EIGHTEEN
SURE BET
After Holt’s unexpected and semi-delirious admission of love, he continues to groan and mumble for hours.
Predictably, he doesn’t repeat it.
The balloon of wild hope in my chest slowly deflates.
When I snuggle into his side and try to sleep, he wraps around me like a possessive boa constrictor. It makes me smile.
It’s still dark when I become aware of fingers grazing over my skin. They push under the hem of my shirt and trail across my stomach.
“Ethan?”
He clears his throat. “You expecting some other guy in bed next to you? ’Cause I’m not too sick to kick his ass.”
He still sounds terrible, but there’s something about the rumbling timbre in his voice that gives me goose bumps.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Just wanted to feel your skin.”
There’s a hint of groan in his voice that worries me, but when I touch his forehead, it’s cool. The fever’s finally broken.
“How are you feeling?”
“Horny.” He moves his hand higher, then warm fingertips stroke my side. “Want you.”
He presses against me, hot and hard on my thigh, rocking his hips in a way that leaves no doubt as to exactly how much he wants me.
“Oh, God…” My body reacts without engaging my brain, and I tighten my arms around him.
“Cassie…”
He slides his hand up to my breast and gently kneads it through my bra. The sensation spirals down all my limbs.
Warning bells go off in my head, because I know if I don’t stop him now, what he’s doing will rob me of all the reasons I shouldn’t let him touch me like this, and I’ll be back where I was four days ago.
“Ethan … we have to stop.”
He pulls back and looks at me. “You think I can’t tell how much you want me? You’re practically tearing off my shirt.”
“That’s not the point.”
“No, the point is you want me to keep going, but only on your terms. As your boyfriend.”
“Is it so wrong that I need to know where I stand with you?”
“Dammit, Taylor, do you honestly not know how I feel by now? I know I’m a good actor, but as far my feelings go, I’ve been stupidly transparent.”
“I need to hear you say it.” My voice is barely a whisper.
“I told you earlier.”
“I didn’t think you were awake.”
“I’m awake now.”
“Then say it again.”
He leans down and kisses my temple, then my cheek, then as close as he can get to my mouth without actually touching my lips.
“I love you, Cassie. I don’t want to, but I do. Now, please…” He kisses my neck again, lips soft and open as he trails his hand down to the button of my jeans. “Shut up and let me touch you. It’s been too long. I’m losing my freaking mind.”
I close my eyes as he pops the button and lowers the zipper. Then all I can do is press my head back into the pillow, because he’s pushing his fingers into my panties, and any sense of reality completely disintegrates. His fingers are sure and strong, making me arch and pant as he puppet-masters all the strings of my pleasure, inciting noises that are way too loud in his dark, silent room.
He circles his fingers, his breath hot on my throat, my mind spinning as everything inside me curls and tightens.
I groan, because what he’s doing isn’t enough. I need more. All of him.
“Please,” I whisper as I reach between us and find him through his boxers, hard and long.
“Jesus, Taylor … “
I grip him and move slowly up and down, trying to draw him closer. “Ethan, please…”
He makes a low sound and wraps his fingers around mine. “Cassie, stop. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I do. Want you. Love you, too.”
“You … what?!”
“Ethan … inside me … Love you.”
“Cassie!”
Then, I’m being shaken, and when I open my eyes, Holt’s looking down at me, frowning and breathing heavily as sunlight spills into the room.
I gasp as my pre-orgasmic tension melts away, and I take stock of where I am.
One of my hands is pressing firmly between my thighs, and the other …
Oh, God.
The other is on the front of Holt’s boxers, wrapped firmly around his very hard erection.
“Oh, God.”
I let him go, and he sits up as he pulls the blankets over himself. “You were dreaming.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Talking and … grabbing at me…”
“Oh, God.” My face burns with embarrassment. “How long was I…?”
“A few minutes.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He sighs and says, “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I … I molested you. I’m a sexual deviant.”
I put my hands over my face and groan, too mortified to even look at him.
