Kiss Me Again

by Hart, Emma

  “Whatever,” I said, grabbing another slice of pizza. “Shut up.”

  He laughed, plucking the pepperoni off a slice of his own. Instead of dropping it in the box, he leaned over and put two extra pieces on my slice.

  Then he winked.

  And I’m not gonna lie, my heart sighed a little.

  It was a thing, okay. Hearts could sigh.

  Or maybe it was my soul. I didn’t know, but this was going from bad to worse where my emotions were concerned.

  Never mind cooking. Sharing pepperoni was my love language.

  So was sleep.

  I loved sleep.

  Sleep and food. I was basically a guy.

  I finished my slice and picked up my napkin. One fajita and two slices of pizza, and I was full. It was the weirdest dinner I’d ever had, but it appeared to have done its job.

  It wasn’t totally awkward anymore.

  Maybe we could make this work.

  I got up and went to the kitchen, where I transferred the now-cold fajita fillings into a plastic tub to put in the fridge. I tucked it onto the shelf next to the eggs—when did we get eggs?—and turned around.

  I walked right into Ethan.

  I squealed, and he grabbed hold of my upper arms to stop me stumbling backward.

  “Sorry. I thought you knew I was there.”

  I shook my head and jerked back, away from his touch. The last thing either of us needed was to be that close. “Sorry. I was wondering where the eggs came from.”

  “The grocery store,” he drawled. “I bought them the other day.”

  “Oh. Well. Clearly, I need to pay more attention.” I smiled tightly and darted out of his reach. “Thanks for the pizza. I’m gonna go to bed and watch some Netflix, so…”

  “Oh. Sure. Night, Ava.”

  “Night.” I ducked into the bathroom to brush my teeth, then locked myself away in my room where my laptop was still open from this afternoon.

  I positioned it on my nightstand so I could see and got ready for bed. Once my hair was tied back up, and I’d removed the death trap that was my bra, I climbed under the covers and hit play on the documentary I hadn’t finished watching yet.

  My phone buzzed two minutes in.

  ETHAN: Sorry if everything is awkward.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN – AVA

  Texting Sexting

  I paused. I didn’t have to reply, and I knew that, but I wanted to. Maybe we’d be able to fully clear stuff up through text. It was easier than talking in person, right?

  ME: It’ll work out. It was only once, right? It’s not like it went any further.

  ETHAN: Right. I was able to think a lot last night at Noah’s, that’s all.

  ME: About what?

  ETHAN: About things I shouldn’t tell you.

  ME: Then why bring it up?

  ETHAN: I don’t know. I think a part of me wants to tell you.

  ME: Well, make up your mind. You’re interrupting my show with your lollygagging.

  ETHAN: Wtf is lollygagging?

  ME: I saw it on Twitter. It’s a great word.

  ETHAN: Doesn’t explain what it means.

  ME: Fucking around. Dawdling.

  ETHAN: Oh. Right.

  ME: Well? Are you going to tell me or can I get back to the royal scandals?

  ETHAN: I think I need to move out, Ava.

  Well… fuck.

  ME: Okay. If you think that’s best.

  ETHAN: I don’t want to. But I realized last night that I can’t just turn off my attraction to you. I don’t want to do something we’ll both end up regretting.

  ME: Like I said, if you think that’s best, do it. I understand.

  ETHAN: It’s not you. It’s me.

  ME: That’s what you say when it’s the other person’s fault.

  ETHAN: Except it is me.

  ETHAN: You’re not the one at fault here. I am. I fully admit that if we stay living together for much longer, I’m going to want to do more than just kiss you.

  I drew in a sharp breath. That wasn’t what I’d wanted to hear—or was it? I don’t know. Did I need a full idea of how he felt about me? It wouldn’t validate me in any way. It wouldn’t change who I was as a person.

  Yet, here I was.

  Desperate to know.

  Desperate to ask.

  ME: Why?

  ETHAN: Because I can’t stop thinking about you, Ava. And the more I think about you, the more I want you.

  Ho.

  Lee.

  Shit.

  Whatever I was expecting him to say—it wasn’t that.

  ME: It’s sexual. That’s all it is. It’s just a physical attraction.

  ME: Nobody has to know. What if something happening gets it out of your system?

  Oh, my God, what am I doing?

  ETHAN: Do you have any idea what you’re saying?

  ETHAN: You’re essentially asking me to walk into your bedroom right now and fuck you.

  ME: It’s all hypothetical.

  ETHAN: No, it’s not, and you know it.

  ME: Fine. Whatever. There’s clearly something unsaid between us. You can’t tell me it’s the worst idea.

  ETHAN: It’s not the best one either. What do you propose we do? Take this too far? Sleep together until I ultimately leave town again?

  ETHAN: You’re not a one-night stand, Ava. You’re not the girl you fuck and leave.

  ME: What does that even mean?

  ETHAN: It means you’re the girl—however infuriating you can be—that you take home to your parents, knowing you’re gonna marry her.

  What was happening right now? Was he drunk? A carb-high? Did someone slip weed into that pizza? What was going on?

  This was weird, weird shit.

