TWENTY-FIVE
FINAL BOW
Present Day
New York City, New York
Dr. Kate studies me, and I hide my smile behind my hand.
“You look different today. Happy?”
“Yes.”
“Very happy.”
I can’t deny it. I don’t want to. “Yes.”
“Well, judging by the way you’re glowing, I’m assuming you and Ethan…?”
She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Just like I don’t have to answer it. My expression must tell her everything.
I nod, and she writes in her book. I don’t miss her slight smile.
“You’re not angry?” I ask.
“Why would I be angry?”
“Because I thought, maybe you thought … that I wasn’t ready.”
“Do you feel ready?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s all that matters. I can’t put a timeline on your happiness, Cassie. Only you can do that. As long as you feel good, we’re achieving something.”
“I do feel good, but also…”
“What?”
How can I tell her what I’m feeling, when my swirling emotions don’t fit into any one category? Happy/cautious. Ecstatic/terrified. Elated/anxious.
“He left yesterday.” Just saying the words makes my chest hurt.
Dr. Kate studies me for a few seconds before asking, “How are you coping?”
“I don’t like it. I miss him.”
“Missing him is good.”
I look out the window and watch the clouds change shape. “It feels strange to admit that. To acknowledge I need him. For so long, I thought needing him showed how weak I was.”
“And now?”
I spot a cloud that looks like a love heart and smile. “Now, I see that letting myself need him is the strongest thing I’ve ever done. The bravest.”
“They say fortune favors the brave.”
I think about arriving on his doorstep. Convincing him to make love to me. Finally letting him in again.
A shudder of pleasure runs up my spine. “I guess it does.”
I lean against the wall of my dressing room. I’ve been struggling with my focus exercise and just can’t seem to get into the zone. Last night was the same. I’m betting tomorrow night will be, too.
It’s not that I find it uncomfortable performing with Nathan, but getting into character without Ethan is much more difficult than I thought it would be.
I shake out my tension and roll my neck. I have ten minutes. I need to get my crap together.
I walk down the hall to Ethan’s dressing room and open the door. A waft of his scent hits me as I turn on the lights, and I inhale deeply.
Within seconds, I feel better.
I sit in his spot in front of the mirrors and touch all his stuff. Not that he has a lot. Pancake makeup, powder, hair goop. Eyeliner he never uses because his lashes are stupidly long and dark.
I open a drawer and find a book called Awakening the Sacred Body.
Oh, Ethan. Reading a little pornography, are we? Naughty man.
I flip through it, expecting to see diagrams of sexual positions. I’m sorely disappointed. There are very few pictures, and those I find show a middle-aged Chinese man demonstrating various meditation poses.
Party pooper.
As I flick through to the back of the book, a photo falls out. It’s of Ethan and me. We have our arms around each other and look genuinely happy. I remember the moment well. It was taken at the opening night party of Romeo and Juliet in our first year of drama school. Jack Avery took it just after he’d read our first glowing review. I’d felt like I could float off the ground that night.
I run my finger over Ethan’s face. His smile is so beautiful, it makes me sad to think I didn’t see it that much in the time we spent at college.
“He took that picture all over the world, you know.” I turn to see Elissa leaning against the doorframe. “Well, all over Europe, at least. Looked at it every night before he went onstage. I’m surprised you can still make out your face.”
“I have the same picture at home,” I say. “It’s the only picture of us I kept. All the others were torched in a drunken purging ceremony.”
“Valentine’s Day?” Elissa asks.
“Yep.”
“Had a few of those myself over the years.”
I put the picture in the book and replace it in the drawer. When I turn back to Elissa, she’s smiling.
“What?”
“I spoke to Ethan earlier.”
I’m immediately nervous. Did he tell her we slept together?
I try to play it cool. “Oh? How is he?”
“Even over the phone I can tell he’s on cloud nine. Am I right in assuming something happened between you guys?”
Her face is so hopeful, I can’t lie. “I guess.”
I can see her almost vibrating with happiness. “Well … okay. That’s … wow. Great.”
“Elissa, it’s still really early.”
“I know. But, it’s going to work out this time. I have no doubt.” She comes over and hugs me. “He’s been crazy in love with you for years. He’s not going to screw this up. I’m certain that right now, my brother is the happiest man on the planet.”
“Well, I guess we’re both due a little happiness, right?”