“Dammit, Taylor, stop blushing. It’s not all your fault. At first I thought you were awake, and had … you know … changed your mind about us doing stuff. But then you started talking, and I knew you were dreaming. I could have stopped you, but I’m a man, and therefore genetically programmed to resist removing a woman’s hand from my dick.”
I pull my knees up to my chest and glance at him. “You said I was talking. What did I say?”
He frowns and picks at the blanket as he clears his throat. “It was a dream. It doesn’t matter.”
“I’d like to know.”
He coughs and takes a sip of water from the bottle on the nightstand, all the while not looking at me. “You were mumbling. Saying you wanted me or something. I couldn’t really understand you.”
My throat closes up. He’s lying.
I drop my head down onto my arms and groan.
Having him hear me say the “L” word is bad enough, but what’s worse is knowing I actually meant it. I’ve never felt this way about someone before. One day, he was just a guy who annoyed the heck out of me, and now, without any warning or permission, he’s something else. Someone different.
Necessary and irreplaceable.
If that’s love, then it’s dumb.
“You know, you talk in your sleep, too,” I say, determined not to be the only one in purgatory.
He looks at me sharply. “What did I say?”
I narrow my eyes. “Don’t you remember?”
He looks at me for long seconds, and the amount of panic I see in his eyes isn’t even worth it. Either he remembers and regrets it or doesn’t and is terrified about having said it. Either way, I don’t get what I want.
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “You were so out of it I could barely understand you. Let’s just both agree that dream mumbling should be ignored, okay?”
He’s silent for a few seconds before he’s hit by a vicious coughing fit. He doubles over and grabs some tissues as he nearly gags on what he’s expelling from his lungs. I rub his back until the attack passes.
“You should take a shower,” I say as I stroke between his shoulder blades.
“Yeah, I guess.” He sounds tired.
He gets out of bed and heads over to his dresser to grab a fresh pair of boxers. He glances at me before looking back into the drawer. “Did you … refold my underwear?”
I shrug. “Some of it.” Only the ones I felt up like a complete creeper.
“You’re strange.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, sweetheart.”
When the bathroom door closes, I flop back onto the bed and exhale. I hadn’t envisioned that taking care of my sick ex-non-boyfriend would be such a mortifying experience.
I’m just about to head into the kitchen to prepare breakfast when Holt’s phone rings.
The caller ID says “Home,” and thinking it might be Elissa, I answer it. “Ethan’s phone, Cassie speaking.”
There’s a pause, then, “Cassie? This is Maggie Holt.”
My stomach jumps up into my throat, and my voice cracks as I say, “Oh, hi, Mrs. Holt.”
A girl is answering her son’s phone first thing in the morning. This looks bad.
“So, Cassie, how are you?”
“He’s in the shower.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“That’s why I’m answering his phone. Showering.”
“I see. So you’re—”
“Just hanging out. I know how this must seem, but I just want you to know that there’s nothing going on with me and Ethan. We’re not sleeping together. Well, actually, we did last night, but that was actual sleep, if you know what I mean. He was pretty doped up. On cough medicine. He’s sick. Very sick.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose in an effort to stop the ramble.
“I mean, he doesn’t need a lung transplant or anything, but he’s sick enough to need someone to take care of him. That’s what I’m doing here. And answering his phone. Obviously. Wow, your son takes really long showers, huh?”
Kill me now.
There’s a soft laugh, and I take it as a cue to just breathe. My face is hotter than the surface of the sun.
“Cassie, it’s fine. Elissa let us know at dinner last night that he was sick and that she’d asked to you to play nurse. Thank you for agreeing. I know my son isn’t the most pleasant patient. When he was a kid, I’d have to bribe him with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle toys in order to get him to take his medicine.”
The image of Holt as a bratty child was almost too adorable to bear. “Really?”
“I’m afraid so.”
A huge coughing fit comes from the bathroom, and I hear Mrs. Holt cluck her tongue. “I don’t suppose he’s been to the doctor?”
“No, but he’s actually sounding much better today.”
“That’s better?”
“Uh huh.”
“Poor baby.” She pauses, then says, “Actually, Cassie, I’m glad we’re speaking. Are you heading home for Thanksgiving?”
