by Leisa Rayven
I can’t deny it. I don’t want to. “Yes.”
“Well, judging by the way you’re glowing, I’m assuming you and Ethan . . . ?”
She doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Just like I don’t have to answer it. My expression must tell her everything.
I nod, and she writes in her book. I don’t miss her slight smile.
“You’re not angry?” I ask.
“Why would I be angry?”
“Because I thought maybe you thought . . . that I wasn’t ready.”
“Do you feel ready?”
“Yes.”
“Then that’s all that matters. I can’t put a timeline on your happiness, Cassie. Only you can do that. As long as you feel good, we’re achieving something.”
“I do feel good, but also . . .”
“What?”
How can I tell her what I’m feeling, when my swirling emotions don’t fit into any one category? Happy/cautious. Ecstatic/terrified. Elated/anxious.
“He left yesterday.” Just saying the words makes my chest hurt.
Dr. Kate studies me for a few seconds before asking, “How are you coping?”
“I don’t like it. I miss him.”
“Missing him is good.”
I look out the window and watch the clouds change shape. “It feels strange to admit that. To acknowledge I need him. For so long, I thought needing him showed how weak I was.”
“And now?”
I spot a cloud that looks like a love heart and smile. “Now, I see that letting myself need him is the strongest thing I’ve ever done. The bravest.”
“They say fortune favors the brave.”
I think about arriving on his doorstep. Convincing him to make love to me. Finally letting him in again.
A shudder of pleasure runs up my spine. “I guess it does.”
*
I lean against the wall of my dressing room. I’ve been struggling with my focus exercise and can’t seem to get into the zone. Last night was the same. I’m betting tomorrow night will be, too.
It’s not that I find it uncomfortable performing with Nathan. It’s just that getting into character without Ethan is much more difficult than I thought it would be.
I shake out my tension and roll my neck. I have ten minutes. I need to get my crap together.
I walk down the hall to Ethan’s dressing room and open the door. A waft of his scent hits me. I turn on the lights as I inhale deeply. Within seconds, I feel better.
I sit in his spot in front of the mirrors and touch all his stuff. Not that he has a lot. Pancake makeup, powder, hair goop. Eyeliner he never uses because his lashes are stupidly long and dark.
I open a drawer and find a book called Awakening the Sacred Body.
Oh, Ethan. Reading a little pornography, are we?
I flip through it and I’m sorely disappointed. There are very few pictures, and those I find show a middle-aged Chinese man demonstrating various meditation poses.
Party pooper.
As I flick through to the back of the book, a photo falls out. It’s of Ethan and me, at the opening night party of Romeo and Juliet in our first year of drama school. We have our arms around each other and look genuinely happy. I remember the moment well. I’d felt like I could float off the ground that night.
I run my finger over Ethan’s beautiful smile. It makes me sad to think I didn’t see it that much at college.
“He took that picture all over the world, you know.” I turn to see Elissa leaning against the doorframe. “Well, all over Europe, at least. Looked at it every night before he went onstage. I’m surprised you can still make out your face.”
“I have the same picture at home,” I say. “It’s the only picture of us I kept. All the others were torched in a drunken purging ceremony.”
“Valentine’s Day?” Elissa asks.
“Yep.”
“Had a few of those myself over the years.”
I put the picture in the book and replace it in the drawer. When I turn back to Elissa, she’s smiling.
“What?”
“I spoke to Ethan earlier.”
I’m immediately nervous. Did he tell her we slept together?
I try to play it cool. “Oh? How is he?”
“Even over the phone I can tell he’s on cloud nine. Am I right in assuming something happened between you guys? Something good?”
Her face is so hopeful, I can’t lie. “I guess.”
I can see her almost vibrating with happiness. “Well . . . okay. Wow, that’s great.”
“Elissa, it’s still really early.”
“I know. But, it’s going to work out this time. I have no doubt.” She comes over and hugs me. “He’s been crazy in love with you for years. He’s not going to screw this up. I’m certain that, right now, my brother is the happiest man on the planet.”
“Well, I guess we’re both due a little happiness, right?”
“Absolutely.” She hugs me again then pulls back. “Now get your ass into gear. It’s five minutes ’til places.”
“Okay. Be right there.”
When she leaves, I go over to the closet and find Ethan’s warm-up clothes. I pick them up and hug them. When I close my eyes, I can almost imagine it’s him.
Two minutes later, I try my focusing exercise again.
I nail it.
*
His face appears on the screen, and I want to reach out and touch him.
“Hi,” I say and exhale with relief.
He sighs and licks his lips. “Wow. Hi. Fuck, you look so good. I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“We spoke last night.”
He scoffs. “That was a lifetime ago.” He glances over his shoulder, and I can make out the dimly lit interior of his trailer. “I don’t have long to talk. We’re between scenes. I’m waiting for them to reset the lights.”
“You’re shooting all night again?”
“We finish when the sun comes up.”
“That’s your costume?”
