At last he gives up. “So, care to tell me why you walked out of acting class today?”
The question takes me by surprise. “Not really.”
“I thought we were pretty good by the end.”
“You were. You were amazing.”
“So, why did you walk out? You looked pissed.”
I stop and think about it. The answer isn’t easy to put my finger on, but when I do, it’s so obvious.
“For so long, I’ve tried convincing myself that we broke up because you were incapable of being truly intimate. Of letting your guard down. Then today … in that scene with Connor, you did it. You were everything I knew you could be and more. Passionate. Brave. Loving. Patient. So open and strong. And I was so … jealous. And angry. I couldn’t cope. It made me even angrier that you could be like that with a guy you hate, and yet you couldn’t do it with me.”
“Cassie, I was acting.”
“No. You were living it. You think I can’t tell? I’ve watched you hold yourself back in every acting class since our breakup. Today was different. You made a breakthrough. A huge one.”
He downs the rest of his drink, pulls his legs up, and crosses them in front of him. Then he levels me with the most honest look he’s every given me.
“You want to know why that scene worked so well today? I was…” He shakes his head. “Jesus, if I wasn’t drunk, there’d be no way I’d be telling you this.” He takes a breath. “It worked because I imagined I was you, talking to me.”
It takes me a moment to comprehend what he’s said, and even then, I think I have it wrong. “What?”
He tugs on his hair. “I thought about all of those times you talked me through stuff. Tried to help me be strong. It seemed appropriate considering the text I had. If you think I was amazing today, it’s because I was pretending I was you.”
He shakes his head and fingers the hem of his jeans. “The funny thing is, I never thought I’d have the balls to be like that. Open to being hurt and not giving a shit. But when I did it today…” He slowly lifts his head and looks me in the eyes. “I could see how different things would be for me if I was. How much better they’d be.”
He doesn’t say, “with you,” but I swear to God, I hear it in my mind.
“I want to be like that,” he says softly. “The strong one. I’m fucking ashamed of how weak I am. About so many things.”
I’m stunned into silence. My heart pounds, and my breath comes too fast. He’s staring at me. Waiting for a reaction. He’s so close, but I want him closer.
Seconds pass. Time stretches around us.
He leans forward. Our legs are touching. Two layers of denim do nothing to insulate me from the effect of his body next to mine. Faces are close. It would be so easy to move forward. Brush against his lips. See if he still tastes as sweet as I remember.
“Cassie…” The dark edge in his voice isn’t helping my restraint. It’s like he’s drowning and begging me to save him.
I take a deep breath and dig for strength. “I’m thinking that one of us should probably leave this room before we do something stupid.”
He leans forward a fraction more and inhales. Then he closes his eyes for a second and says, “Yeah. I think you’re probably right.”
With a grunt of frustration, he pulls back, stands, and walks unsteadily to the table. Then he puts his glass next to the bottle of tequila. When I stand and follow suit, I have to lean on the back of a chair to keep my balance. Gripping it also helps stop me from launching myself at the gorgeous man beside me.
Ethan stares for a moment before sighing and running his hand through his hair. “I can’t drive. Is it cool for me to sleep on the couch?”
No. Get out before I mount you.
“Sure.”
I go to the linen closet and grab extra blankets and pillows before I dump them on the couch. He thanks me.
“No problem.”
We stand there for a moment, at a loss as to what to do. We both know this is a bad idea. What we’re feeling? The nearly irresistible pull toward each other? That’s the reason we’ve been avoiding each other since the breakup. Sure, we’re now experts in ignoring our desire, but constantly living like that is exhausting.
Soul destroying.
Although tonight has danced on a tightrope between spine-tingling excitement and disaster, the potential for it to go to hell is still very much there. It’s in every lingering glance, every touch, every ache and tug of body and heart.
My fear is telling me to run before it’s too late, but part of me is getting off on it. The adrenaline he brings out in me makes me feel more alive than I’ve felt in months. The danger of him is part of it. This is why people jump out of planes and swim with sharks. To feel this muscle-trembling rush.
Judging by how he’s staring at me, he feels the same way.
“I should go to bed,” I say in barely a whisper.
He nods but doesn’t look away. “Yeah. It’s late.”
“Yeah. So … sleep well.”
“You too.”
I only take three steps before warm fingers close around my hand.