As we talk, he keeps my drink—and my plate—full. He also regularly leans over and pops something into my mouth. A chip, a piece of watermelon, a choice bite of his pineapple tamale. Normally I’d never let a guy feed me, but Ethan seems to enjoy it and, if I’m honest, so do I.
Tori watches the whole thing wide-eyed and approving, and I know I’m going to get an earful when I get home. But right now I’m stuffed with amazing food, halfway through my third margarita, and blissfully, utterly relaxed. The future can take care of itself. I want to stay right here, in this moment, for as long as I possibly can.
As darkness falls, people start to quiet down. Those who haven’t found tables to sit at settle on the sand to watch as the benefit organizers light the bonfire. Then, as it starts to burn, the band takes the stage.
They’re good, really good, and it isn’t long before I’m swaying and singing along with the music. Tori’s doing the same thing, and even Ethan’s tapping his foot to the beat.
I’m having a great time—the best time I’ve had in I can’t say how long—and I know at least part of that is because Ethan’s here with me. Which should be a huge warning sign, but somehow isn’t. Not when he smiles at me with such obvious delight. And not when he wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me closer.
Again, that’s not something I’d normally ever allow. But this is Ethan and I decide to go with it. In the back of my head, a lone warning bell is going off, telling me that I’m getting much too comfortable with this guy, but I ignore it. Tori’s here. She’s got my back and I know she’ll make sure not
hing happens to me. She might be half infatuated with Ethan herself, but I know she’d never let anyone hurt me. Just like I’d never let any guy hurt her.
The band plays a whole concert instead of just a few songs, but I’m still sad when they wrap up. I’m not ready for the night to end, not ready to say good-bye to the sweet, jean-clad version of Ethan who is sitting next to me. Oh, I know I’ll see him at work tomorrow, but once I hit the office, tonight’s glow will be long gone. And if it isn’t, I’ll banish it myself, because there’s no way I want to give Rick anything else to hold against me.
As people all around us start to leave, I push myself reluctantly from my chair. Tori and Ethan do the same.
“It was nice to meet you,” my roommate says, hand extended to Ethan.
He takes it—too much of a gentleman to leave her hanging—but says, “I was hoping you ladies would let me walk you home. ”
He phrases it like we’d be doing him a favor, but I know it’s really the other way around. Yes, we live in one of the best areas of San Diego, but the beach attracts all kinds of people, including the criminal element looking for an easy score. Add to that all the college kids looking for drugs and sometimes things get a little dicey. Not that Tori or I have ever had a problem, but it’s nice that Ethan wants to make sure.
“We’re okay,” I tell him. “You probably have stuff to do here—”
“I already did all the stuff, the sum total of which was to give a five-minute speech at the very beginning of the night. The foundation staff is in charge of everything else. ” He holds a hand out to me. “Come on. Let’s get out of their way so they can get started on the cleanup. ”
Again, his tone sounds perfectly innocuous, but there’s a layer of unbending steel beneath it. The message is clear: We might be grown women, but there’s no way Ethan is going to let us walk home alone.
I start to push back—I don’t like being told what to do, by anyone—but he’s got that look in his eye again. The same look he wore in the cafeteria when he wanted me to try the smoothie. The same look he had when he insisted that I ice my hip. And just like in those situations, I find myself caving in to him, though I’m unsure why.
I take his hand, knowing the whole time that Tori is watching us with wide eyes. We’ve been friends long enough that she’s seen me shut down more than one guy for trying what Ethan just did. I know I owe her an explanation—one she’ll demand as soon as the apartment door closes behind us—and I don’t have a clue what I’ll say. Except that with Ethan, everything feels different.
As we make our way off the beach, we pass a row of multimillion-dollar mansions whose backyards belly right up to a cliff that overlooks the Pacific. Their front yards are just as magnificent, and though they all have iron gates and fences, they’re close enough to the curb that you can see most of the structures.
Tori points at one that’s all glass and chrome and sharp edges. “That one’s my favorite. ” It’s a little thing she and I do when we pass a row of really amazing houses—pick out the one we’d live in if we ever had the money. Tori’s closer to it than I am—she’s got a couple million dollars in her trust fund—but these houses cost ten, fifteen, even twenty million dollars. That’s out of even her price range. As for mine…well, at the moment, a studio apartment is pretty much more than I can afford.
“I like that one,” I say, pointing to a white Mediterranean-looking villa with a slate-blue tile roof. It’s gorgeous, a total showplace that somehow manages to be inviting as well as awe-inspiring. Unlike Tori’s pick, which is beautiful but way too cold-looking for me.
“How about you?” Tori asks Ethan. “Which one is your favorite?”
“I’ll have to go with Chloe’s pick,” he says with a grin. “Although I hear the guy who lives there is unnaturally attached to his blender. ”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in. When they do, I whip my head around to look at him. “That’s your house?”
“It is. ”
I wait for him to say something else. To brag about it or offer us a tour. He does neither. He just keeps walking, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. It’s not what I expect, but then, when you’re as rich as Ethan Frost, I guess you don’t have to brag. You just accept what you have as your due.
Again my brain shifts to Brandon, and again I try to put him out of my head. I can’t help it, though. I know Ethan is nothing like Brandon, that he’s worked for everything he has instead of having it handed to him on a silver platter. But still, in my head, the money is an issue. Or, more specifically, the sense of entitlement that comes with money is an issue. The rich just don’t think the same way.
It’s one more reason I should keep my distance from Ethan. One more reason I should have said no to that date tomorrow night.
But then I think of that green ribbon, the exact shade of my eyes. I think of that gorgeous, perfect seashell. And know that, money or not, Ethan is nothing like my ex-boyfriend. Chad would never have sent me anything so simple—or so beautiful. He would have sent some expensive piece of jewelry, and expected something for it. Then gotten angry when I didn’t want to play along.
Though I was young, only fifteen, I’ve never felt more like a whore in my life than when I was dating that bastard—and in the months after we were through, when Brandon…I cut the thought off again. It took me forever to get over everything that happened, to get past it all and I never, ever want to feel that way again.
Ethan doesn’t say anything else on our walk home, and neither do I. Tori tries to keep the conversation going for a while, but I guess she eventually gets tired of talking to herself because she turns quiet, too. Which just gives me more time to think, to wonder and worry about what’s going to happen when we get to our apartment.