“Look, I hate to do this,” Jackson says. “I kind of need to leave. I’m supposed to be picking Brie up in half an hour from her cheer practice. Are you okay to stay with him?”
“Of course I am. I’m not just going to bail on him.” I respond with a little more despondency than intended. He checks his watch then looks down at his cell.
“I can call her and ask if she can catch a ride with someone else,” he says looking over at Ethan then back to his cell.
“No, honestly, I’ll be fine. We need to talk anyway. I won’t leave him on his own if that’s what you're worried about. I’m not a heartless bitch.”
“I know you’re not, Blair.” He gives me a sad smile and walks over to the door. His massive frame lingers before he finally turns.
“Tell him to call me if he needs anything. His mom should be back tonight, although he didn’t say when.”
I feel my eyes bug out a little. “Later.”
“Yeah, later.”
Moira’s coming back? I’m not sure how I feel about that little nugget of information. On one hand, I’m glad she’s finally putting his needs first and decided to come deal with this mess. On the other, I’m pissed at her for not telling him sooner. I get what she was trying to do; I guess I’m just mad at myself for not changing her mind.
His legs kick out as he bolts upright with a start. I feel my heart jump into my throat and watch in slow motion as my coffee soars through the air, floating like a lead balloon before dousing us both in the lukewarm liquid. I let out a startled screech as Ethan dives from the sofa, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid movement. It’s so fast the coffee couldn’t have even had time to soak through to his skin. He lunges forward and yanks my t-shirt over my head, painfully pulling half my hair with it.
“The fuck! Ouch, you’ve got a hold of half my scalp! Get off!” I cry out.
“Shit, sorry. Are you burned?” he says in a panic, alarm and confusion evident in his eyes.
“No, I’ve been drinking it for the last half hour. It’s barely even warm.”
He lets out a relieved grunt. “Why’d you decide to throw coffee over us?”
“I didn’t!” I shriek. The shock of the last thirty seconds has my voice reaching heights I’m sure only dogs can register. He gives me a look of complete perplexity. “Okay, so I’m imagining the fact that we’re both standing here half-naked and covered in coffee, then?”
“Don’t be a smart ass. You were sleeping. I was sitting next to you on the sofa, drinking my coffee. You must have been dreaming, because one minute you were all serene and calm, and the next you jumped up like someone was attacking you. You knocked my drink out of my hands.”
He looks around, as if only now realizing his whereabouts.
“Are you okay?” I ask. He’s as pale as a ghost.
“Yeah.” He takes a few calming gulps of air. I was just frightened you might be scalded is all. I didn’t mean to drag your shirt off like that,” he says with a hint of amusement in his tone. His eyes drop from mine down to my chest then back up, before repeating the cycle again. And again, and again. Men!
I glance down at my chest for a second before I realize that I’m staring at my boobs, and not my bra. What the hell?
My arms fly up to cover myself. I can feel the heat spreading through my cheeks like wildfire, and know I must be glowing bright red. My embarrassment only flames his amusement and now he’s flat-out laughing at me. There’s not a hint of remorse as he looks down at my shirt in his hand and then fishes out my sports bra from the soggy crumpled fabric and tosses it at me.
What do I do? The same as anyone would do when someone throws something at you—try to catch it. Except I’ve momentarily forgotten why my hands were indisposed. I reach out to intercept my bra and feel the weight of my breast shift slightly. I miss the bra, and it hits me in the face and falls at my feet as I retract my hands at warp speed, trying to protect my modesty, or at least what’s left of it. Ethan’s whole face contorts.
Asshole.
“Holy shit! That worked out better than expected,” he says through his laughter. He’s clutching his sides and his shoulders are bobbing up and down as he fights a losing battle to gain control. As much as I want to be annoyed at him, it is kind of funny— in an undignified, and horribly embarrassing kind of way.
“This doesn’t mean that I’m not still mad at you, but the peep show just cheered me up,” he smirks. “Follow me, Princess,” he requests and I oblige, too dumbstruck to do anything other than tail behind, trying to pull the sports bra over my head with one arm.
He takes me up to his room and I’m wondering what his intentions are, given that he not-so-subtly dropped in that I’m still not his favorite person. He opens his dresser and retrieves a faded Stones t-shirt, shaking it out and looking from me to the shirt and then deciding that it won’t do. He rummages around and pulls out a plain white t-shirt, inspects it and then seems satisfied. He walks over to me, crossing the room in a few long strides and stands millimeters from me.
“Arms.”