationship is a bit more meaningful than that.”
Holt glowers. “You’re in a relationship with this tool?”
“No.”
Nick throws up his hands. “Cassie, what the hell is going on here? Who is this guy?”
“He’s … my ex.” The words still feel wrong.
“Really? He’s not acting very ex.” Nick squares off with Ethan. They’re about the same height and build. In a fight, you’d expect them to be evenly matched, but to me, there’s absolutely no competition.
And that’s the problem.
Ethan leans in. “Nick, is it?” He makes his name sound like it was something he scraped off the bottom of his shoe. “You were pawing Cassie like a creeper. Learn to take no for a fucking answer.”
Nick draws up to his full height. “Do you go around stalking all your ex-girlfriends, or just this one?”
“You were groping her in the goddamn open. What the hell is your problem, man?”
“What’s your problem? Can’t handle that she’s moved on with someone else?”
I sigh. All I wanted to do tonight was get drunk and forget about my stupid emotions. Now I’m stuck in the middle of some sort of macho pissing match.
I push between the two men still glaring at each other. “I’m leaving, but by all means, you two keep arguing. It looks like you’re enjoying yourselves.”
Nick grabs my hand. “Wait, Cassie. Please. I’ll drive you home.”
Ethan bristles. “The hell you will.”
“No, Nick,” I say, and turn to face him. “You’re drunk, and I’m walking. Also, I don’t think we should see each other anymore. You did paw me like a creeper, and I’m not cool with that.”
Nick frowns but doesn’t let go of my hand. “Can’t we go somewhere to talk about this?”
“No. Now let me go, or I’ll let Ethan hurt you, and you really don’t want that. He’s good at inflicting pain.”
I don’t miss the expression that passes over Ethan’s face.
When Nick drops my hand, I walk to a pile of coats near the front door and dig until I find mine. Then I pull it on and walk out.
As I close the door behind me, the chill hits my cheeks. When I exhale, a cloud of steam pours from my mouth.
I really just want to go to bed and forget about today. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
I’ve barely gotten to the sidewalk before I hear footsteps behind me.
“Cassie, wait.”
I keep walking. After all this time, why does Ethan choose tonight to break our unspoken rule to stay away from each other?
“Hey. Stop.”
He grabs my arm, and I shove my hands in my pockets as he walks around and stands in front of me.
“It’s fucking freezing out here,” he says. “Let me drive you home.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re shivering.”
“So are you.”
“Yeah, but I’m about to get into my nice, warm car, and you’re about to freeze your ass off. Come on, I can have you home in twenty minutes. Don’t be stubborn.”
“Hah! You’re calling me stubborn?”
“Well, I would have said ‘fucking stubborn,’ but I’m trying to fucking cut down on my fucking cursing.”
“Funny. Why do you keep swooping in and trying to save me tonight? I don’t need you.”
His mouth twitches. “Oh, I realize that. Over the past year, you’ve made it abundantly clear.”
“Then why are you even bothering?”
He pulls his jacket around him and looks at the ground. “I don’t know. I just figure it’s about time we start being civil to each other. You looked upset tonight, and more than a little drunk. If you stay out here, you could freeze to death. Or worse, run into a drunk asshole like Nick. I’m leaving anyway. Why not let me drive you home?”
I can think of about a thousand reasons, but he’s right. I am freezing my ass off. Still, the thought of spending time with Ethan sends an unwanted thrill of anticipation through me. I inhale the chilly air to dampen the fire.
“Whatever. Take me home.”
He breaks into the most genuine smile I’ve seen on him in a long time.
The fire inside me grows.
Bad idea. Such a bad idea.
His car is like an airtight chamber of Ethan-essence. I’m sober enough to know how much it’s affecting me and drunk enough to not really care. I lean my head back.
Inhale.
Shudder.
Exhale.
Resist watching him drive.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Fine.”
“You look … hot.”
I turn to him.
