“I’m sorry, Katie!” he yelled above the din, his voice pleading. Broken. “I broke my promise.”
I couldn’t answer him. The female officer wouldn’t let me, jerking on my shoulders as we entered the cool, quiet sanctuary of the police station. She turned so we went down a darkened hall, her arm still around my shoulders as she mentioned my parents, my family, the need for me to go to the hospital so I could be examined. The words blurred, as did everything else, and I was so overwhelmed, so tired and shaky and hungry and thirsty, I couldn’t concentrate on any of it.
All I could think about was Will. Would he be all right? Would this be the last time I ever spoke to him? Did he think I hated him?
That was the last thing I felt for him.
The very last.
I’m so nervous I’m practically shaking. We ate dinner and he actually liked the chicken Marsala. It was a dish I’d never made in my life, but I remembered how much Dad loved it when Mom would make it. That was a long time ago and I wanted the memory to fuel me. Help me create a new memory.
It worked.
During dinner he didn’t talk about anything personal and neither did I. We talked about the weather and current events and pop culture–type stuff, which made me nervous because I’m fairly certain I was front and center pop culture–wise only a few weeks ago. I mentioned growing up in the Bay Area and he said he grew up in the very town where the amusement park was. I told him I was home schooled and that my parents were overprotective—a complete understatement.
He didn’t say much at all about his family. Made vague mentions of his dad, said his mother took off when he was small and he has no recollection of her. He changed the subject every time I tried to ask him a personal question and I wondered if he was trying to hide something.
Snippets of his past were few and far between. I wanted to know more, but considering I wasn’t ready to volunteer everything yet either, I kept my mouth shut.
It was easier that way. At least for now.
Once we finished dinner, Ethan helped me wash the dishes and we laughed and joked the entire time, which was fun and sweet and so incredibly normal, I enjoyed it. I’ve enjoyed the entire night, especially because of the normalcy. I haven’t felt this good, this completely comfortable in my skin, since I was twelve.
How sad is that?
But I’m not comfortable anymore. Though my discomfort isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Ethan’s on the couch, his arm slung across the back of it, his legs spread wide in that way men sit. I’m not used to how much space he takes up, how he seems to eat up the atmosphere when we’re in the same room together. It’s overwhelming, exhilarating, and I come to a stop in front of the couch, two cold bottled waters clutched in my hands.
“Should we watch something on Netflix?” I ask as I round the coffee table and sit on the couch, setting the bottles on the table.
“Do you want to?” he asks. His knee nudges against my thigh and I wonder if he moved it there on purpose. If he can feel the electricity crackle and flame between us, even when our bodies barely brush against each other.
We’re practically combustible.
“I suppose,” I answer with a shrug.
We both remain quiet for a moment and I glance over my shoulder to see he’s watching me, his gaze drifting down, seeming to linger on my backside as I sit on the edge of the couch before he lifts his head, his gaze meeting mine once more. “I’m not in the mood to watch a movie tonight,” Ethan says. He studies me almost hungrily, his gaze roving over my face, and my heart flutters at the look in his eye.
“Okay.” I turn away and face forward once more, swallowing hard. Almost afraid to look at him again. I’m being ridiculous. I know it. But I have no clue how to behave, what to do. My mind races and I hope he doesn’t think I’m hopeless. “What do you have in mind?”
His hand drops from the couch and lands on my lower back, slowly smoothing upward, his fingers spread wide, seeming to touch all of me, all at once. My eyelids waver and I force myself to keep them open, savoring his touch. I bend my neck forward, a rush of breath leaving me when his fingers slip beneath my hair and circle around my nape, gently holding me there.
“I don’t want to scare you,” he murmurs, his deep, rumbling voice seeming to vibrate deep within me.
“You’re not,” I whisper, sucking in a breath when his thumb streaks across the side of my neck.
“I’ve wanted to do this all night,” he continues in this low, hypnotic tone that lulls me. Seduces me. My limbs feel heavy, as does my head. My blood is languid as it moves sensuously through my veins. His thumb sweeps back and forth, so light I almost don’t feel it, causing goosebumps to rise.
I don’t answer him, don’t want to turn around for fear he’ll stop touching me. I’m perched on the edge of the couch, my entire body softening with his every touch, and when he runs his fingers through my hair I almost want to purr in pleasure.