“Uh … no. I can only afford one return trip this year, and Mom and Dad want me to come home for Christmas.”
“So you’re free for the holidays?”
“I guess.”
“Great. I’d like you to come and stay with us in New York.”
“Oh … Mrs. Holt—”
“Please, call me Maggie.”
“Maggie, I don’t know. Ethan—”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with him. You’re Elissa’s friend too, and she’d love you to stay. Besides, we can’t have you spending Thanksgiving alone. That would be a tragedy.”
“Still, I don’t think that—”
“Nonsense. I won’t take no for an answer. You’re coming, and that’s final.”
Before I have a chance to argue, Holt emerges from the bathroom, bare chested, with just his boxers on.
He rubs a towel across his hair and coughs before mouthing, “Who is it?”
I hold my hand over the receiver. “Your mom.”
He coughs again before gesturing for the phone.
“Maggie? Ethan’s out of the shower now. And fully clothed, I might add. Well, not fully. He’s not wearing a shirt, but all the important parts are covered.” Oh, for the love of God. “It was nice talking to you.”
“You, too, Cassie. See you next week.”
“Uh, yeah. Okay.”
Holt takes the phone and sits on the edge of the bed.
“Hey, Mom.” His voice is barely there. “I sound worse than I feel. I don’t need to see a doctor. Yep, already taking antibiotics.”
He pauses then glances over at me. “Yeah, Cassie’s been taking good care of me. I’m much better today.”
He listens for a few seconds then frowns. “You what?”
He flushes with anger and strides past me into the living room. Even though he drops his voice to a harsh whisper, I can still make out what he’s saying.
“Mom, what the hell? You could have at least asked me.”
I stare at a pile of books in the corner and clench my jaw. I shouldn’t be hearing this.
“Yes, I like her, but … Jesus … it’s more complicated than that.”
It doesn’t have to be, but it is.
“No, she’s not my girlfriend. Having her there would be awkward as hell.”
I sit on the edge of the bed and shake my head. Would he honestly rather have me spend Thanksgiving alone?
I really have overestimated his feelings for me.
Holt talks with his mom for a few more minutes, but I can no longer make out what he’s saying.
Just as well.
When he comes back into the bedroom, he throws the phone onto the bed and stalks over to his dresser. After he grabs a T-shirt, he yanks it over his head and slams the drawer shut.
“You okay?”
“Yep.”
“You’re angry.”
“It’s fine.”
“Me coming to Thanksgiving would be awkward as hell, huh?”
He sighs. “Cassie—”
“Why would it be awkward?”
He rakes his fingers through his hair. “You’ve seen how Dad and I together. There’s no way I’d subject you to that again.”
I take in a shaky breath. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”
He takes one look at my face and sighs before sitting beside me. “Cassie, it’s not that I don’t want you there, but—”
Before he can say anything else, he’s struck by another coughing fit.
When it’s over, he flops back onto the bed, exhausted.
I guess we’re done talking about Thanksgiving.
I lean over and rub his back. “Is there anything I can do?”
He shakes his head. “I’m just tired. And my chest hurts.” His voice is a husky mess.
I go and grab him some pain-killers and cough medicine. After he takes both, he crawls under the covers.
I sit beside him and stroke his hair. “You know, my mother used to have this book. It was written by this self-proclaimed swami who believed that if we go against what our souls need, the disharmony in our bodies makes us sick. Like, if we don’t say what we’re feeling, we’ll get a sore throat, or if we do something we know is wrong, we’ll get a headache.”
His eyes are bleary as he looks up at me. “And if we have a sore throat, a headache, and a chest infection we’re … what? Emotionally dysfunctional? Heartsick?”
I shrug. “You tell me.”
He coughs. “Sounds pretty right. I think my mother invited you to Thanksgiving because she thinks you can fix me.”
I run my fingers across his forehead. “I didn’t realize you were broken.”
He gives me a short laugh. “Maybe not broken, but definitely defective.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“After how I’ve treated you, you should.” He sighs and turns away from me. “I don’t work right, Taylor. Don’t you know that by now?”