“Absolutely.” She hugs me again then pulls back. “Now, get your ass in gear. It’s five minutes ’til places.”
“Okay. Be right there.”
When she leaves, I go over to the closet and find Ethan’s warm-up clothes. I pick them up and hug them. When I close my eyes, I can almost imagine it’s him.
Two minutes later, I try my focusing exercise again.
I nail it.
His face appears on the screen, and I want to reach out and touch him.
“Hi,” I say and exhale with relief.
He sighs and licks his lips. “Wow. Hi. Fuck, you look so good. I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“We spoke last night.”
He scoffs. “That was a lifetime ago.”
He glances over his shoulder, and I can make out the dimly lit interior of his trailer. “I don’t have long to talk. We’re between scenes. I’m waiting for them to reset lights.”
“You’re shooting all night again?”
“We finish when the sun comes up.”
“That’s your costume?”
He looks down at himself and smiles. “Yeah. Sexy, huh?”
He’s wearing a ripped white T-shirt stained with blood. The left side of his face is swollen and bruised, and his bottom lip is split.
“Hmmm. Yes, very rugged. Your bruise makeup is impressive.”
He chuckles. “Uh … yeah. Not all of that is makeup.”
“What?”
“We filmed the big fight scene last night. I weaved when I should have ducked and … well…”
“No!”
“Yep. Pow. Right in the kisser.”
“Oh, Ethan.”
“It’s okay. I’ve had worse.”
“When?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “Whenever my anger used to get the better of me, I’d go to this bar in the city. It was pretty rough.”
For a moment, I think about what this means. “You went to deliberately get in to fights?”
“Well, I went to beat the crap out of someone, but occasionally, they got the better of me.”
“Oh, God. Is that why your knuckles were always a mess?”
“Pretty much.”
“Ethan…”
“I know. Stupid, right?”
“Not stupid. Sad.”
“I haven’t done that in years.”
“Do you still get the urge to?”
He pauses. “Sometimes. When I’m tense.”
“When was the last time?”
“Three months ago. The night before we started rehearsals. I was nervous about seeing you and was praying like hell I had the strength to not fall in a heap if you told me to go fuck myself.”
“I did tell you to go fuck yourself.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t mean it.”
“Yeah, I did.”
He frowns. “Really? Wow. I totally misread that moment. Just as well. I probably would have fallen in a heap. Just like I did last night when the stunt man clocked me.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Not compared to being away from you.”
I sigh. “I want to kiss you so badly right now.”
“Yeah?” He leans forward.
“Kissing you is the first on a very long list of things I want to do to you right now. I’d start with your mouth, and finish with … well, if I had my way, I wouldn’t finish. I’d have all of you, all the time.”
He stares at me and sets all my insides ablaze.
That look has always brought me undone. A lot of men have desired me over the years, but not a single one has ever looked at me like that. Like he belonged to me just as much as I belonged to him.
Someone knocks on his door, and he looks over his shoulder. “Damn, they’re ready for me.”
“Hey, I’m ready for you, too.”
He turns back to the screen and leans forward. “I’m going to need you to hold that thought for two more days. Can you do that?”
“Fine. Go. Be all tough and whatever.”
“Talk to you tomorrow?”
“Okay. Love you.” It just comes out. I cover my mouth. When the hell did I become so comfortable saying that to him? We’ve been back together for a matter of days.
“Cassie?” he says as he fights the world’s smuggest smile.
“Don’t blame yourself. I’m irresistible. I love you, too.”
I don’t sleep well while he’s away. My thoughts are too loud. My body too cold. All the ways I’ve forgotten how to miss him come rushing back at an alarming speed.
The day he’s due to come home, I’m so nervous, I feel sick. I shave my legs. Wash and blow dry my hair. Take extra care with my makeup. Smear myself in body lotion that makes me smell good enough to eat.
And I do it all with trembling hands.
Anticipation? Yep. I have it. In spades.
In the cab on the way to the airport, I close my eyes and breathe deeply. I can’t believe how uptight I am. It’s like I’m about to go onstage and haven’t rehearsed.
But I have. He has. We’ve prepared for this scene before but never got to perform it. The happy ending. We’ve tried tragedy. It didn’t work for either of us. What we’re doing now is new. I make my way to the arrivals area. There’s a buzz in the air. People of all ages are milling around, thrumming with excitement like I am as they wait for their loved ones.