He blinks and looks away. “Temperature-wise, not…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”
He grips the steering wheel harder. I close my eyes so I can avoid staring at his hands. Or thighs. Or jaw. Or lips.
Dumb tequila. Lowering my defenses. Making me horny.
We drive in silence. It’s uncomfortable. And arousing. We haven’t been this close to each other in ages. In a strangely masochistic way, it satisfies something in me that’s been severely lacking.
When we pull up in front of my apartment building, I almost don’t want to leave. There’s an energy firing between us. One that we’ve both suppressed for a long time. I’ve spent so much time training myself to be numb, I was getting worried that was all I’d ever be. It’s a relief to feel this lusty simmer; like someone who fears they’ll never walk again getting an unexpected tingling in their toes.
I’m about to reluctantly get out of the car when Holt turns off the engine.
I glance over at him. He’s still gripping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead. Tense always did look sexy on him.
He turns in my direction without actually looking at me. “So, you’ve been dating that Nick guy?”
“Sort of.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Why would you? We don’t talk.”
He leans back in his seat, and stares at the clock on the dash. “Did you sleep with him?”
It takes a moment for me to register what he just asked, but when I do, my hands curl into fists.
“Who I’m sleeping with is none of your business.”
“I know that, but—”
“Is that what was happening tonight? Cock-blocking him?”
He turns to me. “Do you seriously believe I’m that petty? I was trying to protect you, or were you okay with him shoving your hand down his pants and ignoring your pleas to stop?”
I fiddle with the button on my coat, knowing very well he was looking out for me. I just prefer to make him the bad guy. It means whatever is currently happening between us is easier to ignore.
He sighs and cracks his knuckles. “Forget it. You don’t have to tell me anything. What you do is your business. It was stupid of me to ask.”
He doesn’t say “sorry” but his tone is apologetic enough to persuade me to tell him the truth.
“I didn’t sleep with him.”
He loosens up just a bit, and the look of relief on his face is nearly laughable. “Good. He seemed like a prick. Better to be celibate than sleep with someone not worthy.”
“I didn’t say I was celibate.”
He blinks. “What?”
“You asked if I was sleeping with him. I’m not. But I’m not celibate.”
His browns furrow. “So, what? You’re sleeping with someone else?”
“Well, you could hardly call what we do sleeping.” I shouldn’t torture him with the details, but I really want to.
Silence hangs in the air between us for a few seconds.
“Who?”
“His name’s Buzz. He screws my brains out several times a week. Sometimes multiple times a day.”
Even in the dim glow of the streetlight, I see him go pale. He grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “Is he a student?”
“No.”
“How long have you been … seeing him?”
“About eight months.”
The muscles in his jaw go crazy. “What the hell, Cassie? You were fucking this Buzz asshole while you were going out with Date-Rape Nick?”
“Well, sure. I mean, Nick was okay, but Buzz and I are just about the sex.” I try not to laugh.
He leans his head against the steering wheel. “Jesus Christ.”
“Don’t you want to know how we met?”
“No.”
“Ruby introduced us At a sex shop.”
“Please stop talking.”
“She knew just by looking at him that he’d be able to make me come.”
He groans. “Fuck … Cassie. Please…”
“For a while I thought you were the only one who could get me off.”
“… stop…”
“But once I figured out he had multiple speed settings, he made me see stars, and I’ve been devoted to him ever since.”
“Too much fucking information. Literally.” Then he stops, and turns to me. “Wait … multiple speed settings?”
I have to smile. “Yep.”
He stares. “So Buzz is your … uh…”
“Vibrator. His full name is Sir Buzzalot. Best orgasms money can buy.”
He closes his eyes. “Yeah, you’d think that would make it better than fucking another guy, but it really doesn’t. You’ve been making yourself come … with a vibrator. I can’t even … God—”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying his discomfort.
“Since we’re being all chatty and whatnot … what about you?”