  Yet I couldn’t breathe. My heart was thumping and my mouth was dry, and I couldn’t give a shit about the scandal that was unfolding on my laptop screen.

  All I cared about was hearing more.

  Listening to all the things he shouldn’t be saying. Savoring every last word that never should have reached my ears—or my eyes.

  Feeding my stupid addiction to this man.

  Feeding my stupid, stupid heart that was reckless enough to love him.

  ETHAN: And I can’t do that to you. You’re worth more than a quick roll in the hay.

  ME: What if I said I didn’t care?

  ETHAN: You do care.

  ME: How do you know? You can’t tell me how to feel.

  ETHAN: I can’t, and I never would. But I saw how you looked at me yesterday after we talked.

  ME: I didn’t look at you.

  ETHAN: Exactly. You didn’t. You couldn’t. Doesn’t matter if you think it’s all sexual—that’s what people say when they don’t have any other reason for the way they feel.

  ME: Fine. Whatever.

  ETHAN: Now you’re mad.

  ME: No, I’m fine.

  ETHAN: No woman has ever used the word fine when she’s actually been fine.

  ME: Look, it’s simple. If you want to move out, move out. I’m not going to try and stop you. It’s your decision. You have every right to do whatever you want.

  ME: I’m single because this world is filled with guys who tell girls shit they think they want to hear then backtrack. I’m not single because I’m unaware of my worth.

  ME: Don’t tell me I’m the kind of girl worth marrying. I already know that. I don’t need you to validate it. I’m also woman enough to know that having sex with a guy without any promise of a relationship doesn’t make me any less of a person. Even if I did choose to live my life with one-night stands, it doesn’t mean I’m not worth marrying. Everyone is worth marrying. Even serial killers get married and they’re straight up psychotic sociopaths who are way worse than women who decide to take control of their sexuality.

  ME: But if you’re going to live here still, cut this shit out right now. Keep whatever feelings you have to yourself if you’re not going to do anything about it.

  ME: Because you’re
right. There is something here that goes deeper than just a physical attraction, but I’m not going to lie in bed and dig myself a hole of denial in the hopes I’ll get to China and get over it like you apparently are.

  ME: So if you’re not going to do anything about this, if you’re going to put me on this ‘marry, don’t fuck’ pedestal when I’m perfectly capable of knowing what I want and making an informed decision, do me a favor. Just be my roommate. Do your laundry and wash your dishes and contribute to everything fairly. And for God’s sake, shut the fuck up, okay? Just shut up. Because I don’t want to hear it.

  My eyes stung with frustration, and I slammed my phone on the bed next to me with the screen down. I wasn’t interested in what he had to say anymore.

  How dare he? How dare he tell me what I was worth? How dare he insinuate the things he had?

  I could have had twenty one-night stands opposed to the grand total of zero I had to my name, and it wouldn’t have made me any less of a woman. Any less of a person.

  My worth was not defined by my sexual history.

  My worth was not defined by anyone but me.

  I got to decide that. Not some asshole with a dick between his legs. The only time an asshole with a dick between their legs got to decide a woman’s worth was when the was the asshole with an actual dick between their legs.

  Spoiler alert: her worth was through the roof.

  So why the fuck did I have tears in my ears? Was it the subtle rejection? The knowledge that this was it—this was really, really it? There was absolutely, categorically, it. There was no way that Ethan and I would be together. Ever.

  It was stupid. I knew that. I’d known it for years.

  Why did he have to go and text me tonight? We’d left on good terms. Awkward ones, but good. We’d eaten together. There was cold pizza for breakfast and enough fajita fillings that we could both eat them for lunch.

  Why did he have to go and fuck it all up?

  Why did he have to kiss me in the first place?

  Why hadn’t I pushed him away?

  I was over it. I was so over all of this. All I wanted was to curl into a ball and scream my frustrations out into a pillow. Cry into my sheets. Get rid of the anger in the easiest way I knew how.

  But I couldn’t.

  Because he was out there. He’d hear me. He’d know he got to me. He’d know he hurt me.

  And I was never, ever going to give him that power.

  As far as Ethan Hawkins was concerned, it was the only power I had left.

  I got out of bed, knocking my phone to the floor, and grabbed the makeup wipes from the top of my dresser. I scrubbed furiously at my eyes, removing the remnants of the light coat I’d put on before I went to meet the girls for lunch today.

  My skin was red and blotchy thanks to the anger I held in the knots of my stomach. Bags under my eyes gave away my tiredness, and there was a distinct sadness in my eyes themselves.

  I needed a good, long sleep.

  “Ava?” Ethan’s voice was muffled by my door. “Are you still awake?”

  “No,” I shot back. “This is my voicemail. Leave a message after the beep. Beeeeeep.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. Maybe. I had no idea. The door was a pretty good muffler. “Can you open the door? We need to talk.”

  “We’ve talked enough.” I tossed the used wipe into the small trashcan I kept next to my dresser. “You made sure of that.”

  “Goddamn it.” He knocked his fist against my door. “Five minutes. Okay? Five minutes. That’s all I need.”

  “You’ve got it.” I folded my arms across my chest and stared at the door. “Doesn’t mean I’m gonna open the door for you.”