Wow.
Ethan is my loved one.
It feels weird to admit that.
People trickle out of the doors, and I lock my knees to stop juddering my legs. Two little kids beside me are bouncing. I’m jealous. Bouncing would feel pretty awesome right about now.
An anxious-looking man emerges from the doors, and the kids scream, “Daddy!” before they run and engulf him in tiny-armed hugs. It makes me smile.
More people walk through as friends and family surge forward to greet them. I stand on my toes to see over heads and crane my neck. I understand they’re all happy to be reunited, but they need to get the hell out of the way so I can see the doors.
I catch a flash of messy hair. After pushing between two large men, I see Ethan standing there, tall and gorgeous, frowning as he scans the crowd.
I yell his name. Well, more like scream it. The men beside me turn and stare. My care factor is in negative digits.
Ethan sees me, and for a moment, he freezes. His expression makes my lungs tighten.
Then he pushes through the crowd, apologizing as he all but throws people out of his way to get to me. I’m also too rough.
When he’s a yard away, I launch myself at him. He catches me and buries his head in my neck. I’m dangling off the floor. Holding on for dear life.
He’s here. Home. With me.
I finally breathe.
“Thank God you’re here,” he says, lips against my throat. Fuck, I’ve missed you.”
He lowers me to the floor and cups my face. His focus drops to the heart pendant nestled between my breasts. “Oh … wow. That…” He smiles and shakes his head. “I always knew it would look amazing on you, but that’s just … perfect. You’re perfect.”
He kisses me deeply, and my heart rate doubles. He sucks on my lip, and that’s it. I’m all over him. Hands in his hair, and gripping the back of his neck, him pulling my hips forward, and curving his hards around the top of my ass. I realize we’re engaging in an obnoxious public display of affection, but I don’t even care.
“Baggage claim,” he says breathlessly.
“We need to pick up my bag.”
“Leave it here. We’ll buy you new clothes.”
“Okay. Cab?”
“Yep.”
He kisses me again, and all plans of leaving are temporarily waylaid. He wraps his hands in my hair and pulls, just enough to drive me crazy. More than enough to remind me why we were talking about cabs.
“We have to get out of here,” he says as he pulls me in for a hug. “But first, give me a minute to try and deflate this raging boner. Tell me something horrifying. Distract me from my intense need to fuck you on this ugly carpet.”
“Uh … okay.” I struggle to concentrate. “Well, one of the regular fans who came to the shows this week said she thought Nathan and I had better chemistry than you and me.”
He pulls back and frowns. “The fuck? Are you kidding me?!”
“Nope. She said she liked your performance better, but that Nathan and I made a better couple. He was gentler.”
He shakes his head and laughs bitterly. “The reason Nathan’s gentler is because he’s not holding himself back from ripping your clothes off in front of a theater full of people. That’s not chemistry. It’s lack of passion.”
“She also knitted you a cardigan and wanted to know if you were single.”
His incredulity drops. “What did you tell her?”
“That you don’t wear cardigans.”
“I mean, about me being single.”
I run my finger over the pattern on his T-shirt. As if my face wasn’t hot enough, more blood rushes to my cheeks. “I said … that I thought you were spoken for.”
“Thought?”
“Well … yeah.”
He tilts my head up.
“Spoken for? I like the sound of that.”
He kisses me again. Softer but still intense.
“Next time you see her, you tell her I’m most definitely spoken for. And she’s fucking nuts if she thinks Nathan has better chemistry with you. I invented chemistry with you. Everything else is just pretend.”
As if to demonstrate, he kisses my neck, and I swear, he’s trying to kill me in a public place. Everything burns and aches, and if he keeps doing that thing with his tongue, my legs are going to give out.
“Do you think your bag will be at the carousel by now?” I say, short on breath and patience.
“If not, fuck it. There’s nothing in it that can’t be easily replaced. Except my journal.” He ponders for a second. “Actually, we’d better go get it. If anyone finds it, they’ll know how depraved I really am. And it’s all about you.”
He takes my hand and leads me down to baggage claim. His strides are long, and I have to trot a little to keep up.
“Hey, I’m wearing heels. Not so fast.”
He stops and turns to me. “Do you think people would stare if I threw you over my shoulder? Because I really want to do that. Then I can ogle your ass and just run.”
