“I need to go home,” I said, and I watched Ethan’s face fall and his gaze drop into his lap. He nodded slowly. “I have some errands to run, and I need to get back into my own clothes.”
“Will you let me see you again?” Ethan asked.
/> “Of course, Ethan,” I told him. I leaned over and placed my hand on his cheek. “I want to see you again.”
“When?” He looked up at me with the slightest glimmer of hope in his eyes.
“Anytime you want,” I said automatically.
“Tonight?” he inquired. I laughed.
“Are you serious?”
“It’s Saturday,” Ethan pointed out. “You shouldn’t have school or work.”
“I have studying to do.”
“You could do it here,” he offered. “Maybe I could help…as long as I didn’t have to read anything.”
“Ethan, that’s very sweet of you, but…”
“I’m not being sweet!” Ethan’s voice was loud and harsh. I flinched a little. I hadn’t heard that particular tone come out of his mouth before. I looked over at him and saw he had his eyes closed and his jaw set. He took three long, deep breaths and then opened his eyes. “Sorry, but I’m really not. I want you to come back, and I’m saying all the wrong shit. If there are errands you have to run, I want to go with you. If you need to study, I want to just be there in the same room, and I swear I won’t get in your way. If you have to go home to do laundry, I want to help you fold it. I just don’t want to be away from you… and I’m probably sounding like some kind of stalker nutcase and fucking scaring you.”
Chapter 9—Obligation
He stood abruptly, grabbed his pack of cigarettes off the end table, and yanked open the balcony door. I stared after him for a minute, wondering if maybe he was a little bit of a nutcase but ultimately deciding he was not. He was just expressing what he really felt.
Who does that in the twenty-first century?
I tentatively stepped across the plush carpet until I was close enough to prop myself up on the wall near the opening to the balcony and look out at him. He was leaning against the railing and sucking hard on the cigarette between his fingers.
“I’m sorry,” he said before I could comment. “I just like you, and I’m scared that if you leave, something will happen to you. I know. That’s fucked up and I need to get over it, but the fear always comes back when I meet new people, and I want to get to know them better. I want to spend more time with you, but I don’t want to freak you out, and I don’t want you to think I’m crazy.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” I told him. “It’s very…flattering that you want to know me better and that you are worried about me. I do think I need to go home for a little bit because I need a little space right now. If you want me to, I could come back tonight.”
“Really?” Ethan turned quickly, tossed his cigarette to the side and took two long steps to reach me. He took my face in his hands and just held me for a moment, looking into my eyes and making me feel a little like fainting. He crushed his lips to mine and then broke away quickly. “Shit! I’m sorry—cigarette breath…”
“It’s okay,” I said with a smile. “I don’t mind.”
“Really?” he said again. “You aren’t just saying that?”
“No, not just saying it.”
His lips were back on mine half a second later. His tongue was in my mouth, and my neck was bent backwards under the force of his grip. He moved his lips over my chin, down to my throat and back up again. He wrapped his arms around me, and he held me tightly against his chest. Finally he released me and took a step back, his brilliant smile lighting up the room again.
“I’ll give you the extra key,” Ethan said abruptly. He rushed back inside, opened a drawer in the kitchen, and pulled out a security keycard with “Marquis” scrawled across the front. “Just come on back as soon as you can. I mean, don’t feel like you have to rush, but…shit.”
He ran his hand through his hair.
“It’s all right, Ethan.” I took they key from his hand and slid it into my bag. “I’ll probably be back around seven. Is that okay?”
“That would be awesome,” Ethan said with a nod. “Do you want to eat here? I can order something for us, or I could make more French toast. Oh! I could make mozzarella for pizza! Sorry—those are really the only things I know how to cook.”
“You’ve cooked for me enough today,” I said. “Ordering something would be great, thank you.”
“Thank you,” he responded.
“For what?” I asked.