He stood abruptly, grabbed his pack of cigarettes off the end table, and yanked open the balcony door. I stared after him for a minute, wondering if maybe he was a little bit of a nutcase but ultimately deciding he was not. He was just expressing what he really felt.
Who does that in the twenty-first century?
I tentatively stepped across the plush carpet until I was close enough to prop myself up on the wall near the opening to the balcony and look out at him. He was leaning against the railing and sucking hard on the cigarette between his fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he said before I could comment. “I just like you, and I’m scared that if you leave, something will happen to you. I know. That’s fucked up and I need to get over it, but the fear always comes back when I meet new people, and I want to get to know them better. I want to spend more time with you, but I don’t want to freak you out, and I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” I told him. “It’s very…flattering that you want to know me better and that you are worried about me. I do think I need to go home for a little bit because I need a little space right now. If you want me to, I could come back tonight.”
“Really?” Ethan turned quickly, tossed his cigarette to the side and took two long steps to reach me. He took my face in his hands and just held me for a moment, looking into my eyes and making me feel a little like fainting. He crushed his lips to mine and then broke away quickly. “Shit! I’m sorry—cigarette breath…”
“It’s okay,” I said with a smile. “I don’t mind.”
“Really?” he said again. “You aren’t just saying that?”
“No, not just saying it.”
His lips were back on mine half a second later. His tongue was in my mouth, and my neck was bent backwards under the force of his grip. He moved his lips over my chin, down to my throat and back up again. He wrapped his arms around me, and he held me tightly against his chest. Finally he released me and took a step back, his brilliant smile lighting up the room again.
“I’ll give you the extra key,” Ethan said abruptly. He rushed back inside, opened a drawer in the kitchen, and pulled out a security keycard with “Marquis” scrawled across the front. “Just come on back as soon as you can. I mean, don’t feel like you have to rush, but…shit.”
He ran his hand through his hair.
“It’s all right, Ethan.” I took they key from his hand and slid it into my bag. “I’ll probably be back around seven. Is that okay?”
“That would be awesome,” Ethan said with a nod. “Do you want to eat here? I can order something for us, or I could make more French toast. Oh! I could make mozzarella for pizza! Sorry—those are really the only things I know how to cook.”
“You’ve cooked for me enough today,” I said. “Ordering something would be great, thank you.”
“Thank you,” he responded.
“For what?” I asked.
“For being so understanding,” he replied. “I know I can…take a little getting used to. I tend to be a little intense. I try to rein it in, but it doesn’t always work.”
“I don’t mind,” I told him. “Really, it’s kind of refreshing.”
I got the double-barreled smile, and I was pretty sure I was going to have to keep a fresh supply of underwear around for when I was near him. That thought brought on another one.
“Actually, as long as we are being straightforward, I have a question.”
“Anything,” Ethan said.
“Should I, um, bring a change of clothes for tomorrow?”
Ethan’s grin lit up the room.
“I’d really like it if you did,” he said.
I added my information on Ethan’s phone before I headed out, and he immediately called me so I would have his number, too. Then he insisted on taking my picture for his phone. I wasn’t too thrilled about it. I hated having my picture taken, and my hair was a mess—but he blushed and shrugged.
“It’s the only way I know who’s calling me.” He showed me his contact list, and every entry included a picture. “Since I can’t read the names, the pictures make it a lot easier. I use the voice control to call the right person. Pretty cool, huh?”
“Yes, it is.” I wasn’t sure if I considered it cool or sad that he had to use such devices just to communicate with people. It did make a lot of sense, but it also made me think about all the ways Ethan’s life without reading was more difficult than the average person’s. “I guess using a phone wouldn’t be possible for you otherwise.”
“It was really frustrating in the beginning,” he said, “but I got used to it. I don’t even think about it much now.”