The look in his eye is a little manic. For a second, I think he’s going to do it. Then he spies the heavily armed security officer a few feet away.
“Excuse me, sir?” he says, and the guard looks at him. “Would it be acceptable to carry my girlfriend like a sack of potatoes in order to get out of here quicker and make sweet love to her?”
The guard’s mouth moves, but he resists smiling. “No, sir, that would not be acceptable.”
“Piggyback?”
“Nope.”
“Put her on a trolley?”
“No.”
“You’re no fun.”
“So my wife keeps telling me.”
Ethan takes my hand again and continues toward the baggage carousels. He walks a little slower, but not much.
As soon as we get there, he spies his bag and quickly grabs it. Then he drags me out to the taxi line and after we get in and he gives his address, he puts his arm around me and sighs.
I lean against his chest and close my eyes. Every part of me is relieved to have him home. Even the parts that are incredibly uptight about having him home.
“So, you called me your girlfriend back there.”
“You caught that, huh? Are you mad?”
I think about it for a second. “No.”
“Freaking out?”
“A bit.”
“Okay. I can deal with ‘a bit.’ Tell me your concerns about being called my girlfriend.”
I look down at my fingers and shrug. “I don’t know. It just seems too soon.”
“Cassie, I’ve been in love with you for more than six years. How is that too soon?”
“I mean, this time around.”
He pauses and tightens his arm around me. “Listen, this isn’t a time. This is it. The end. Last stop on the relationship train. I thought I’d been clear about that.”
Simultaneous shudders of joy and panic travel through me.
“Okay,” he says as he cups my cheek. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to forget I called you my girlfriend. I’m going to take you back to my place, peel off your clothes, and make sweet love to you until you beg me to stop. At no time will I repeat the ‘girlfriend’ comment, nor pressure you about labeling our relationship. Which should be labeled ‘fucking awesome,’ by the way. I’m just happy to be where we are.”
“Which is, where?”
“Together.” A beat later, he coughs/says, “Forever,” then gives me an innocent smile. “What? Why that look? I didn’t say anything.”
I laugh and kiss him. We’re still kissing when we pull up outside his building.
He throws money at the cabbie, and the whole trip up to his apartment is a blur of making out and juggling his bag. As soon as we stumble through the door, the bag is dropped, and our clothes become the enemy we must defeat at any cost.
It turns out the clothes win, mainly because we don’t have the patience to get completely naked. Or even half naked. Or make it to the bedroom.
As soon as he has my panties off and I have his jeans unbuttoned, he takes me against the wall. It’s not gentle. I don’t want it to be. It’s heavy thrusts and strangled moans and full of seven days of longing.
Neither of us lasts very long. I cry out first. He follows a few thrusts later. We cling to each other as we shudder and sigh. When we’re both boneless, we stagger to the bedroom. The rest of our clothes come off on the way, and the second time is less hurried but no less passionate.
After the third time, we both fall asleep within seconds.
The fourth time is hours later in the shower. He washes me very thoroughly. Everywhere. With his tongue.
We never make it to dinner.
He makes vague noises about a fifth time, but I’m exhausted. Instead, we lie in bed and watch movies. He strokes my back while I draw patterns on his chest. I can’t remember a time when I’ve felt so content or relaxed. Maybe not ever.
It feels so right, I want to cry.
“Ethan?”
“Hmmm?”
“If you want … and if you only do it when we’re in private because I don’t want people at work giving us crap … you can…” I take a deep breath. “You can call me your girlfriend.”
He stops stroking. “Don’t mess with me, Cassie. If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
He stares for a full five seconds. “You’re serious?”
“I am. Is that okay?”
His face twitches. “Yeah. That’s okay. Very okay. Extremely fucking okay. Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
He gets out of bed and goes into the living room. Then I hear him open the doors onto the balcony and scream, “CASSIE TAYLOR IS MY GIRLFRIEND! FUCK, YEAH!”
I hear the doors close before he calmly walks back into the bedroom and crawls back into bed.
He clears his throat and says, “So, yeah. Good. That’s settled. You’re my girlfriend. Which makes me your…?”
I sigh. “You know what it makes you.”
“No, I’m not sure. What’s the word?”
“You’re my…”
“Yes…?” He’s nearly vibrating with expectation.
