I spoke to Ruby last night. Explained what had happened. I tried to sound blasé, but she could hear something in my voice. She offered to cut her weekend short and pick me up from the airport, but I couldn’t do that to her. She’s happy with her new guy and deserves to savor the last few days of freedom before classes start. The last thing she needs is to have to console the latest victim of America’s epidemic divorce rate.
When the plane lands, I wait until everyone else has passed before grabbing my backpack and making the long walk to the exit. The flight attendants are annoyingly perky as they bid me good-bye and tell me they hope I’ll fly again with them soon. All around me in the airport, people are hugging and kissing, greeting loved ones. I pause to watch them, partly because they’re blocking my way, but mostly because just observing them makes me feel like some of their happy might rub off on me.
At any rate, I’m not in any hurry to take a cab back to my empty apartment.
When the family in front of me finally moves, my breath catches as I see a familiar figure standing on the other side of the arrivals area. Tall. Unruly hair. Dark clothes. Pensive face. Tense and nervous, like he’s unsure if I’ll be mad about him being here.
I’m not. In fact, I’m so happy, I could cry.
He must recognize my sappy expression, because he pulls his hands out of his pockets and walks toward me.
He looks good. So very good.
He moves sinuously, but there’s a repressed urgency in his gait. Like he’s forcing himself to not run over and swing me around in front of all of these people.
There’s so much I want to do to him. So much I want to say.
When he stops in front of me, he takes my backpack and places it on the ground. Then he wraps his arms around me and gently pulls me against him. I hug his neck, and when he says, “I’m sorry about your parents. That fucking sucks,” I press my forehead into his shoulder to stop myself from crying The people around us slowly dissipate, and I just stand there and let him comfort me. As much as I’ve craved sympathy today, until this moment I didn’t realize how much I needed it to be from him.
The rest of the world melts away as he holds me and strokes my hair, and when he whispers, “I’ve missed you,” and I whisper it back, the glass-jawed delusion that we’re just fuck-buddies goes down for the count.
By the time we get back to my apartment, it’s late and I’m exhausted. Ethan opens the door and carries my suitcase to my bedroom. Then he turns around and hugs me. He’s so warm and feels so good, I sag against him, almost drifting off. Only the thick layer of travel grime that covers me from head to toe prevents me from fully relaxing.
“I need to shower.”
“Okay. You want me to make you something to eat?”
“We have no food.”
“I could go out and get something.”
He needs to stop with the sweetness. I’m in enough trouble here as it is.
“No, thanks.” I push him to sit on my bed. “Just … stay. I won’t be long.”
I grab my robe and head into the bathroom. When the warm water hits my skin, it feels so good I moan. I lather everything twice, then get out and brush my teeth.
When I get back to the bedroom, he’s exactly where I left him. He watches as I approach, and the way he stares tells me how much he wants me. The familiar rush of power is back, but it’s accompanied by something else. A deeper need. Something I haven’t let myself feel for a long time. It makes my skin prickle and my heart flutter, because I know this is one of those moments that is going to define something.
Me.
Us.
The thought makes me freeze in my tracks. We’ve been here before, and in the past, I was always the one who put myself out there. Pushed us to be more.
Not this time.
If he wants it, he’s going to have to ask for it. If he doesn’t, I have to walk away before my heart gets even more scarred.
I wait. He barely hesitates before standing and walking to me. He takes my hands and pulls me to him. Cups my face. Kisses me. Gently. So gently. Warm lips and soft tongue. Within seconds, an aching heat is twisting in my veins, but I don’t let it take over. He needs to steer us this time. If I hang back, I can decide if I’m willing to go where he leads.
His kisses become hungrier, but still deliberate. It’s like he knows any misstep will make me run, and he’s determined not to let that happen. He leaves one hand on my face as he tugs at the belt on my robe and slowly unthreads it. Fingertips brush across my chest as he pushes it open. I feel too naked, but I stand there and fight the fear as he claims every inch of terrified, goose-pimpled skin in a way that’s so much more than sexual.
He pushes the robe off my shoulders, and it slumps to floor. More of me exposed.