The Temptation of Lila and Ethan

Ethan



Things are getting weird between us, just like I guessed they would. I’m not even sure what the hell the problem is. I mean, one minute she’s taking a shower and for some damn reason I go in there, pretending I need to brush my teeth when really I just want to flirt with her. And then the truck thing. What the fuck? I seriously almost kissed her and then cried about it over all the emotions pouring inside me, emotions that I haven’t felt since London. I have strong feelings for Lila and I know it; it’s getting hard to handle. And we live together now, which makes things even more complicated. What happens if we end up doing something? We just live together? Kissing and touching and fucking, and if relationships go how I’ve seen then, we’d ultimately end up fighting.



But for a brief second I look past the idea of turning into my parents and actually like the idea of Lila and me kissing all over the apartment… fucking all over the apartment… having a relationship.



No, I can’t go down that road. Yes, I want to help her, but as a friend, because that’s what both of us need right now. I need a break from all of this, my emotions for her and my overanalyzing thoughts. What I need to do is go back to what always helps me clear my head and go get laid, yet the idea of sleeping with someone else makes me feel guilty, and not over London. Over Lila, even though I don’t belong to her and she doesn’t belong to me. I’m free to do whatever I want, yet for some stupid reason, it feels like I’d be cheating on her if I hooked up with someone else.



This living-together thing is seriously screwing with my head.



After we sell off her clothes, we wander around the secondhand store for no other reason that it helps avoid awkward time alone in the closed-in truck and then in the apartment.



“Ethan, what do you think?” Lila holds up this really tacky pink fluffy rug with flowers on it. She flashes me a teasing grin, totally trying to work through our awkward moment in the truck.



I make a face, but I’m seriously distracted by my thoughts, which are stuck back in the truck, wishing I’d kissed her. Yet at the same time wishing I could kiss London again. What the fuck is wrong with me? “It looks like a nineteen seventies shag rug that a lot of people probably had sex on.”



Awkwardness builds around us at my use of the word sex. She shifts uncomfortably and I clear my throat.



“So should we go?” I ask, stepping to the side as a man walks up the aisle. I grow anxious and I need to get the hell out of here.



She lets out a breath and then sets the used rug back onto the shelf, seemingly depressed. “Yeah, I guess.”



I feel like an ass. She doesn’t need this right now. She needs a friend. Why can’t I just keep my hands to myself? Why can’t I just be her friend? The answer that pops into my head frightens me to no end. Because I want Lila and not just as a one-night stand.



I try for a lighter mood and subject. “We could go get some ice cream before we go home.”



She shuffles to the end of the aisle, shrugging. “It’s fine. I’m kind of tired anyway.” She heads for the door, looking down at her feet, a broken version of the person I first met, and yet she’s probably even more whole now. The brokenness just isn’t hidden inside her anymore.



The drive home isn’t any better. It’s quiet and she keeps picking at her nails and won’t look at me. I’m about to drop her off at the apartment, ready to bail out for the night and get my mind out of depression land and my stupid thoughts of being with her. It’s getting late, the sun is setting behind the sandy hills, and the Technicolor sky looks like a watercolor painting, beautifully unreal.



“Aren’t you coming?” she asks, holding the truck door open, ready to climb out. Her blonde hair is slipping loose from her ponytail, her tight white tank top and shorts showing off her curves, and her blue eyes looking sad.



I shake my head, pressing my foot onto the brake, ready to bolt. “Nah, I got somewhere to be tonight.”



Her eyes shadow over as she narrows them. “You mean you’re going to go find someone to fuck you?” Her voice is sharp and she’s clenching her fists so hard I think her fingers might break.



I feel like the biggest douche who’s ever existed, but I’m also very confused. About everything. How I got to this place where every rule I set for myself I’ve managed to break. Where I’m looking past London and my guilt and all I want to do is be with Lila. “Yeah, probably.”



She nods her head vigorously and then hops out, shooting me a heated look before slamming the door. I back away and before she even makes it to the curb I am spinning the tires. I head straight for the strip, parking as close as I can get and hop out. I wander over to the busiest section of the town, where the lights are glowing all over people’s faces and pictures of half-dressed women litter the sidewalks. I search the crowd and nearby buildings for a potential hook-up. Because I need to fuck someone. Now.