“Do you really need me to say it?”
“Only if you want to make me the happiest man in the world. No pressure.”
I shake my head and get up. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
I go and open the balcony doors while praying no one can see me, because being naked in front of random strangers is not my idea of fun.
“ETHAN HOLT IS MY BOYFRIEND! FUCK, YEAH!” I fist-pump to no one in particular, then scamper back inside.
When I jump back into bed, Ethan pounces on me. Within a second, he has me pinned to the mattress and is lying between my legs, conspicuously and impressively hard.
“That was, hands-down, the sexiest goddamn thing you’ve ever done.”
“Oh yeah?”
He practically growls when he says, “Fuck, yes.”
Without any more discussion, we go for round five, and it’s more amazing than the other four put together.
A week later, Ethan stands behind me and fiddles with his hair in the bathroom mirror. This is the third time he’s done it. Marco made him get it cut last week, so it’s a little shorter than usual. He hates it. I think it’s sexy.
So is his nervousness.
He finally gives up and sits on the bed while I finish my makeup.
“What do I call them?” he asks.
“I mean, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Taylor’ seems wrong, considering they’re no longer married.”
“Then call them Leo and Judy.”
“Yeah, but don’t you think that’s a little disrespectful?”
“I call your mom and dad Maggie and Charles.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
“Wow, my girlfriend’s so rude.”
I laugh and walk over to him. “You didn’t mind so much this afternoon.”
I stand between his legs, and he runs his hands up my rib cage, then palms my breasts. “Yeah, well, I’ve never done that particular thing on that part of your body before. It was hot. Plus, you were kind of insistent that’s what you wanted. Also hot.”
“Well, considering I now have a boyfriend eager to fulfill my every sexual whim, I may have come up with a list of things I want to try.”
“Really? Like what?”
I lean down and graze my lips over his. “If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.”
“I don’t like surprises,” he says as he pulls me onto his lap. “And speaking of which, if you do that thing with your finger again without warning me or using appropriate lubrication, you’re going to be in trouble.”
“What sort of trouble?”
“The kind where I spank the hell out of your gorgeous ass ’til you can’t sit down.”
“Ooh. Have you been peeking at my list?”
He groans and pulls me against his now-impressive erection. “Fuck me, woman. Do your parents know you’re pure evil wrapped in sex?”
“No. And if you want to make it through this dinner alive, I’d suggest you not mention me and sex in the same sentence in front of my father. He has many guns and probably thinks I’m still a virgin.”
“What would he do if he knew I took your virginity?”
“I’m not sure, but I suspect it would involve your balls and some sort of crushing device.”
I kiss him and climb off to finish my makeup. He stands behind me and wraps his arms around my waist.
“What happened afterward with us was screwed up,” he says quietly. “But the actual first time … Was it okay? When you think about it, do you just get pissed, or…”
I lean back into his chest. “Even though you bailed on us a few weeks later, my memories of that night are…” I smile as a shiver of pleasure runs up my spine. “I can’t even tell you how incredible that night was. I never regretted you being my first.”
He leans his chin on my shoulder and looks at me in the mirror. “It was the most amazing thing I’d ever experienced. Despite freaking out over how much I felt for you.”
“You were pretty talented at the freak-outs,” I say, and turn around so I can put my arms around his neck.
“Yeah. I thought I was over all that. And yet, the concept of meeting your parents brings it all back to me.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“What if they don’t like me?”
I give him a reassuring kiss. “They will.”
“What if they don’t like my food?”
Another kiss. “You’ve made vegan crap actually taste good. My mother may hit on you.”
“What if I randomly say ‘fuck’ or ‘sex’? Or ‘My God, you two made a gorgeous daughter, and let me tell you, she’s an animal in the sack’?”
“Don’t.”
“Well, okay then.”
There’s a knock at the door, and he practically jumps away from me.
I laugh. “Ethan, chill.”
He rolls his neck, and it cracks loudly. “I’m fine. I’m good. Operation Impress Your Parents is a go. Let’s do this.”
We head down the corridor, and he veers off into the living room. When I open the door, I hug my parents fiercely. I don’t get to see them very often, so every visit is precious.
“Come in,” I say and lead them down to the living room. Ethan’s there, standing awkwardly, hands in pockets.
“Mom, Dad … this is Ethan.”
