I hug my seatbelt. Otherwise, my hands might get ideas about Ethan's arm. It's awfully inviting by his side, his fingers trailing over the gearshift the same way they glide over his guitar strings.

I want to trace all the lines of his new tattoos. I want to learn every shape, every color, every hidden meaning behind the ink. Ethan always wore his heart on his sleeve. Now it's literal.

Hugging the seatbelt isn't working. Better play with the radio instead. That's safe enough. I tune it to KROQ 106.7, the Los Angeles alternative rock station. I still remember the first time Ethan's band was played on KROQ—his eyes were lit up like he had just won a trip to the moon. He scooped me into his arms and spun me around and promised that we'd have the world together, that this was great for us.

It was supposed to be that we were a team. Ethan was the only person I ever trusted, the only person I ever let into my heart.

My chest tightens. What's it matter now? Ethan is going to drop me off at my car, I'm going to drive home, the last twelve hours are going to become a distant memory.

That's how things should be.

"You want to get a coffee?" He slides his fingers over the steering wheel like he's fretting his guitar. "Or tea."

This is the part where I say no, that's a bad idea. I should get back to my car and drive home. You broke my heart once, I already begged you to sleep with me, do I really need any more pain or humiliation?

I say none of that.

I nod. "I guess."

He smiles. I swear to God, every inch of my body can feel Ethan's smile. His smile is the sun breaking through the clouds on a dreary New York day.

His smile makes me feel as good as it did when we were together.

"The usual place?" he asks.

"Huh?"

"The Peet's at UCI?"

Our old hangout spot. "It's twenty minutes out of the way." And it's full of memories of when everything was perfect between us. I can't go thinking about the old version of Ethan. I can't get confused.

"You have something better to do?" he asks.

I don't have much to do in the next twelve days besides getting ahead on school work and keeping up with my karate training—strong body, strong mind, strong ability to resist Ethan's smile and his expert guitarist hands.

My body is still buzzing from the proximity. I'm not sure if I'll be able to resist him if he makes me laugh, then leans in for a soft, slow kiss. He always took his time making sure I was ready, getting me off before he even stripped out of his boxers.

The radio station goes from a Trader Joe's commercial to a Red Hot Chili Peppers song. Everything about it feels like home.

I have to laugh.

Ethan laughs too. "Miss KROQ?"

"Always."

"What are you listening to these days?"

"Same riot girl stuff as always." I smooth my dress in the hopes of pulling it farther down my legs. No luck. "I caught the new album when it came out last year. It's good."

"I know."

There's the cocky Ethan who sleeps around and teases the press. I spend the rest of the song taking him in, trying to find the sincerity in his brilliant blue eyes. It does me no good. All I know is how much I want to swim in those eyes.

"You were good on it," I say. "But I guess you know that too."

He nods.

"You know everything now. Or… well, you always thought you knew everything."

"You really don't have any tact."

"Some things never change."

His voice drops. "Yeah."

He sounds sad.

But why?

The station shifts to Good Riddance by Green Day. One of my favorite songs. It's supposed to be easy on guitar. Ethan tried teaching me once, but I never did get the hang of it. I have stupid fingers. And I can't keep a beat to save my life.

But I love music. I love it in my ears. I love when I can feel the bass in my bones. I love letting it wash over me.

I close my eyes. Then there's wind rushing into the car. The windows are down. And Ethan is singing along with the song.

I peel my eyes open to look at him. He's smiling, half his attention on the road, the other half on the words. He's an amazing singer. Not as good as Mal but amazing nonetheless.

He nudges me. "Don't make me do this alone."

That's too much like old times.

I shake my head. "I'm sure you're used to doing it alone by now."

He laughs and my heart skips a beat. But that's not right. I wasn't trying to make him laugh. I was trying to push him away.

I let myself get lost in the music for the rest of the ride.

* * *

I fight a shiver as I step out of the car. It's not that it's cold—we're enough into morning that the sun is shining over the pavement. It's more the death glare from the woman standing in front of the grocery store.

"Here." Ethan slides his leather jacket around my shoulders.

He smiles that trademarked Ethan Strong smile. I can't tell if it's real or if it's his newfound player bullshit.

It doesn't matter. I'm not letting it get to my head either way.

For a second, his arm is around my waist. Then he pulls it away and looks at it like it betrayed him.

I slide my hands into the pockets of the leather jacket so I won't give into the impulse to touch him. Ethan looks too yummy to resist. His tight t-shirt hugs his shoulders just so. His snug jeans are low around his narrow waist.