I start searching for someone who looks like they’d be good for a one-night thing. There are too many people out tonight, so I end up going into one of the casinos and searching around the slots until I spot a group of women around my age laughing near the front of the building. I head over to them, knowing it’s not the best scenario because they’re in a group, but I need to clear my fucking head and screwing is the best way when my thoughts get this mixed up, because it distracts me. Not even the quiet will give me that right now.



A shorter woman with curves and tits that bulge out of her leopard-print dress starts eyeing me the closer I get. She whispers something in her friend’s ear and then giggles as she starts twirling a strand of her blonde hair around her finger. I’m trying to decide if she’s really my type, and if I even have a type anymore, when she starts to approach me.



“Hey,” she says, smiling at me. She has some pink lipstick on her teeth and her eyelashes are a little too long, but she’ll do, at least I think she will.



But as soon as I think it, my thoughts drift back to my apartment where there’s already a beautiful blonde. I wonder what she’s doing. If she’s okay. Why did I just leave her like that?



“Hello, are you listening to me?” the blonde in front of me says and I blink out of my daze.



“No, sorry, I can’t hear you over all the noise.” I gesture around at the machines flashing around us.



She nods, biting on her lip. “Well, maybe we could go somewhere quiet.”



I want to but all I can think about right now is how I bailed on Lila because my emotions were getting the best of me. Because I wanted to kiss her in the truck and then take her upstairs and fuck her again. I want to be with her and for it to be more than just a one-time thing. I want to break my rules for her. The last person I broke my rules for was London, and I wanted her to be my last, at least I did at one point in my life, but now I’m not so sure.



The sounds of the slot machines are driving me crazy, along with the music playing. I could go with this woman somewhere that’s less noisy, like a hotel room. Stay there for a few hours until I’m sweaty and temporarily content. Yeah, I could do that.



“Sure, we could go some place else.” I smile at her, but I feel anything but happy on the inside.



She tells her friends she’ll be back in a while and we head up the strip, weaving through the people. She starts telling me about her life, but I barely listen. I just keep nodding my head, thinking about Lila and how I feel about her, and every time I reach the same conclusion. That I don’t think I can think about being with her completely yet, not without thinking about London as well.



I’ve always been good at controlling my actions and emotions, but they’re out of control at the moment, a wild reckless tornado sweeping through my body. I can’t think straight. Lila. London. Lila. London. The slutty girl in front of me. I have no idea what I want and the truth is, whether I want to admit it to myself or not, I’ve been dependent on the idea of London, holding on to her and on to the guilt I felt for walking away from her that day. I can pretend all I want, but all the sex and numbness I’ve been seeking, just like I’m about to with this girl, was just covering it up, not getting rid of it. And now I’m trying to do the same thing with Lila because I feel guilty over having feelings for her. I think until I can let London go, I won’t ever really be able to be with Lila on a complete emotional level where I’m just thinking of her. And that’s what she deserves. Not my halfhearted attention or my moodiness where I run off to avoid what I’m feeling through sex. It’s a revelation. A big, painful revelation and I have no idea what to do with it, although my original instincts say to go fuck this woman and forget about stuff for a moment.



I suddenly stop in the middle of the strip and people run into me.



The woman I’ve been walking with slows down, looking confused. “What’s wrong?”



I blow out a breath, raking my fingers through my hair, thinking about how bad I just want to fuck her and momentarily feel better and how Lila is probably at home feeling the same way about taking pills, especially with how sad she looked when I bailed on her. “I have to go,” I tell her, backing away from her through the crowd. I may not be able to have a relationship at the moment with Lila, but I can be her friend and I can walk away from having sex with this woman because I really don’t want to be with her.



“What do you mean you have to go?” she calls out, but doesn’t follow after me, probably because she doesn’t care enough to try. We were simply two people looking for something in the wrong places and we didn’t even bother to get each other’s names.



When I make it back to my truck, I try to call Lila but she doesn’t answer, so I make tire-ripping veer onto the road and floor the gas pedal, pushing the speed limit until I get back to the apartment. I’m worried about what I’ll find and feel guilty that I’ve bailed out on a girl again.



When I open the door, my nostrils are instantly flooded with the scent of paint thinner. Or nail polish anyway. Lila peers up at me from the couch, her damp hair a veil around her flushed face. She has her foot propped up on the coffee table and she’s painting her toenails as music plays in the background. My eyes instantly go to the half-empty beer on the table.