He steps forward and extends his hand. “Mrs. Taylor, Mr. Taylor … it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Cassie’s told me a lot about you.”
Mom and Dad shake his hand in turn, but I don’t miss how Dad narrows his eyes. It’s to be expected, I guess.
For the most part, I think dinner goes well. Ethan tries way too hard, but my mom adores him. He’s very charming.
He even manages to get Dad to talk about football for a while, so I guess that’s a good sign.
After dinner, Mom and I do the dishes as an excuse to leave the boys alone to talk. Surprisingly, Ethan has a lot to say, but I can’t make it out from the kitchen.
Whatever it is, it makes my Dad happy, because just before he and Mom leave, he shakes Ethan’s hand with both of his. He hardly ever does that. It’s like his version of a man-hug.
When I ask Ethan about it, he says it’s between the men-folk.
Whatever it was, he seems relieved it’s over. I am, too.
Ethan’s the first man I’ve ever introduced to my parents. I’m hoping he’ll also be the last.
There’s a dull thud as Ethan pushes me up against the dressing room wall and tugs at the zipper to my costume.
“Hey,” I say, “you’re not allowed to do that anymore, remember? Karen has banned you from undressing me.”
“Karen’s a killjoy.”
“She’s in charge of costumes, and you’ve ripped three zippers this week alone.”
“Then she should make them stronger.”
“Or you should wait until I’m out of my costume before getting horny.”
“Impossible. I’m horny all the time. It just happens to be worse after I’ve been kissing you all night on stage.”
He tugs impatiently at the zipper, and sure enough, it rips.
“Shit.”
“I told you.”
“I’ll buy Karen another bunch of flowers.”
He pulls the top of the dress down and starts kissing my chest. I’m trying not to groan when there’s a loud rap on the door.
In a second he’s released me and passed me my robe. I slip it on as I yell, “Just a second!”
Ethan sits on the couch and tries to look nonchalant. I gesture to his erection, and he crosses his legs and drops his hands in his lap.
Subtle.
I open the door to find Marco.
“You two realize everyone in the building knows what goes on in here after the curtain comes down, right? And Karen has made a voodoo doll of you, Ethan, which she sticks with pins every time you damage a costume. It now looks like a porcupine.”
Ethan chuckles.
Marco frowns. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s a little bit funny.”
“I think I liked it better when you two hated each other.”
“Yeah, we get that a lot.”
“Well, when you’ve quite finished molesting each other, please come to the lobby bar. I have someone who wants to say hello.”
“Can you give us fifteen minutes?” Ethan asks. “I wasn’t anywhere near finished molesting her.”
Marco sighs. “You have five minutes. And make sure Karen is stocked up on Valium before telling her you’ve ruined another costume. I saw her talking to a burly Italian man the other day. I can’t say for certain she wasn’t taking out a hit on you.”
Ethan laughs as Marco closes the door, As soon as it’s shut he’s on his feet and grabbing at my robe. He really does become a clumsy Neanderthal when he’s horny.
“Stop,” I say and slap his hands away. “This robe is silk.”
“I know. I bought it for you.”
“Yes, and I love it, so stop trying to shred it.”
I pull off the robe and carefully remove the rest of my costume.
He watches with hungry eyes. “Now?” he asks, his voice low.
“You have sixty seconds,” I say, and the words are barely out of my mouth before he’s kissing me.
Despite his obvious impatience, I love how rough he is when he’s desperate for me. It feeds my ego. Not to mention my lust.
He goes to work on my neck. “Oh, God. Okay, so … maybe ninety seconds, but that’s it.”
“Please shut up and put your hand in my pants.”
“Hell, yes.”
His zipper is a little sturdier than mine and copes with the rough treatment as I yank it down. Then we have a frantic two minutes of giving each as much pleasure as possible without getting naked. He’s not good at keeping quiet. I’m not much better. No wonder everyone in the theater knows about us.
When things start getting too steamy, we grunt in frustration and step away from each other. It’s not easy. We clean up and pull on our street clothes in frustrated silence, and just before we head out the door, he pins me to it and lays his weight against me.
“Just so you know, when we get back to my place, I’m going to fuck you until you scream my name so loudly the neighbors call the cops.”
“What if I make you scream my name first?”
“Even better.”
We kiss once more then head out. When we reach the bar, we see a familiar dark-haired lady.