Ethan called me a cab and walked me down to the front of the building to meet it. He kissed me softly on the cheek before I climbed into the back seat and gave the driver my address. During the time it took me to get home, Ethan sent me about fifteen picture messages. The first was of him waving at me, his hair loose around his shoulders and dripping wet from the shower. Then several more pictures came through, including one showing me the leftover French toast, a picture of a carry out menu from a Chinese restaurant that was all in Chinese—so I had no idea what it said—and pictures of three DVD covers depicting movies that were not based on books. I found myself wondering just why the heck he bothered to get texting in the first place if he couldn’t read. At least he seemed to have found a unique way of using technology.
I reached my building, greeted the doorman, rode the elevator, and slipped the key into the lock of my apartment. As soon as I walked in, I immediately noticed that something didn’t feel the same. The feeling stayed with me as I entered my bedroom though all the same items were present in the large master suite—mahogany furniture, original paintings of seascapes, the duvet my father’s second wife picked out for me when I still lived at home, and my favorite childhood stuffed rabbit—but the room felt empty and lifeless. Normally, my apartment was my haven—the place where I could do what I wanted, when I wanted, and how I wanted. No one was in my way, and no one told me how to run things. I loved the space in all its “just me” glory.
I shook my head as if the feeling would fly from my hair like raindrops. It didn’t, but I tried to ignore it as I shuffled to the kitchen and made myself a quick salad. I poured myself the glass of wine I had desired the night before and picked through my mail, throwing every piece into the recycling bin except for the credit card bill and a donation request from Make-A-Wish.
Once I had a load of laundry going—including my borrowed clothing—I did a little general cleanup in the kitchen and bathroom, pulled out some of my economics books, and got to work on the studying. The strange feeling stayed with me while I went through the study guide, finished the reading, and worked out a few practice essay answers.
I finally figured out what it was. I should have known it moment I walked through the door. I didn’t want to be here, alone and with no one to share my thoughts. I wanted to be somewhere else, with someone, maybe sitting in a pink bean bag chair.
My cell phone rang and I jumped, an instant smile and stomach full of butterflies accompanying me across the room to my purse. The butterflies all halted in midflight and dropped to the bottom of my gut in a rock-like lump when I saw “Dad” flashing over the screen.
“Hi, Dad,” I said with a quiet sigh.
“Hey there, Ash!” he called out. “You did an absolutely fantastic job yesterday, of course. We need to go over your schedule for next week. Now, when are you done with classes?”
“Two more weeks, then a week of finals,” I told him. “Dad, I’m not going to have time for a full schedule…”
“Great! That gives us a little bit of prep time to get things worked out before you start officially,” Dad said. “Now I know there’s one day you don’t have any classes—Tuesday, is it? I’ll need you to come in during the morning, and plan on lunch in the company café. There are a lot of people who will be working under you, and they need to see your face a few times. After lunch we’ll go to the pro shop and get some clubs that are a better fit for you. The ones you were playing with last fall are way too short for my grown up girl!”
Dad laughed and continued his ramblings for at least ten minutes before I had a chance to say anything.
“Dad, I still have to finish school!” I finally cried into the phone. “It’s the final semester of my master’s. I have a thesis to finish and four final exams coming up. I’m not going to be able to be at the office that much, and I certainly won’t have time for golf!”
“Oh, Ashlyn.” Dad laughed again. “Don’t worry about all that stuff. You know I’m just excited to have you there. I’m going to retire in five years, and there’s so much for you to learn before then. I’m just excited the time is finally upon us!”
“I know, Dad.”
“How about we stick with just Tuesday morning and then golf after Vanessa’s luncheon on Sunday? We can go to the pro shop Sunday morning, so you’ll be all set. That leaves the whole rest of the week for school, okay?”
“I can’t promise you all of Sunday,” I told him, “but I will be at lunch, and we can at least do the pro shop and the driving range for an hour, deal?”
“You are one tough negotiator, Ash baby!” Dad chuckled into the phone. “I can’t wait to see you start taking on the board! I’ll talk to you Monday.”
He hung up before I could protest or even say goodbye. It was getting late, and I needed to get myself together before heading to Ethan’s for the evening. I growled audibly and stomped off into my bedroom to pick out some clean clothes and take a shower. Picking out clothes reminded me that I needed to pack an overnight bag, which made me forget all thoughts of my overbearing father and brought the nice butterflies back to my stomach.