He looks down at himself and smiles. “Yeah. Sexy, huh?”
He’s wearing a ripped white T-shirt stained with blood. The left side of his face is swollen and bruised, and his bottom lip is split.
“Hmm. Yes, very rugged. Your bruise makeup is impressive.”
He chuckles. “Uh . . . yeah. Not all of that is makeup.”
“What?”
“We filmed the big fight scene last night. I weaved when I should have ducked and well —”
“No!”
“Yep. Pow. Right in the kisser.”
“Oh, Ethan.”
“It’s okay. I’ve had worse.”
“When?”
He rubs the back of his neck. “In college, whenever my anger used to get the better of me, I’d go to this bar in the city. It was pretty rough.”
For a moment, I think about what this means. “You went to deliberately get into fights?”
“Well, I went to beat the crap out of someone, but occasionally, they got the better of me.”
“Oh, God. Is that why your knuckles were a mess?”
“Pretty much.”
“Ethan . . .”
“I know. Stupid, right?”
“Not stupid. Sad.”
“I haven’t done that in years.”
“Do you still get the urge to?”
He pauses. “Sometimes. When I’m tense.”
“When was the last time?”
“Three months ago. The night before we started rehearsals. I was nervous and praying like hell I wouldn›t fall in a heap if you told me to go fuck myself.”
“I did tell you to go fuck yourself.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t mean it.”
“Yeah, I di
d.”
He frowns. “Really? Wow. I totally misread that moment. Just as well. I probably would have fallen in a heap. Just like I did last night when the stunt man clocked me.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Not compared to being away from you.”
I sigh. “I want to kiss you so badly right now.”
“Yeah?” He leans forward. “Kissing is the first on a very long list of things I want to do to you. I’d start with your mouth, and finish with . . . well, if I had my way, I wouldn’t finish. I’d have all of you, all the time.”
He stares at me with such open lust it sets all my insides ablaze. That look has always brought me undone. A lot of men have desired me over the years, but not a single one has ever looked at me like that. Like he belongs to me just as much as I belong to him.
Someone knocks on his door, and he looks over his shoulder. “Damn, they’re ready for me.”
“Hey, I’m ready for you, too.”
He turns back to the screen and leans forward. “I’m going to need you to hold that thought for two more days. Can you do that?”
“Fine. Go be all tough and whatever.”
“Talk to you tomorrow?”
“Okay. Love you.” It just comes out. I cover my mouth.
When the hell did I become so comfortable saying that to him? We’ve been back together for a matter of days.
“Cassie?” he says as he fights the world’s smuggest smile. “Don’t blame yourself. I’m irresistible. I love you, too.”
*
I don’t sleep well while Ethan’s away. My thoughts are too loud. My bed’s too cold. All the ways I’ve forgotten how to miss him come rushing back at an alarming speed.
The day he’s due to come home, I’m so nervous, I feel sick.
I shave my legs. Wash and blow dry my hair. Take extra care with my makeup. Smear myself in body lotion that makes me smell good enough to eat.
And I do it all with trembling hands.
Anticipation? Yep. I have it. In spades.
In the cab on the way to the airport, I close my eyes and breathe deeply. I can’t believe how uptight I am. It’s like I’m about to go onstage and haven’t rehearsed.
But I have. He has. We’ve prepared for this scene before but never got to perform it. The happy ending. We’ve tried tragedy. It didn’t work for us. What we’re doing now is new. Exciting. Terrifying.
I make my way to the arrivals area. There’s a buzz in the air. People of all ages are milling around, thrumming with excitement like I am as they wait for their loved ones.
Wow.
Ethan is my loved one. It feels weird to admit that.
People trickle out of the doors, and I lock my knees to stop my juddering legs. Two little kids beside me are bouncing. I’m jealous. Bouncing would feel pretty damn awesome right about now.
An anxious-looking man emerges from the doors, and the kids scream, “Daddy!” before they run and engulf him in hugs. It makes me smile.
More people walk through as friends and family surge forward to greet them. I stand on my toes and crane my neck to see over heads. I catch a flash of messy hair. After pushing around a large group of men, I see Ethan standing there, tall and gorgeous, frowning as he scans the crowd.
I yell his name. Well, more like scream it. The men beside me turn and stare. My care factor is in the negative digits.
Ethan sees me and, for a moment, he freezes. Then he pushes through the crowd, apologizing as he all but throws people out of his way to get to me. When he’s a yard away, I launch myself at him. He catches me and buries his head in my neck. I’m dangling off the floor. Holding on for dear life.
He’s here. Home. With me.
I finally breathe.
“Thank God you’re here,” he says, lips against my throat. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.” He lowers me to the floor and cups my face. His focus drops to the heart pendant nestled between my breasts. “Oh . . . wow.” He smiles and shakes his head. “I always knew it would look amazing on you, but that’s just perfect. You’re perfect.”