“Erika!”
She opens her arms as we approach, and Ethan and I hug her. “Ethan. Cassie. It’s good to see you two. You were both wonderful tonight.”
“You saw the show?”
“Yes. I loved it. I even brought a group of first years from The Grove. I think seeing two of our alumni up there provided a great deal of motivation. They can see where all their hard work may lead one day.”
“I wish we could have met them,” Ethan says.
“Well, perhaps you will. I was hoping to convince you both to come to the school next term to give some master classes.”
“I’m guessing you’d like me to impart my wisdom about working with masks,” Ethan says with a smile.
Erika laughs. “I’m sorry, did you say ‘working with masks,’ or ‘failing miserably with masks’?”
“Hey,” Ethan says. “I failed brilliantly. In the history of The Grove, no one has failed masks more spectacularly than I did.”
“Well, that’s true.”
Ethan takes my hand, and I don’t miss how Erika sees it and smiles.
“You know,” I say as I lace our fingers together, “if you tried masks now, you’d be much more successful.”
Erika looks at us warmly. “I think you might be right, Miss Taylor.”
Marco orders champagne, and we spend a couple of hours reminiscing about our time at drama school. Apparently, Erika is a cheap date, because after two glasses, she gets a little happy and does impressions of Ethan and me when we first met. Then she does us bickering, complete with silly voices and loaded stares. I laugh more than I have in years.
I’d forgotten all the good times I had at college. For too long, what happened with Ethan eclipsed all the fond memories. Now, I’m glad I can look back and smile.
“It was clear to everyone but the two of you that you’d end up together,” Erika says. “It was certainly clear to me. You two had a serious case of plove.”
“What the fuck is ‘plove’?” Ethan asks. “It sounds like a disease.”
“It’s a mixture of passion and love.”
“Isn’t all love passionate?”
“Not necessarily.” Erika leans back in her chair. You can love something without being passionate about it. Conversely, you can be passionate about things you don’t love. It’s when the two converge that real magic happens.”
She looks down at the table like she’s talking to herself. “It’s the subtle shudder when you hear the other person’s name. The times when you think about their smile and find it impossible to keep a straight face. It’s those small, precious moments you wish they were with you, because nothing means anything until you share it with them. More than passion and love alone, it’s that internal alchemy that makes them a part of you.”
She takes a deep breath and sighs. “You two were lucky. You ended up together. It doesn’t always happen that way. Sometimes you meet the person who alters you forever, and for one reason or another, they don’t become a part of your life. The problem is you never forget them.”
She lifts her glass to us. “You’ve both fought for your happiness. Enjoy it. You deserve it.”
Under the table, Ethan squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. I guess we’d never considered Erika’s private life before. She’d always seemed so untouchable. Maybe that’s because someone once touched her, and she never recovered.
I can totally relate.
Before we leaves, we talk with Erika about possible dates for the master classes. Then we hug her and Marco and say good-night.
Our taxi ride back to Ethan’s place is quiet. We hold hands. I lean on his shoulder. He strokes my fingers and stares out the window.
I guess we are lucky. Our ending could have been very different. If Ethan hadn’t had his epiphany in a hospital bed in France, we might have never seen each other again. It took him making the first move to put us on the path of healing and redemption. So I guess even though he had a major hand in breaking us, he was also the architect behind putting us back together.
It makes me sad to think Erika didn’t get that chance. I guess a lot of people don’t.
When we get back to Ethan’s apartment, he silently leads me into the bedroom and just looks at me for a long time before kissing me gently. It still amazes me how he can leave me breathless by simply brushing his lips against mine. His hands are warm on my face as he tilts my head, and steals even more of my breath with soft sweep of his tongue.
We take our time removing each other’s clothes. The concept of fucking has been forgotten. This isn’t about fitting body parts together. It’s about the two of us needing to be joined. Sharing that incredible sense of rightness we only get with each other.
No one else has ever controlled my pleasure with such instinctual ease as Ethan, and no one ever will.
Erika called it “internal alchemy,” and I guess she’s right. It’s not like Ethan does anything different than the other men I’ve had. It’s just that his skin speaks to mine on a different frequency. The pulse of his blood powers the tempo of mine.