I stroke his back. “If I’d been betrayed by my girlfriend lover and my best friend, I wouldn’t work right, either.”
He’s silent for a few seconds, then he says, “As much as I’d like to blame all my issues on Vanessa and Matt, I was wrong way before then.”
“How long before?”
“Always.” He doesn’t look at me as he talks. Maybe it’s easier for him like this. “As a kid, it was hard for me to make friends. I had trouble showing affection. I always felt kind of … off.”
He’s silent for a long time. Just when I figure he’s asleep, he whispers, “One day, my parents sat me down and told me I’d spent the first couple of years of my life in foster care. I don’t remember it, but just hearing the words made me have a panic attack. I was nearly three by the time they adopted me.”
Three? Oh, God.
I used to think his insecurities were somehow augmented by his dramatic prowess, but it turns out he has real, justified abandonment issues.
I stroke his arm, trying to be supportive.
He takes a few shallow breaths. “I’ve never told anyone this before. But with you…” He turns onto his back and looks up at me with tired eyes. “I don’t know if my birth parents gave up on me because I was defective, or whether I became defective when they gave up on me, but the end result is the same. After I found out, every time Dad missed a track meet or canceled our weekend plans, I put it down to me not being his real son. That’s when we started fighting. I was just some loser’s castoff kid he and Mom took pity on.”
“Ethan, no…”
“Suddenly my wrongness made sense. Like I was an imposter in my own life. And that made me really fucking angry, because I figured, ‘Why bother,’ you know? Why keep pretending? I’m not a real son or a real brother. I’m no one’s real anything. Maybe that’s why I’m a good actor. Every character I play is more real than I am.”
I take my hand out of his hair and stroke his face. He closes his eyes, and the muscles in his jaw tense and release.
“Ethan, come on. I’ve seen enough of your family to know that you’re absolutely real to all of them. They adore you, even your dad. And as for me, I’ve never met anyone as real as you in my whole life. Every day you inspire me to stop being what others want and just be myself. So don’t you dare sit there and tell me you’re not real to anybody. You’re surrounded by people who love you, despite your determination to push them away. If that’s not real, I don’t know what is.”
I expect him to argue, but to my surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, he searches my face, intense and frowning. “I’m surrounded by people who love me, huh?”
“Why does that surprise you?” I ask as I stroke his forehead. “You’re kind of amazing.”
His expression changes, and it looks like a smile is trying to escape from a maze of confusion. If it wasn’t so damn attractive, I’d find it funny.
“I just— I don’t…” He squeezes his eyes shut and pulls me over to him. I put my arms around him as he takes in a shaky breath.
We don’t say anything else, but it doesn’t feel as though we have to. He’s told me his darkest secret, and even though it explains so much about why he is like he is, I’ve decided it doesn’t matter. If and when he finally gets up the courage to be with me, I’m all in.
Hell, I’m all in already.
The next day, Holt practically throws me out of his apartment. Not in a nasty way. Just in a one-of-us-should-be-going-to-class way. When I call him that night, he sounds much better. His voice is coming back, and he tells me the coughing fits have become less frequent.
The following day is crazy busy, and it’s not until I’m dozing in bed that my phone buzzes.
I look at the screen and smile when I see the caller ID.
“Hey, sicko.”
“Hey.”
It’s crazy that one tiny word from him can make me almost dizzy with happiness. And it’s not even a special word. Just a boring old one-syllable greeting, yet I can feel a stupid grin plastered all over my face like cheap wallpaper.
I thought things might have gotten weird between us, since he told me he was adopted, but it hasn’t. If anything, it’s like telling me has removed a burden.
He still hasn’t said anything about getting our relationship back on an intimate footing, but I’m grateful we’re not staying away from each other.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?” I ask.
“I have been, all day. Now I’m wide awake.”
“Take some cough medicine. That’ll knock you out.”
“I have, but it hasn’t kicked in yet. It’s probably not a good idea to be talking to you right now. I tend to say stupid things under the influence of that stuff.”
