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"They have an avocado sandwich."
"A wise menu addition."
"Meet me in the lobby in five? We can walk from here."
My knees go weak as his smile spreads across his cheeks. My body is still tuned to the Ethan is a sex god channel.
I want to feel good. And his smile fills me with warm, gooey affection.
It's only lunch.
I can do lunch.
"Make it ten," I say.
"Need more eyeliner?"
I laugh. "Yes."
"Me too."
Lord help me.
Chapter Twelve
Violet
In downtown San Francisco, Ethan's navy hoodie and designer jeans are not code for rock star hanging out on his day off but rather another young tech millionaire. Nobody stops him or looks at him sideways.
We have the day off today. Tomorrow, the band is playing a sold-out show at some big amphitheater. Then we head to Portland, then Seattle, then Chicago, then New York.
There are a few days off and another few in transit. That gives me nine more days in Ethan's company.
Nine days with my body screaming give me Ethan.
The back of his hand brushes against mine. Immediately, my body responds. My stomach flutters. Heat spreads to my cheeks and chest. I allow myself a moment to check him out—tight jeans, wide smile, navy eyeliner making his blue eyes look bluer.
He's hotter than he was when we were together. How is that possible?
"It's right this way." He nods to a packed corner.
It's the middle of a work day. Downtown is packed with a mix of business types in suits and tech types in hoodies, jeans, and canvas shoes. I try to cut through the crowd but people don't part the way they do in New York. They stare at their phones, bumping into me or shooting me dirty looks.
Then Ethan's arm is around my waist and he's leading me through the crowded street. I should object to his arm out of principle, but it makes me feel warm and safe.
I move closer, until I can smell his soap. It's the hotel soap, the same one I used. And under that, it's Ethan. I can't explain it but the smell of him is familiar.
I get lost in the proximity of his body until we arrive. We're in a small, clean park sandwiched between skyscrapers. It's an oasis in the middle of the city.
The restaurant isn't quite in the park. It's a level higher, outside a convention hall.
It's a small place with a quaint vibe. The walls, tables, and chairs are shades of bronze and copper.
We take seats at a corner table. Ethan glances at his menu then he sets it down. He has that look on his face—he already knows what he wants. Still, he waits patiently as I take my time poring over the menu.
"Are you happy you're in grad school?" he asks.
I stare back at him curiously. "You really want to know?"