He kisses me deeply and my heart rate doubles. He sucks on my lip, and that’s it. I’m all over him. Hands in his hair and gripping the back of his neck, him pulling my hips forward, and curving his hands around the top of my ass. I realize we’re engaging in an obnoxious public display of affection, but I don’t even care.
“Baggage claim,” he says breathlessly. “We need to pick up my bag.”
“Leave it here. We’ll buy you new clothes.”
“Okay. Cab?”
“Yep.”
He kisses me again, and all plans of leaving are temporarily waylaid. He wraps his hands in my hair and pulls gently, just enough to drive me crazy. More than enough to remind me why we were talking about cabs.
“We have to get out of here,” he says as he hugs me. “But first, give me a minute to deflate this raging boner. There are children around. Tell me something horrifying. Distract me from my intense need to fuck you on this ugly carpet.”
“Uh . . . okay.” I struggle to concentrate. “Well, one of the regular fans who came to the show this week said she thought Nathan and I had better chemistry than you and me.”
He pulls back and frowns. “The fuck? Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. She said she liked your performance better, but that Nathan and I made a better couple. He was gentler.”
He shakes his head and laughs bitterly. “The reason Nathan’s gentler is because he’s not holding himself back from ripping your clothes off in front of a theater full of people. That’s not chemistry. It’s lack of passion.”
“She also knitted you a cardigan and wanted to know if you were single.”
His incredulity drops. “What did you tell her?”
“That you don’t wear cardigans.”
“I mean, about me being single.”
I run my finger over the pattern on his T-shirt. As if my face wasn’t hot enough, more blood rushes to my cheeks. “I said . . . that I thought you were spoken for.”
“Thought?”
“Well . . . yeah.”
He tilts my head up. “Spoken for? I like the sound of that.” He kisses me again. Softer but still intense. “Next time you see her, you tell her I’m most definitely spoken for. And she’s fucking nuts if she thinks Nathan has better chemistry with you. I invented chemistry with you. Everything else is just pretend.”
He kisses my neck, and I swear he’s trying to kill me in a public place. Everything burns and aches, and if he keeps doing that thing with his tongue, my legs are going to give out.
“Do you think your bag will be at the carousel by now?” I say, short on breath and patience.
“If not, fuck it.” He ponders for a second. “Actually, we’d better go get it. If anyone finds my journal, they’ll know how depraved I really am. And it’s all about you.”
He takes my hand and leads me down to baggage claim. His strides are long, and I have to trot a little to keep up.
“Hey, I’m wearing heels. Not so fast.”
He stops and turns to me. “Do you think people would stare if I threw you over my shoulder? Because I really want to do that. Then I can ogle your ass and just run.”
The look in his eye is a little manic. For a second, I think he’s going to do it. Then he spies the heavily armed security officer a few feet away.
“Excuse me, sir?” The guard looks at him. “Would it be acceptable to carry my girlfriend like a sack of potatoes in order to get out of here quicker and make sweet love to her?”
The guard’s mouth twitches, but he resists smiling. “No, sir, that would not be acceptable.”
“Piggyback?”
“Nope.”
“Put her on a trolley?”
“No.”
“You’re no fun.”
“So my wife keeps telling me.”
Ethan takes my hand again and continues toward the baggage carousels. He walks a little slower, but not much.
As soon as we get there, he spies his bag and quickly grabs it. Then he drags me out to the taxi line and after we get in and he gives his address, he puts his arm around me and sighs.
I lean into his chest and close my eyes. Every part of me is relieved to have him home. Even the parts that are incredibly uptight about having him home.
“So, you called me your girlfriend back there.”
“You caught that, huh? Are you mad?”
I think about it for a second. “No.”
“Freaking out?”
“A bit.”
“Okay. Tell me your concerns about being called my girlfriend.”
I look down at my fingers and shrug. “I don’t know. It just seems too soon.”
“Cassie, I’ve been in love with you for more than six years. How is that too soon?”
“I mean, this time around.”
He pauses and tightens his arm around me. “Listen, this isn’t a time. This is it. The end. Last stop on the relationship train. I thought I’d been clear about that.”
Simultaneous shudders of joy and panic travel through me.
“Okay,” he says as he cups my cheek. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to forget I called you my girlfriend. I’m going to take you back to my place, peel off your clothes, and make sweet love to you until you beg me to stop. At no time will I repeat the ‘girlfriend’ comment, nor pressure you about labeling our relationship. Which should be labeled ‘fucking awesome,’ by the way. I’m just happy to be where we are.”
“Which is where?”
“Together.” A beat later, he coughs and says, “Forever,” then gives me an innocent smile. “What? Why that look? I didn’t say anything.”
I laugh and kiss him. We’re still kissing when we pull up outside his building.
He throws money at the cabbie, and the whole trip up to his apartment is a blur of making out and juggling his bag. As soon as we stumble through the door, the bag is dropped and forgotten.
We don’t have the patience to get completely naked. Or even half-naked. Or make it to the bedroom.
