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There's the cocky Ethan who sleeps around and teases the press. I spend the rest of the song taking him in, trying to find the sincerity in his brilliant blue eyes. It does me no good. All I know is how much I want to swim in those eyes.
"You were good on it," I say. "But I guess you know that too."
He nods.
"You know everything now. Or… well, you always thought you knew everything."
"You really don't have any tact."
"Some things never change."
His voice drops. "Yeah."
He sounds sad.
But why?
The station shifts to Good Riddance by Green Day. One of my favorite songs. It's supposed to be easy on guitar. Ethan tried teaching me once, but I never did get the hang of it. I have stupid fingers. And I can't keep a beat to save my life.
But I love music. I love it in my ears. I love when I can feel the bass in my bones. I love letting it wash over me.
I close my eyes. Then there's wind rushing into the car. The windows are down. And Ethan is singing along with the song.
I peel my eyes open to look at him. He's smiling, half his attention on the road, the other half on the words. He's an amazing singer. Not as good as Mal but amazing nonetheless.
He nudges me. "Don't make me do this alone."
That's too much like old times.
I shake my head. "I'm sure you're used to doing it alone by now."
He laughs and my heart skips a beat. But that's not right. I wasn't trying to make him laugh. I was trying to push him away.
I let myself get lost in the music for the rest of the ride.
I fight a shiver as I step out of the car. It's not that it's cold—we're enough into morning that the sun is shining over the pavement. It's more the death glare from the woman standing in front of the grocery store.
"Here." Ethan slides his leather jacket around my shoulders.
He smiles that trademarked Ethan Strong smile. I can't tell if it's real or if it's his newfound player bullshit.
It doesn't matter. I'm not letting it get to my head either way.
For a second, his arm is around my waist. Then he pulls it away and looks at it like it betrayed him.
I slide my hands into the pockets of the leather jacket so I won't give into the impulse to touch him. Ethan looks too yummy to resist. His tight t-shirt hugs his shoulders just so. His snug jeans are low around his narrow waist.
I pull the jacket tighter. Usually, I'm happy to throw out my resting bitch face and be done with it, but I feel out of sorts next to him.
Ethan opens the door for me. The moment I step inside the coffee shop, I run into a wave of memories. We spent a hundred afternoons here, me studying, him working on polishing a track. I can hear his laugh in my ears, feel his arms around my chest, taste his lips on mine.
He always tasted good.
I bet he tastes good now.
I bet every inch of him tastes good.
Shit. This isn't an appropriate direction for my thoughts. I check my phone for something to do. There's a handful of spam and a text from Athena, my roommate/best friend, checking in.