The phone was ringing again when I got out of the shower. I ran to it with my towel falling off of me, only to again find it was not Ethan, but Presley. I let it go to voicemail. I definitely wasn’t up for that sort of conversation. She was going to ask why I didn’t show up at the club last night, and I didn’t have an answer. I went back to my bedroom and stood inside the walk-in closet, trying to decide what to wear. I needed something casual and comfortable because that fit Ethan’s apartment perfectly, and definitely no heels. Actually, flip-flops were probably as appropriate as anything. I laughed at the thought.
I ended up in dark jeans and a lacy tank top, completing the outfit with the pink Converse shoes Ethan had given me. I refused to admit why, even to myself, but I also made sure I picked out some of my nice, lace panties and bra sets. I tossed in a fairly sheer set of pajamas as well, though again, there was no real reason for me to do that. They were just at the top of the drawer, which is why I packed them. Yes, that’s why. It’s not like I dug around through the more plain ones at all. I didn’t. Really.
I called the number on my auto assistance card and took an Uber over to Presley’s apartment building where I watched the guy identify the problem as a dead battery and jump-start my Saab. With a quick thanks, I made sure the trunk was securely latched and headed to Ethan’s. When I arrived at the parking garage entrance, I used the keycard Ethan gave me to open the gate. Once inside, I had no idea where to go, but Henry waved me down and offered to park the car for me in one of Ethan’s spots. I almost asked how many spots he had but thought better of it.
The keycard also worked the elevator, and I was soon stepping into the foyer of Ethan’s penthouse apartment. Everything was pretty much as it had been the night before except for a cardboard pizza box on the kitchen table with a single piece of mushroom and pineapple pizza in the middle of it. Mushrooms and pineapple? Really? I shook my head. At least there weren’t any anchovies. That just might have scared me away. I slipped my pink Converse off and set them next to Ethan’s lime-green ones. I had to laugh a little to myself—the colors looked absolutely horrible together.
“Ethan?” I called softly but didn’t see or hear him. I looked out the balcony door, but he wasn’t out there smoking. I hovered in the kitchen for a few minutes, hoping he would just appear from somewhere, but he didn’t.
Standing around in someone else’s living room when they weren’t there made me feel creepy. I started checking the corners of the room for surveillance cameras, wondering if I was about to be punked. After a few minutes of waiting in silence, I decided to look around a bit more.
The first bathroom door was open, and the guest room was empty as I glanced through the doorway while walking up the hall. He wasn’t in his bedroom or taking a shower in the master bath. I moved further along the hallway, finding two more guest bedrooms and a study with a desk, a computer, and a small television hanging on the wall. The door across the hall from the study was partially open, and when I peeked through the opening, I saw a huge room lined with bookshelves.
It was a library, right here in the penthouse apartment. There had to be thousands and thousands of books. Some up on the top shelf were leather-bound and ancient looking while one whole shelf was dedicated to Danielle Steele paperbacks. Literally every literary genre was represented. A large picture window overlooked the city and one of those huge, overstuffed, seat-and-a-half chairs sat next to a small end table. In the middle of the library, closer to the door than the other chair, was a traditional-looking wooden rocking chair, painted white. In the middle of the chair was Ethan, sound asleep with his hand on a copy of Frank Herbert’s Dune, which was lying across his chest. His other arm hung over the side of the chair, and he nearly grazed the floor with his long, pale fingers.
I pushed the door open the rest of the way, walked up to him and smiled. He didn’t stir, and I wondered if I should wake him or let him sleep. He looked so peaceful and…young…lying there with the paper cover of the hardbound book curling away from the spine. I wondered why he had it out since he had made it very clear he couldn’t read it. Then I realized why he looked younger. He had shaved, and all the stubble that had covered his face before was no longer blocking my view of his smooth, pale skin. I couldn’t help myself; I had to reach over and touch him.
Ethan’s eyes opened.