He couldn’t help it. He started laughing.
“Glad you think it’s so funny,” she muttered, but she smiled, too.
“What do you mean, ‘get it over with’? Should I be offended?”
“I mean…” She idly trailed her fingers over the table, tracing the intricate pattern of the mosaic tiles. “That’s the only way to defuse the tension. We both want to, but we think we can’t, or we shouldn’t, so we extra want to. You know?”
“Makes sense.”
Maybe it was true. Maybe his preoccupation with her could simply be chalked up to wanting what he couldn’t have. It was condescending of him to think he needed to stay away from her in order to protect her; infantilizing, even. She was a grown woman, she could make her own decisions. If she wanted to sleep with him, who was he to say no? He’d had plenty of casual sex before. She was right. He was overthinking it. It didn’t have to be a big deal.
She got more animated as she continued, growing more confident in her proposition.
“It’ll eliminate the mystery. The taboo. It might even be terrible. That would be great, actually.”
“Do you think it’ll be terrible?”
The corner of her mouth curled up wickedly. “No. I don’t. If you think about it, you’ve already made me come twice this weekend.”
“If we’re going by that metric, I think I might have you beat.”
She bit her lip and dipped her head a little. “Ethan Atkins, you’re going to make me blush.”
“So when should we do it?” He kept his voice casual, as if they were discussing the weather, instead of planning out the consummation of the fantasy that he’d been obsessing over for the last two months.
She shrugged. “Whenever. The sooner the better, honestly. Right now?”
He scoffed. “You don’t want to do it right now.”
“Try me. Whip it out and let’s see.”
He knew she was joking, but that didn’t mean he didn’t consider it for a split second—and that the thought didn’t make him harder.
“I don’t have any condoms.”
“Well, I guess you just figured out your plans for today.” She glanced at him over the top of her glasses. “How long…I mean…has it been since your divorce, or…?”
He shook his head. “No. And yes. After Nora and I separated, I went a little…I had my fun. Or it was supposed to be fun. But it turns out getting divorced takes fucking forever. By the time it was all official, I was over that phase. I stopped going out, stopped seeing anyone. So…it’s been awhile.”
“Me, too.”
He turned to her, a little surprised. “Since your…the guy from your show?”
She nodded. “Sort of. I had one rebound attempt, but nothing happened…successfully. We were both pretty drunk. So, yeah, I guess it’s been…almost two years? That can’t be right.”
“Almost three for me.” If he was counting from his last sober encounter, it was even longer than that. The revelation sent a thrill of anxiety through him that he hadn’t felt since high school. He pushed away the temptation to make a pit stop at the minibar to take the edge off. Drinking beforehand had never done much for his performance. At best, it dulled any morning-after embarrassment about it. But if this was going to be his only chance with her, he wanted to make sure he remembered every goddamn second of it.
She laughed. “God. We’re pathetic. No wonder we’re so desperate to tear each other’s clothes off. So much for those hedonistic Hollywood lifestyles I’ve heard so much about.”
“They’re not all they’re cracked up to be. Should we lay some ground rules?”
“Like what? No kissing, no eye contact?”
He laughed. “I think we can leave those on the table. But should this be a one-time thing, or…?”
She sat up straighter, her face suddenly focused, thoughtful.
“Do I need to get Paul on the line?” he asked, frowning.
She looked confused. “What?”
“You had that same look on your face when we negotiated the contract.”
Her face cleared and she grinned. “We don’t need him. You’re getting screwed in this deal no matter what.”
“Lay it on me.”
She popped a blueberry into her mouth. “I think…the rest of the time we’re here, it’s all fair game. We can do it once and then never again, if we want. We can do it nonstop until we die of exhaustion or they kick us out on Monday, whatever comes first. But once we get back to L.A., that’s it. Back to normal. I think that’s the only way to stop things from getting messy. You’ll probably be sick of me by then anyway.”
Doubtful. “Deal.”
“Should we shake on it? Or would you rather seal it with a kiss?” That wicked smirk again.
“Shaking seems safer. At least until I get the condoms.”
* * *
—
ETHAN WENT INSIDE to shower before embarking on his mission, so Grey remained on the patio for a little while longer. She took another hit of the joint to help settle her stomach. It eased both sources of her nausea: her hangover, and her nerves.
Despite feeling like warmed-over garbage, she was downright giddy. She and Ethan were going to have sex. She realized with a start that, for the first time, she hadn’t thought of him as “Ethan Atkins”—just Ethan. Just Ethan, who made her amazing fried-egg sandwiches, wrangled her off-menu Belgian waffles, gave her his toast and potatoes when she was too hungover to eat anything else. She frowned to herself. Why were so many of her fond feelings about him linked to breakfast? Well, no need to unpack that now.
She examined her ankle, which she’d left unwrapped after her shower. Most of the swelling had gone down, and the bruises had started to yellow. She tentatively stood up and put some weight on it. Not great, but not terrible. They wouldn’t be able to do anything fancy, but they could definitely get the job done.
As the minutes passed, her excitement ebbed, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. As with most nights she drank a little too much, she’d woken up before her body was ready, unable to fall back asleep. Maybe she should try to nap before he came back.
She cleared their breakfast plates and retreated to her room. After her shower, she’d thrown on cutoffs and an old Rye Playland T-shirt she’d turned into a crop top, no bra, and now she quickly slipped out of her shorts. She’d grabbed a random pair of underwear while getting dressed, and she double-checked to make sure it was acceptable. Plain, black, seamless spandex, Brazilian cut. Nothing special, but she didn’t want to seem like she was trying too hard. Plus, they made her butt look amazing.
Grey crawled under the spotless white duvet and snuggled into the mountain of plush pillows. She wondered if she should arrange herself to be discovered; one bare leg exposed, hair artfully strewn on the pillow as if placed there by magic birds. That might work if she knew how soon he’d be back; a serenely sleeping princess could turn into a drooling, snoring ogre at the drop of a hat.
She must have drifted off while she was still contemplating her options. The next thing she knew, she was roused by the sound of the bedroom door sliding open. She lifted her head slightly, only opening one eye.
Ethan was at the foot of the bed, holding a plastic grocery bag, looking down at her with an indecipherable expression.
“Success?” she asked, her voice cracking a little. He inclined his head. She flipped the covers back, though not enough to expose her.
“Get in here.”
A slow smile crept across his face, heat infusing his gaze. He pulled out the desk chair and sat down, unlacing his boots and removing his socks. As he stood up and tried to get into the bed, she protested.
“No outside clothes in bed, you heathen.” Really, she only felt strongly opposed to his jeans, but she thought it was to her benefit to be nonspecific.
He held up his hands in surrender.