I pull the jacket tighter. Usually, I'm happy to throw out my resting bitch face and be done with it, but I feel out of sorts next to him.

Ethan opens the door for me. The moment I step inside the coffee shop, I run into a wave of memories. We spent a hundred afternoons here, me studying, him working on polishing a track. I can hear his laugh in my ears, feel his arms around my chest, taste his lips on mine.

He always tasted good.

I bet he tastes good now.

I bet every inch of him tastes good.

Shit. This isn't an appropriate direction for my thoughts. I check my phone for something to do. There's a handful of spam and a text from Athena, my roommate/best friend, checking in.

I reply that I'm fine but that isn't feeling accurate at the moment.

I wait in line with Ethan, my eyes on the brown-and-cream menu board. When it's our turn, I order an unsweetened matcha latte with almond milk. Ethan orders an iced coffee.

"With almond milk." He turns to me. "So you can have a taste."

"It's yours."

"When did that ever stop you?"

Never. But what's he doing hanging out on memory lane?

He turns back to the barista. "Better make that a large."

"I would never." I fold my arms over my chest in protest.

"If you insist." He shrugs and hands over his credit card.

Damn, I shouldn't let him pay, but I'm not sure how close I am to my credit limit. Between my scholarship and loans, I have tuition covered, but New York City is expensive. My job tutoring math undergrads isn't exactly a full-time gig. Even with the money I have saved from my paid summer internship, I'm always scrimping in order to come up with rent.

"Thanks." I unclench my teeth enough I'm not muttering.

Ethan nods. He moves to the pickup window and pours a splash of almond milk in his iced coffee.

I clear my throat.

He laughs. "Needs more?"

"It's yours."

"Last I heard, Violet Valentine is the foremost expert on almond milk in cold brew iced coffee."

This time, I laugh. "Well, in my expert opinion…" I take the carton and pour until the drink is about to overflow. I take a sip to test the flavor. It's creamy enough but it's not quite sweet. I pick up the simple syrup. "You need a dash of this too."

"Not that you're going to drink half of this."

"Of course not."

I add a few splashes of simple syrup. Ethan is looking at me with that same smile. And I can feel my cheeks at my ears.

My chest is light, easy. I put the simple syrup back. I grab a lid and a straw. Still, he's looking at me with affection.

"Ethan…" I've got no clue how to finish the sentence. This feels like how things used to be.

His fingers brush mine as he takes the drink. Then he wraps his lips around the straw. My eyes refuse to leave those lips. My brain refuses to do anything but remember how those lips felt wrapped around mine.

Or sucking on my nipple.

Or between my legs.

"Here." He offers me the iced coffee.

"It's yours."

"Tell me if it's perfect."

I cock a brow. "In my expert opinion?"

He nods. His smile widens.

"I do suffer for my research." Again, my fingers brush his. I rise to my tiptoes to take a sip. It's perfect. I offer him a thumbs up.

The barista calls my order. I grab my drink and take a taste. It's exactly as I remember it.

The familiarity is comforting.

And the drink itself is fucking fantastic.

I offer Ethan a sip.

He takes it then hands the tea latte back. "Still tastes like grass."

"It's good."

"If you insist."

There's foam all over his lip. I could lick it off. I could lick it off, then throw him on the bench seat in the middle of the room, tear off his clothes, and lick every inch of him.

My chest flushes. Then my cheeks. Dammit. My skin is burning. Judging from the delight in his eyes, he can tell I'm blushing.

"Here." I reach up to wipe the foam from his mouth. His lips are soft against the pad of my thumb. It takes every bit of self-control I have not to stick my thumb in his mouth.

His eyes are wide with need. He wants the same thing.

Slowly, I pull my hand back to my side. But I don't move away.

We're close enough to touch, close enough to kiss.

My chest heaves with my inhale. My exhale sucks up every bit of breath in my body. It's like this moment is frozen— me and Ethan staring at each other, on the verge of our lips connecting.

A woman's shriek pulls me back to reality.

"AHHH! Ethan Strong… is that really you?" The college girl—she's wearing a navy UCI hoodie— grabs onto Ethan's arm.

He frowns for a second, then he's back to celebrity smile. He turns on the effortless charm. "Yeah, sweetheart, that's me. You go to school here?"

"Yeah. How did you know?"

He runs his fingers over the neckline of her hoodie. "Something gave me a clue."

It's a crew neck but it's still a gross player move. It shouldn't surprise me. I've seen Ethan pull this stuff in pictures and videos but somehow I told myself that it would be obvious it's a put-on in public.

The way he's smiling—he enjoys the attention.