  “Fine. Look—I think that just about everything I said then came across wrong. I didn’t mean it the way you took it. You’re my best friend’s sister, Ava. If anything happens between us, I know I’m gonna feel like I’ve betrayed Leo. You will, too. And more than anything, I’m gonna feel like I’ve betrayed you. You don’t need someone who doesn’t even know if they’re still gonna be in town past the holidays. You deserve better than that.”

  My eyes stung again. I didn’t know if it was because of his words or because I was just so, so emotionally exhausted from pulling myself from pillar to post.

  “We’ve never gotten along. You’re right about that, and I stand by what I said. It’s easier to fight with you than be friends with you. Until the other day, I was sure you did genuinely hate me, and I could live with that.”

  “Obviously not.”

  “I could and I did. Until I moved in, it was only physical, but listen to me. There’s something else there, Ava, something that scares the fucking shit out of me. Something I can’t deal with because of who you are.”

  My heart.

  It was going insane.

  “I am obsessed with the idea of you,” he said, this time a lot softer. “At least I think I am. I can’t focus on anything else right now, but I don’t know what it means. I just know that I don’t want to hurt you in any way, and my decision to kiss you has done that. Also, on a totally unrelated note, I’d very much like you to return the insoles of my shoes that you stole today.”

  I bit my lower lip, fighting a momentary smile. “I’ll swap them for my socks.”

  “Shit. I thought I gave those back.”

  “Nope. You stole them right around the time you royally pissed me off. Remember?” I unlocked my bedroom door and pulled it open.

  Ethan looked down at me, his dark blue eyes shining with warring emotions. If the eyes were the windows to someone’s soul, his soul was messed the hell up right now.

  “Noah said this morning that I’m welcome to stay at his place until I find an apartment,” he said softly, putting his hands in his pockets. “I won’t be offended or pissed off if you want me to go, Ava. I’ve fucked up a lot here with you, and I honestly wish we could go back to hating each other.”

  I wrapped my arms around my waist, thanking God that I’d thrown on a black tank top tonight. As for my underwear—eh. They were plain blue. Boring.

  “I’m not going to throw you out.” I held his gaze with mine. “If you leave, it’s of your own volition. But I mean what I said. Shut the fuck up. I don’t want to hear any of it. If you’re not going to act on the way you feel, don’t say anything at all.”

  Darkness clouded his eyes. “I can’t,” he said in a low voice, reaching out. He cupped my cheek for a second before he dropped his hand again. “I can’t do it to your brother.”

  I raised one shoulder in a shrug before dropping it again. His words stung more than I ever wanted to admit. “Then don’t do it.”

  “Ava—”

  I shut the door in his face.

  Slowly, I fell against it, resting my cheek against the cool wood as emotion barreled through me. Days ago, we’d hated each other. We actively tried to piss each other off.

  And now?

  Now, I had no idea.

  Except for one thing. There was one thing I was absolutely, positively, one hundred percent certain about.

  Ethan Hawkins could never ever know exactly how I felt about him.

  And that was the end of that.

  ***

  I am obsessed with the idea of you.

  That was it.

  The idea.

  Not me. Just the idea.

  Was it because I was his best friend’s sister? That the way we felt about each other was… forbidden?

  Was forbidden even the right word?

  No. It wasn’t forbidden.

  I knew my brother. If I told him how I felt, he wouldn’t be angry. He might think I was stupid, but that was about it. I didn’t necessarily think he’d stop anything from happening, either.

  He just wasn’t that kind of person. As much as I ribbed on him, he was a good brother. He was a good person. He’d never do anything to get in the way of my happiness.

  But it wasn’t just me. It was Ethan’s life, too, and I knew he didn’t want Leo
to find out we’d kissed.

  It didn’t matter. It was blatantly obvious that nothing was going to happen, and that was exactly why Reagan and Halley were leaning over the island in Reagan’s new kitchen, mouths agape.

  “Are you fucking serious?” Reagan demanded, slapping her hand against the counter.

  “You’ve lost your mind.” Halley shook her head so vigorously she almost dislodged her glasses. “Ava, think this through.”

  “I have!” I ran my fingers through my hair. “I have, okay? Nothing will happen with Ethan. I’ve said that all along and nobody listened to me. I’m telling you right now that I’m making the right choice.”

  “Butler made you miserable!”

  “She’s right,” Reagan pushed her purple hair behind her ear. “You were so on and off that I had to pay for whiplash treatment at one point.”

  I pursed my lips. “No, you didn’t.”

  “You’re right, I didn’t, but I may as well have.”

  Halley held up her hands, compassion in her eyes. “Ava, think about this. You’re only doing this because of what’s happened with Ethan. You don’t actually want to go out with Butler again.”

  She was right. I didn’t. Maybe it made me a bitch for going to dinner with my ex, but I was long past caring. I needed a distraction from Ethan, and while Butler was a shit boyfriend, he was pretty great in bed.

  “You know as well as we do that you’re not going to sleep with him. And what if you do? What’s gonna happen? You’ll date again, and in two months, you’ll break up.”