He rubs his eyes. “I don’t own a vibrator.”
“You know what I mean. Are you sleeping with anyone?”
“No.”
“Dating anyone?”
He makes a noise that’s almost a laugh but not quite. “No.”
“Why not?”
“Because if I were capable of dating someone, why the fuck would I have broken up with you?”
The silence solidifies between us. It feels like we have so much left to say after not speaking for so long, but neither of us knows where to start.
At last, he comes up with something appropriate. “Do you have any alcohol in your apartment?”
“Yeah. Tequila. Or wine.”
“Can I come in? I need a drink. Plus, I don’t really feel like going home. If I have to spend another night in my apartment alone, I’ll—” He shakes his head. “If you don’t want me to, it’s fine.”
I think of all the days he sits by himself to eat lunch. The way he separates himself in most social situations. Even when he started coming to parties again, he’d keep to himself. Was he just there to escape his solitude?
Throughout this whole thing between us, at least I’ve had people to support me. Ruby, Mom, my classmates. Hell, even his sister.
Who’s been there for him?
My pride is mad at me for feeling sorry for him, but I can’t help it.
“I could use something else to drink, too. If you want to come in, you can. I suppose.”
He nods and tries to hide his half smile. “Fine, I will, but please, stop begging. It’s embarrassing.”
“What can I say? I don’t like drinking alone.”
He turns to me, eyes almost black in the shadows of the car. “Me neither.”
The air between us becomes stifling. Crazy thick.
He lets out a breath before saying, “One drink, then I’ll be on my way.”
Flutters tickle my stomach and then move lower. “Okay.”
I’m laughing so hard, I can barely breathe. Ethan’s in the same boat. He’s wheezing like a cartoon character. I don’t even know what we’re laughing about. This is surreal. After more than a year of bitterness and snark, how the hell did we get here?
I topple to the side and collide with his shoulder. He leans back against the couch, and I’m so busy marveling over how stunning he is when he’s happy, my head slides down his arm and lands in his lap. We keep laughing. My head bounces off his stomach. It makes me laugh more. I sound deranged.
He spills some of his drink and licks the liquid off his thumb and forearm before it can drip onto the carpet. I’m transfixed by the motion of his tongue. I want to find out if it tastes like tequila.
He drops his head back and says, “I think we’re drunk.”
“I think you’re right.”
Gradually, our laughter dies down, and I flip onto my back and let my head nestle on top of his thigh. It feels strange to be with him like this. Like these are versions of ourselves from an alternate universe in which things are totally different, and we’re both happy. Touching him with such ease after all this time feels more like déjà vu than something I’ve done before.
I close my eyes and let myself enjoy it. I know this a stolen moment, but it’s exactly what I need right now.
I feel fingers on my forehead as he strokes my hair away from my face, and I open my eyes to see him staring down at me. All laughter has left his face. There’s an intensity in his expression that makes goose bumps flare across my skin. He threads his fingers through my hair, and everything seems to slow down. Like the air is charged with extra gravity.
I inhale with effort.
Within three seconds his fingertips have aroused me more than Nick could in three months.
The box in which I’ve locked my passion explodes open.
Ethan licks his lips. “I’m starting to think this was probably a bad idea. Being alone with you.”
I’m mesmerized by the movement of his mouth when he talks. “Yeah. Probably.”
“It’s easier when there are other people around. They distract me, you know? When it’s just us … it’s—”
“Harder.”
His expression softens. Fingers trail down my cheek.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, like he’s afraid I’ll hear. “Every day I think that but can never tell you.”
His touch is feather-light, but each stroke sinks into my bones. Sets them ablaze. “Why tell me now?”
“Because I’m too drunk to stop myself. And because neither of us is likely to remember this tomorrow.”
His chest rises and falls in fast shallow breaths. Eyes are hooded. Deep and needy.
Lonely.
Sad.
“I miss you, Cassie.”