“Not stupid. Just stuff you wouldn’t tell me normally. I love that cough medicine. I’ve learned more about you in the past two days than I have all year.”
“And yet, you’re still talking to me.”
“It’s a burden, but someone has to do it.”
He laughs. Such a beautiful sound.
He’s quiet for a second, then he says, “Listen, Cassie, I’ve been thinking—”
“Uh huh.” I can feel his nervousness through the phone line.
“I … I know that I was a dick about it the other day when Mom called, but … I want you to come to Thanksgiving.” His voice gets softer. “I don’t think I can go all those days without seeing you. I called Mom and asked her to get the spare room ready.”
I’m stunned. And unbelievably touched.
“Ethan…”
“You haven’t made other plans, have you?”
“Well, sort of. I did buy a frozen turkey dinner for one. I don’t know if I can possibly give that up on such short notice. It has ‘cranberry-flavored’ sauce.”
“Oh. Well, yeah. I mean, that’s some delicious frozen food. Do you need some time to think about it? Not to sway you or anything, but you know that Maggie runs a gourmet catering company, right? No pressure.”
I laugh. “Well, when you put it like that, I’d love to come.”
It’s not lost on me that this is sounding suspiciously like a date. I resist jumping out of bed and doing a happy dance.
“Good. I’ll pick you up tomorrow night. Where will you be?”
“You’re not coming to class tomorrow?” My stomach drops knowing that I’m not going to see him in the morning.
“No. I just need one more day to kick the last of this cough. Also, I’m going to need all my strength to survive the weekend with my father. So where can I pick you up?”
“Well, tomorrow afternoon we were all getting together at Jack’s place for pre-holiday drinks.”
“Okay, I’ll come there. We’ll drive to New York for dinner with Mom and Dad, and come back Sunday night.”
The thought of spending four days in New York City is dizzying enough, but knowing I’ll be living with Holt for that time? The word “ecstatic” is the only adjective that even comes close to how I’m feeling.
“Holt, should I be concerned that you’re being all … nice … all of a sudden?”
He laughs. “Maybe. It’s certainly scaring the hell out of me. Be careful what you wish for, Taylor. That’s all I can say.”
“Pfft. Pinocchio wished to be a real boy, and that turned out okay.”
“True. But he was then forever devoid of permanent wood. Think about it.”
I laugh, and a few seconds later when he yawns, I join him.
“Go to sleep,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow night.”
“Okay, sure.”
As we hang up, I feel like one of those paleontologists who works with a tiny brush and spends years slowly clearing away grains of dirt to reveal a precious relic or treasure. I don’t think Holt would approve of me calling him a relic, but I’m smiling nonetheless.
By the time six o’clock rolls around the next night, most of my classmates are well on their way to being extremely hammered. Some have gone home to visit family, but for the most part, everyone is waiting until Christmas, like me. Thanksgiving is really just an excuse to be drunk for four days.
Ruby sits beside me on the sofa, sipping an industrial-strength margarita and bobbing her head to the music. I sit next to her, and my leg bounces nervously as I wait for Holt to show up. Ruby orders Jack to get me another drink to help chill me out, but I couldn’t chill right now if I were dressed as a polar bear and dipped in liquid nitrogen.
I’m watching Mariska and Troy burn up the dance floor with some impressive swing-dance moves, when they pull apart to reveal Holt in the doorway.
Oh. He’s here.
There’s a huge roar as people see him and crowd around like he’s a long-lost mythical creature. People ask how he is and tell him they’ve missed him. Zoe hugs him. Jack claps him on the back. And even though he smiles and responds, throughout it all his focus is on me.
I can hardly breathe.
“Whoa,” Ruby whispers beside me. “Did Holt have some weird version of bronchitis that increases his sex appeal? Because … damn. Boy is looking fine.”
He’s dressed in black jeans and a dark blue V-neck sweater. His hair’s chaotic, and his jaw is freshly shaved. I can’t turn away. He looks a little tired, but far less pale than when I last saw him. I have the strangest urge to walk over to him, wrap myself around his torso, and cling to him like a limpet.
