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He's mine.
Not forever. Not even for a while. But for the next week, he's mine.
Ethan is sure of that too. As soon as the band is backstage, he slides his arms around my waist. He pins me to the wall and drags his lips over my neck.
"You look good enough to eat in that skirt." He sucks on my earlobe. "Let's go out, just me and you."
And nobody giving me shit about how I broke Ethan's heart. Sounds great. "Where?"
"For donuts."
"It's ten-thirty."
"Place is open all night."
"Okay." Honestly, at the moment, I'll go anywhere. I very much want to be not here.
I very much want to be wherever Ethan is.
Ethan grabs his leather jacket and leads me out the side door. It opens into an alley. There's noise to our right.
Uh-uh. No more interruptions. I squeeze his hand and lead him to the left.
"That's the wrong way," he says.
"So?" I step onto the sidewalk and check to see if the coast is clear. We're a block away from the venue. No one is waiting for a rock star sighting or, worse, the chance to invite herself into a rock star's bed.
I shake off the thought of Ethan plowing through groupies. The two of us are having fun. Doesn't matter what came before. Doesn't matter what comes after.
Right now, us having fun tonight—that's what matters.
Ethan laughs. "Which way is it, Master Navigator Violet Valentine?"
I have no clue. But I'm not admitting that. "This way." I point towards the direction of a busy street. Despite the misty rain, the sidewalk is packed with people. Some wear rain coats. Others brave the cool air in cocktail dresses and heels.
Shit, it's cold. I'm not used to doing things on the fly. I keep forgetting my coat. I'm about to pull my arms across my chest when Ethan slides his leather jacket over my shoulders.
"You still on track?" he asks.
"Yes, of course. I'm an expert in Portland geography."
"Yeah? Have all sorts of crazy visits to the City of Roses?"
"Do people call it that?"
"You're the expert."
"Uh… No, they don't."
He smiles at me: you're cute when you're making shit up.
I smile back at him.
I stop at a busy intersection. There's a bridge to our right and a dive bar to our left. In front of us is the Chinatown arch and a whole lot of booming bass. There must be a dozen clubs across the street. "I don't want donuts."
"You don't?"
The light changes. The walk signal turns on. I pull Ethan into the crosswalk. My voice gets low, needy. "I want to dance with you."