We kiss for a long time before he lays me down and presses himself against me. So warm. Hot in places. Soft lips. Flexing muscles under heated skin. He murmurs things as he moves his mouth over me. Tells me how beautiful I am. How much he loves me. How grateful he is to have me.
It’s all foreplay. Every groan-tinged word. He doesn’t even know how sexy he is. Not just his body but his stained-glass heart. All the pieces of his past and present welded into place. Cracked and imperfect, but beautiful nonetheless.
My heart must look the same to him.
“I need you,” he says as his lips graze my breast. “Always.”
I pull him closer, but it’s not enough. I run my hands down his back. Feel the muscles as he shifts and grinds.
Finally, he pushes inside and oh … there’s nothing else.
Nothing.
No one.
Just this. The perfect slide of him.
“Cassie … God Oh, God…”
I can’t talk. Words are pointless, anyway. As if this could be described. I could speak every language in the world and still not have enough words to express how I feel about this man.
I settle for kissing him. I make noises around his tongue. He does the same around mine. We both know exactly what we’re saying: This is precious. This is love. This is something I’ll never take for granted, because I know how it feels to be without it.
We’re not quiet as we wind each other tighter. We sigh and grunt with the intensity of it. Quiet really isn’t an option with feelings this big.
As I crest, I tell him I love him and moan his name. Repeat it, over and over again. Get louder as he increases his pace and stop breathing when I’m as high as I can go. I almost scream it when I snap and fly. He carries me though all the layers of pleasure. I float for so long, I feel dizzy. Then he’s crying out my name, and his movements are erratic. Hips move back and forth to the rhythm of his orgasm. Staccato and unsteady. He’s tense and still for what seems like minutes, then heavy relief hits, and he sinks down and wraps me in all of him.
We hold each other and breathe. Dazed. Ecstatic. More in love with each other than we ever thought possible.
As the fog lifts, our hearts slow. Fingers stroke subconsciously. He rolls off and pulls me to his side until my head is on his shoulder, my hand over his heart.
I trace patterns. I think they’re random, but when I become lucid, I realize they’re words. Ethan. Love. Ethan. Mine. Always.
He’s tracing patterns, too. Also words. I’m dozing off, but I recognize some of them. Cassie. Beautiful. Mine. Need. Love.
Then he traces two words that make me stop breathing. When he traces them again, I’m wide awake.
On the third time I feel the tension in him. He’s wondering if I’ve understood. His expression says he hopes I have, and he watches me, desperate for an answer.
I push up on my elbow and look at him. I’m blinking too fast, but I can’t help it. The naked vulnerability in his expression makes me well up.
He gazes at me and brings a single finger to my chest. Then he traces the words one more time and finishes by uttering the world’s softest, “Please.”
My eyes spill over. My throat is so tight with emotion, I can barely get out my whispered, “Yes.”
I kiss him and repeat it, just to make sure he understands. “Yes.”
He sighs in relief as I kiss all over his face and neck. “Yes, yes, yes.”
His eyes spill, too. So relieved. So happy. So beautiful.
We celebrate by making love again, and I know without a doubt, I’ve made the right decision.
I think about how I was six months ago and marvel over where I am today. It’s hard to believe.
I don’t think I ever fully understood before what a profound ability humans have to change, especially with the right motivation. We’re capable of remarkable evolution. Not just physically, but mentally.
Emotionally.
Although some of us get lost in the labyrinth of our own insecurities, it’s possible to find our way out. Ethan’s proof of that. I guess, in my prouder moments, I am, too. Neither of us is perfect, that’s for sure, but when we’re together, our deficiencies are complemented by the other’s strengths.
When I look at Ethan now, I don’t just see the damaged young man who hurt me in a misguided attempt to protect me. I see the man who struggled against the doubt and darkness inside himself and fought with all his might to change. And there’s something about his immense determination to be more than he was that makes him more beautiful to me than ever. There’s compassion in him now, not only for others, but especially for me. He’s known the loss and defeat I’ve felt. He’s walked in my shoes. And I’ve walked in his.
I have no doubt we’ll continue to fight and grow, and I have no illusions that the rest of our journey is going to be smooth, but I do know that whatever burdens we encounter will be halved because we’re together. As a couple, we have more than enough strength to achieve whatever we desire and fortunately for us, we’ve never desired anything as much as one another.
That’s where our future lies.
Together.
Writing our own unconventional and dramatic love story, one page at a time.