"Uh." She groans with delight. "I always liked Dangerous Noise. I saw you in San Diego. You were so good."

"Thanks, sweetheart. That means the world to me."

"Really?"

He shoots her a panty-melting smile. "It really does, sweetheart."

Ugh. This is disgusting. I'm not watching it any more.

I go to cut past Ethan but his fingers curl around my wrist.

He looks at me expectantly. "Where you going, Vi?"

The fangirl stares at me with a mix of envy and confusion.

"Excuse me. I need to sit down." I hide behind my drink so no one will see me scowl. Ethan deserves it, but the poor fangirl is just expressing her love of music. It's not her fault Ethan is a cocky player.

"It was great to meet you, sweetheart." Ethan nods goodbye to the fangirl. "Good luck with school."

Her eyes go wide and her jaw drops. "Thank you."

Ethan slides his arm around my waist and leans in to whisper in my ear. "It's crowded in here. Should we go outside?"

This is where I should say: how about we go straight to my car and part forever?

My mouth won't open at all. I'm too caught up in the feeling of his breath on my skin. My eyelids press together. I replay the feeling of his body on top of mine, his cock buried deep inside me.

"Vi?" he asks.

Fuck me, this isn't working. I clear my throat. And, dammit, I nod.

"You okay?"

"What was it you wanted to talk about?"

He presses his palm into my lower back, over my jacket—well, his jacket.

"Let's talk somewhere more private." He leads me out of the coffee shop and around the corner, to the tables in front of the pizza place.

It's empty. The place doesn't open for another half an hour.

Ethan looks at the coffee shop, then his eyes are on me. "It's easy to forget how much things have changed."

Yeah. It is.

I take deep breaths while I collect my thoughts. The silence should be heavy, what with this whole we should talk thing hanging over our heads, but it's not.

It's easy and light. Like old times. He smiles when I steal sips of his iced coffee. He moves closer when I shiver and zip my jacket.

His eyes meet mine with this look that begs me to spill my guts.

He waits to speak until his drink is melting ice. "I know you think Mal is pulling strings to get us back together."

"Is there a reason why you don't object to this?"

"Mal doesn't listen to anybody but Mal. Besides, I've seen him stressing about numbers. He doesn't have the expertise. And I'm not saying you do, but he's right. You're somebody we trust." Ethan's eyes find mine. "If you want the gig, you should take it."

His voice is even, effortless. Usually, Ethan wears his intentions on his face. But not right now.

No. That was the old Ethan, the one I knew. This playboy rock star version of Ethan… who knows what he does or why.

I take a long sip of my now lukewarm drink. "Won't that bother you?"

"No." His voice is shaky for a moment. "Just, well… I'm not gonna be celibate just because you're around."

"Excuse me?"

"I get it. You think I'm a manwhore. I won't argue." He runs his hand through his wavy hair. "You're right. I fuck a lot of women. That isn't going to change if you join us on tour."

"Thanks for the update on your sex life."

"Don't want you to get upset if you see me with someone else." His voice is clipped, his expression is frustrated.

But why? I stare back at him. "I don't give a fuck where you stick your dick."

"Good."

"Yeah, great. Is that it?"

"Pretty much."

I stare back at Ethan. I'm getting in the last word here. "Goes for you, too. I didn't swear off sex when we broke up."

Okay, so I've only slept with one guy since Ethan and I broke up. Denny and I dated for a few months. He was crazy about me—he wanted to move in together—but I never felt the same. After we broke up, he nearly evaporated from my mind. It still goes back to Ethan every time I pull out my rabbit-style vibrator (he did buy it for me). Or every time I touch myself sans mechanical assistance.

I clear my throat and smile my most confident smile. "Don't get upset if you see me with someone else."

"You're sleeping around?"

"That's not a crime, is it?" I chew on my lower lip. It's not the case either, but he doesn't need to know that.

"No. Of course not. I'm glad. Anybody I know?"

"No."

"You coming often, at least?"

"Excuse me?"

"We're gonna be around each other. We should be friendly."

"Pretty sure you coming often goes past most people's idea of friendly."

"Of course, Vi. Would never want to make you uncomfortable." He smiles, the look in his eyes screaming I guess that's a no.

I clear my throat. "Yeah, I'm coming a lot. Every night." By my hand, but that's a technicality. "Sometimes multiple times."

His expression flares with frustration. "Great."

"And you? Enjoy screwing strangers at bars?"

"Depends on the stranger."

I laugh-scoff. "I guess it would."

He smiles.

Even though we're hate-flirting, I fucking melt.