Of course if I did that in the miniskirt I’m currently wearing, I’d look like an extremely slutty limpet. The kind the other limpets would shun and talk about behind her back.
I stand up and move toward him. I need to be near him.
When I stop in front of him, Jack’s in the middle of a story about how Lucas simulated masturbation in acting class today, and how Erika had surprised everyone by praising him for being brave.
“I swear, man,” Jack says as everyone laughs, “Beneath that hard-faced-bitch exterior, Erika’s a complete sex freak.”
Holt smiles at me and shoves his hands in his pockets as I mouth “hi” to him.
“Hey.”
Jack slaps his shoulder. “Can I get you a drink? Beer? Shot of bourbon?”
“No, thanks. We’re not staying long.”
“We? Who’s ‘we’?”
“Me and Taylor.”
Jack looks around at the crowd and raises his eyebrows. “You and Taylor? Well, well, well. What’s going on here?”
For a moment, there’s panic in Holt’s eyes, but he takes a deep breath and says, “She’s spending the holidays with me in New York.”
Oh.
Wow.
Jack stares at us, stunned. By this time, Lucas and Zoe have joined him.
I can feel that my mouth is open, but I’m too shocked right now to shut it.
“Seriously?” Jack asks. Holt nods, and Jack turns to me. “Taylor, won’t your mystery man have something to say about you spending time with tall-and-intense here? I mean, he saw you two in Romeo and Juliet, right? This could be an epically stupid move.”
I try to think of something to say to deflect Avery’s attention, but it turns out I don’t have to. Holt has it covered.
“Actually, Jack,” he says before swallowing nervously. “I’m her mystery man. And I’m completely okay with her spending time with me.”
The room goes deathly quiet. The music has stopped, and if I listen real carefully, I can probably hear the wind blowing through the tumbleweeds outside.
I stop breathing, terrified that if I move, I’ll wake from this awesome dream.
Jack stares between Holt and me in disbelief. “I’m sorry, but what? You’re the guy she told us about? The fucking moron who won’t sleep with her?”
Holt glowers and gives him a tight smile. “Yep. That’s me. Fucking moron, in the flesh.”
Oh my God. Please don’t let me wake up. Let it be real.
There’s a pregnant pause before Jack punches his fist into the air and yells, “Yeaaaaaaah!”
The room explodes with chatter, and Jack turns and high-fives the people behind him. “All right, everyone who had Taylor dating someone other than Holt, pay up. Markers are due, people! The eagle has landed! Repeat, the eagle has landed. Someone remind me to pay Erika.”
The living room looks like the floor of the New York Stock Exchange, with cash and tickets being waved in the air while people chatter and laugh.
“Wait a minute!” Holt yells and glares at Jack. “You … you ran a fucking book on whether or not Taylor and I were together?”
Jack’s face drops. “Well, yeah. But it was all in fun, man. You two have been making goo-goo eyes at each other for freaking months. We had to have fun with it somehow.”
“Dude!” Holt says stiffly. “I do not make goo-goo eyes.”
Lucas pats him lightly on the shoulder. “Sorry to break it to you, bro, but you totally do. Lucky you two got good crits for Romeo and Juliet, because in real life? You totally suck at acting.”
Holt looks at me in shock, and I step in and put my hand on his chest.
“Um, so … wow.”
He blinks and shakes his head. “What the hell just happened?”
“Good question.”
He stands there for a few seconds like a goldfish, watching the action around him with a look of confusion. It’s only when I trace along the skin at the neck of his sweater that he snaps out of it and looks at me.
“Hi. I’m Cassie Taylor. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
I know it’s quippy, but it’s the truth. Who is this open and declarative man in front of me?
His ears turn pink. “Uh … yeah. Hi.”
“So, that was … unexpected.”
“Yeah. But good unexpected, right?”
How can he possibly think otherwise when I’m smiling up at him like I’m high?
“Very good unexpected. Did you mean to out us when you came here tonight?”
“No. Well, yes. I mean, I didn’t know for sure, but when I saw you, I … I guess over the last few days I’ve realized that what I want with you outweighs how much you scare me. And I’m tired of depriving myself. It’s too fucking draining. I want to be with you.”