My heart races. I’ve wanted to hear that so many times, but now that he’s said it, I have no idea how to respond.
He’s still stroking my face. Studying me. Trying to keep himself together.
Seeing him like this instantly pulls me apart.
I look away.
He sighs. “On a scale of one to wanting-to-kick-me-in-the-balls, how much do you hate me for dumping you? Be honest.”
I pick at the outer seam of his jeans. “Some days, I hate you lots. Most days, to be honest.”
“And other days?”
I run my fingernail down the stitching while ignoring how his thigh is tensing beneath my head.
“Some days, I…” He grazes his fingernails down the back of my neck and then up across my scalp. It makes a quake of shudders roll through me. “Sometimes I don’t feel like kicking you in the balls at all.”
“What about right now?”
I turn to face him as I fight the burn that’s rising up my chest and neck, and the hungry ache that’s pounding down low. “Right now, I have no idea how I feel.”
He stares at me for a long time, then nods and takes a mouthful of booze. He frowns at his glass.
I sit up and wait for him to say something. He doesn’t.
His knuckles go white as he grips his drink.
“What are you thinking?”
He shakes his head. “I’m thinking I really want to kiss you, but I can’t.” He gives a short laugh. “While I’m admitting stuff, I’ll tell you that’s what I’m thinking pretty much every day. It’s fucking pathetic how often I fantasize about it. I thought I’d be over you by now. But I’m not.”
His words floor me. So honest and unexpected. So similar to things I stop myself from thinking.
I can’t respond. For once, he’s braver than I am.
He drinks again and looks as if he’s waiting for a response. He’s going to be sorely disappointed.
At last he gives up. “So, care to tell me why you walked out of acting class today?”
The question takes me by surprise. “Not really.”
“I thought we were pretty good by the end.”
“You were. You were amazing.”
“So, why did you walk out? You looked pissed.”
I stop and think about it. The answer isn’t easy to put my finger on, but when I do, it’s so obvious.
“For so long, I’ve tried convincing myself that we broke up because you were incapable of being truly intimate. Of letting your guard down. Then today … in that scene with Connor, you did it. You were everything I knew you could be and more. Passionate. Brave. Loving. Patient. So open and strong. And I was so … jealous. And angry. I couldn’t cope. It made me even angrier that you could be like that with a guy you hate, and yet you couldn’t do it with me.”
“Cassie, I was acting.”
“No. You were living it. You think I can’t tell? I’ve watched you hold yourself back in every acting class since our breakup. Today was different. You made a breakthrough. A huge one.”
He downs the rest of his drink, pulls his legs up, and crosses them in front of him. Then he levels me with the most honest look he’s every given me.
“You want to know why that scene worked so well today? I was…” He shakes his head. “Jesus, if I wasn’t drunk, there’d be no way I’d be telling you this.” He takes a breath. “It worked because I imagined I was you, talking to me.”
It takes me a moment to comprehend what he’s said, and even then, I think I have it wrong. “What?”
He tugs on his hair. “I thought about all of those times you talked me through stuff. Tried to help me be strong. It seemed appropriate considering the text I had. If you think I was amazing today, it’s because I was pretending I was you.”
He shakes his head and fingers the hem of his jeans. “The funny thing is, I never thought I’d have the balls to be like that. Open to being hurt and not giving a shit. But when I did it today…” He slowly lifts his head and looks me in the eyes. “I could see how different things would be for me if I was. How much better they’d be.”
He doesn’t say, “with you,” but I swear to God, I hear it in my mind.
“I want to be like that,” he says softly. “The strong one. I’m fucking ashamed of how weak I am. About so many things.”
I’m stunned into silence. My heart pounds, and my breath comes too fast. He’s staring at me. Waiting for a reaction. He’s so close, but I want him closer.
Seconds pass. Time stretches around us.