I put my arms around his neck. To his credit, he only looks around once to see who’s watching before focusing on me.
“Stop freaking out.”
His breathing gets faster as stares at me. “Make me.”
I pull his head down. When he kisses me, it’s soft and chaste, but the way he inhales and tightens his arms around me tells me his reaction is anything but mild. There are various whoops of approval around us, but we ignore them. It’s kind of easy when all my focus is directed at resisting the urge to become a slutty limpet.
He kisses me more firmly, and through my lusty haze, I’m impressed that he’s being so bold in front of everyone. I know this is kind of a big deal for him.
I’m proud.
He pulls back as the entire room applauds, and he gives them all a good-natured bird flip as he drags me down the hallway into the deserted study.
When I close the door behind us, he sighs in relief and runs his fingers through his hair.
“See?” I say. “After all these weeks of secrecy and denial, was that so hard?”
He pulls me against him, not being shy about running his hands over my butt as he stares down at me. “Taylor, I can say with absolute honesty, that yes. It was, and is, extremely hard.”
He kisses me again, less restrained now, and walks me back toward the wall. He’s groaning in a way that makes me want to crawl inside his throat and rub myself on his larynx. The sounds I’m making are embarrassingly loud. For so long, I’ve been waiting for him to just let go and give in to this thing between us, and now that he is, it’s so much better than the fantasy.
There’s no hesitation. No self-consciousness. He’s kissing me like he’s afraid to stop. Like he’s trying to make up for all those long days of separation.
Part of me is still convinced this isn’t reality, but when he lifts me up so he can grind against me, I decide I don’t care. Whatever it is, I’ll take it.
“We should really stop,” he says as he kisses down to my clavicle.
I grip his hair. “Of course we should. Best possible solution to all this burning lust between us. Good plan.”
He cups my breasts, and caresses them through my sweater. “Don’t mock me.”
“Then don’t stay stupid things like ‘We should really stop.’”
“You have a point. I didn’t declare us as a couple in front of everyone so that you could continue not touching my dick, that’s for sure.”
“On it.” My breathing is loud as I palm him through his jeans.
He puts his hand on the wall behind me and hangs his head. “Sweet Jesus.”
I squeeze him through the fabric, and he drops his head lower until his forehead is resting on mine.
“At the risk of being mocked again,” he says breathlessly as he pulls back, “you really need to stop doing that. We kind of have to get on the road if we’re going to make it to Mom and Dad’s for dinner.”
With reluctance, I remove my hand. He steps back and sighs. “Just give me a minute. Jack probably has a bet going that I’ll be walking out of here with a hard-on.”
“Maybe I should go put some money down. I could win big.”
“Especially if you continue to stand there in that nonexistent skirt.”
“You like this?”
“If I said no, would you take it off?”
“Only one way to find out.”
He explores under my skirt, long fingers grazing my thigh.
“Ethan,” I say breathlessly. “If you go there, we’re absolutely not getting out of here any time soon. You know that, right?”
“I know. I just have a very hot girlfriend, and when my hands are on her, I get carried away.”
All the breath leaves my lungs. “You’re admitting I’m your girlfriend? Finally?”
When he answers, his voice is soft. “Yes, Cassie. You’re my girlfriend.”
My stomach flips.
I don’t think I’m going to get tired of him saying that word any time in the near future.
Although he’s smiling, I also see a little panic in his eyes.
“Just saying it is freaking you out, isn’t it?”
“A little.”
“Do you think you can get used to it?”
He strokes my neck and thinks for a second. “I hope so. I want to.”
My cheap-wallpaper grin is back. “Me too.”
He smiles, and I wrap my arms around him. “Was this what you were afraid of? Because even though I really don’t have much experience with this sort of thing … I think it’s going well so far.”
His smile fades. “Taylor, I have to warn you once again that I suck at relationships. I’ve made that clear, right?”
I stand on my toes to kiss him. “We’ll be fine. Stop thinking so much.”
He nods and sighs, and for a moment, he’s completely open.
Like that, he’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.