He leans forward. Our legs are touching. Two layers of denim do nothing to insulate me from the effect of his body next to mine. Faces are close. It would be so easy to move forward. Brush against his lips. See if he still tastes as sweet as I remember.
“Cassie…” The dark edge in his voice isn’t helping my restraint. It’s like he’s drowning and begging me to save him.
I take a deep breath and dig for strength. “I’m thinking that one of us should probably leave this room before we do something stupid.”
He leans forward a fraction more and inhales. Then he closes his eyes for a second and says, “Yeah. I think you’re probably right.”
With a grunt of frustration, he pulls back, stands, and walks unsteadily to the table. Then he puts his glass next to the bottle of tequila. When I stand and follow suit, I have to lean on the back of a chair to keep my balance. Gripping it also helps stop me from launching myself at the gorgeous man beside me.
Ethan stares for a moment before sighing and running his hand through his hair. “I can’t drive. Is it cool for me to sleep on the couch?”
No. Get out before I mount you.
“Sure.”
I go to the linen closet and grab extra blankets and pillows before I dump them on the couch. He thanks me.
“No problem.”
We stand there for a moment, at a loss as to what to do. We both know this is a bad idea. What we’re feeling? The nearly irresistible pull toward each other? That’s the reason we’ve been avoiding each other since the breakup. Sure, we’re now experts in ignoring our desire, but constantly living like that is exhausting.
Soul destroying.
Although tonight has danced on a tightrope between spine-tingling excitement and disaster, the potential for it to go to hell is still very much there. It’s in every lingering glance, every touch, every ache and tug of body and heart.
My fear is telling me to run before it’s too late, but part of me is getting off on it. The adrenaline he brings out in me makes me feel more alive than I’ve felt in months. The danger of him is part of it. This is why people jump out of planes and swim with sharks. To feel this muscle-trembling rush.
Judging by how he’s staring at me, he feels the same way.
“I should go to bed,” I say in barely a whisper.
He nods but doesn’t look away. “Yeah. It’s late.”
“Yeah. So … sleep well.”
“You too.”
I only take three steps before warm fingers close around my hand.
“Cassie…”
He tugs on it. There’s hardly any pressure, but I move like he’s pulling me with a steel cable. I step into him, and when he wraps his arms around me, I press my cheek against his chest.
His breath comes out ragged and shuddery as he buries his head in my neck and sinks into me like honey on warm toast.
So warm, he melts me.
Our hearts thunder against each other, and right now, there’s only one thought inhabiting my head.
Ethan.
Bastard Ethan. Beautiful Ethan.
My Ethan.
Forever mine, regardless of whether we’re together.
“Do you think we’re ready to be friends yet?” he whispers.
“No.” What I’m feeling for him is in a different universe from friendship.
“Me neither.”
“One day?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“Really?”
He laughs. “No. It’s highly fucking unlikely.”
“We could pretend,” I say, not wanting to let go.
He brushes his nose against my ear. “What do you think we’ve been doing all this time?”
I nod.
He strokes my back. Breathes against my neck. “I’ve thought about holding you a lot recently. I thought it would somehow feel different than it used to, but it doesn’t. You feel exactly the same.”
“I’m not.”
I can feel the weight of his guilt when he says, “I know.”
I bring my hands down onto his chest. “You feel different. Hard.”
“Yeah, ignore it. I’ve been like that since you and Miranda made out in acting class on Monday.”
I laugh. “I was referring to your new boxing muscles.”
He pauses. “Oh. Of course you were. Forget I mentioned the arousing lesbianism.”
“You liked that?”
“No, I like pie. That was like a religious experience. It was one instance in which I was in complete agreement with Avery. You two should totally make out more often.”
He lets me go, and when I step back, I immediately want to hug him again.
“Don’t go to bed,” he says and takes my hand. “Stay for one more drink. Please. I’m too buzzed to sleep. I promise to keep my hands to myself and sit on the other end of the couch.”
I grab the bottle and our glasses from the table. “I guess one more would be okay. We’re already drunk. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Even before I open my eyes, I can feel them aching. They throb slowly behind my lids. My stomach rolls and I press it against the warmth I’m holding, searching for relief.
The warmth moans.
I stop breathing.
Warm.
Large.
Acres of man-skin.
Most definitely naked.
I open my eyes to see Ethan, unconscious and unguarded, both arms wrapped around me, legs tangled between mine, parts of his body already awake and attentive even as he slumbers.
No.
God, no.
We didn’t.
We’re not that stupid.
It was tequila, not a full-frontal lobotomy.
I would never …
And he definitely would never …
Ethan moans again and rubs his erection against me.
“Hmmmm. Cassie.”
No, no, no, no.
I try not to launch into a full-blown panic attack.
I must still be dreaming.
I close my eyes and breathe. It doesn’t help.
The room smells like him. And me. And sex.
Lots and lots of sex.
Images of last night come back to me.
Darkness and light. Long blinks and gentle touches. Fingers. Palms. Barely there. Tentative and surreal.
Hair between my fingers. Hot breath on my neck. Then his mouth.
Oh, Mary. His sweet, talented mouth. Silk lips So soft at first, then ravenous. Cleansing all the bitter words from my tongue. Exorcising every sliver of restraint until all that’s left of either of us is primal, and desperate, and writhing.
His thigh presses between my legs and I grind … and grind … and grind. All of him, hard and swollen.
Floating. High on alcohol and sensation. More skin revealed. Clothes pulled. Half-naked stumbling.
Panting breaths against my ear, begging me to tell him to stop. Pleading for strength. Praying to be inside me.
The weight of him, heavy and electric. Stirring all my synapses. Transforming everything he touches into insatiable flesh. Mouth and fingers, all over me. Making me dizzy. Crazy. A frenzy of wrongness and “God, yes” and please, please, please.
And then he’s inside me.
I can barely comprehend the pleasure.
I speak to God. Say his name over and over again. Sigh and pant and very nearly cry.
He’s gentle. Holding still and swearing. Also speaking to God. Telling Him how good I feel.
He prays through my skin. Bites my shoulder. Kisses it better. Groans like he’s riding an angel all the way into the pits of hell.
I can’t get enough.
God, please, Ethan, move.
Thrust.
Let me feel the perfect deepness of you. Sliding home and rolling through me.
There are strong arms and low moans, and how can he feel this amazing after all of this time? He fits perfectly to my body. Plays its rhythms. Hits every beat until everything is wire-tight and singing.
The couch, the floor, the hallway, the wall, the bed. Time and again he fills and refills me. Guides me through every type of ecstasy there is. Shows me all of its gasping forms. Just when I think we’re done, he touches me again and the fire roars back to life.
In the end, we collapse, exhausted. I fall asleep, smiling. Refusing to think about what morning will bring.
I open my eyes and stare down at Ethan.
Already, my chest is tightening.
What we did … what we shared last night doesn’t fix anything. Not one of his issues.
If anything, it complicates things even more.
We tried to suppress our passion, but in the end, she ended up making us her bitch. She waited until we were vulnerable. Stalked us on ninja feet. Pried us open with longing and loneliness. Stripped away our anger and common sense and doused us in lust.
Then she lit a match and danced as we burned.
Even now, everywhere he touches me blazes to life. I should climb out of bed and wash every trace of him away. Try to forget how incredible he felt.
But I can’t move. Can’t bear to drag myself away.
Then he opens his eyes and looks at me. Panic fires in his expression. He looks down at himself, naked and hard, then takes in the catastrophe of clothing littering the floor and bed, and frowns when he sees the slew of condom wrappers strewn across the nightstand. He stares for a long time before comprehension and disbelief dawn behind his bloodshot eyes.
“Fuck, Cassie.”
“Yeah, well, seems like you’ve been there, done that. Now what?”