by Shay Savage
I looked at the pair of turquoise yoga pants and a beige tank top that were just a little too big for me. They obviously weren’t Ethan’s.
“My mom’s,” he said. I could have sworn he had mind-reading abilities.
“Will she mind?”
“Um…no.” Ethan grabbed a towel from the kitchen and started cleaning the Coke off the carpet. “Both my parents are dead.”
“Oh, crap…Ethan, I’m sorry.” I reached one hand out towards him but wasn’t sure what I planned to do with it, so I dropped it back to my side.
“It’s okay,” he said with a shrug. “It’s been a couple of years. There’s a bathroom down the hall—second door on the left.”
“I’ll go change.”
When I came back in the more comfortable clothing, the Coke mess was cleaned up and both of our drinks were sitting on the coffee table. Ethan was rinsing out the towel in the kitchen sink. He looked over his shoulder at me and smiled.
“That looks a lot easier to get around in,” he said. He hopped down the three stairs and flopped back into the bean bag, motioning me to do the same. “Why do you wear that stuff anyway?”
“I’ll be working in the corporate world,” I said. “It’s what you wear.”
“What does that stuff have to do with your job? Couldn’t you do the job just as well in a pair of jeans?”
“I suppose so,” I responded. I had never really thought about it. It was just what people wore in corporate America. “But people are expecting a certain look. If you want to convince them you will take care of their investments, they have to see you as a professional.”
“Doesn’t Draganov Financial already have a good reputation?”
“Yes, very good. We’re a leader in the industry.”
“I thought so.” He smiled that half smile at me, and I was fairly certain I was going to end up staining the crotch of his Mom’s yoga pants if he kept doing that. “If you weren’t, I might have to pay attention to what was happening with my money, and I really don’t want to fuck around with all that shit.”
“You’re invested with us?”
“Us?” he questioned. “I thought you just interviewed there today. Did you get the job?”
It was my turn to blush scarlet.
“Well, you see—it was really an interview in name only.” I had no idea how I was going to explain this without sounding like an entitled bitch. “I already have the job. My father is Miles Draganov.”
I sat back and waited for the shift in attitude that always occurred. Sometimes I truly hated my family name. The people in this town seemed to think we needed to be treated like Rockefellers or something. I hated it. Dad loved it.
“Oh, I got it,” Ethan said. He tipped his soft drink can up and drained it. “Yeah, my dad did a lot of business with Draganov Financial. Most of the money’s still there. I don’t really pay much attention to it. All the bills are paid automatically for this place, and I only use the account directly to pay Frazier and shit. Sometimes I’ll use the credit card, like tonight, but not often.”
He shrugged, half-smiled, and blushed again.
“I guess I still owe you a story,” he said, waving his hand, indicating the penthouse apartment.
“Yes, you do,” I agreed. “Will you tell me about your parents as well?”
“They are a big part of it,” he said with a wry smile.
“I guess that should have been obvious, huh?” I smiled back, hoping I hadn’t sounded flippant or anything. Ethan smiled and began speaking.
“My parents were awesome. They both worked really hard, but they would always try to make time for me when they could. One of them would always be at my major track meets and whatever.
“Mom said I was her miracle baby—she wasn’t supposed to be able to have any and ended up with a hysterectomy right after I was born. They were so proud of me, and I always felt loved and accepted. Even after the accident, when I wasn’t a straight A student any longer, and I wasn’t allowed to vault or even run track, they still said they were proud of me for how hard I was working to finish high school. I thought I was still going to get through college at that time, too, and I was going to pay my own way. Both of them came from families with money, but they also both made their own fortunes as well. They were starting to talk about retirement when the accident happened.”
Ethan took a long drink from his can of cola and paused for a moment before continuing.
“It was our regular family trip, and I always went with them. The three of us flew out to our lake house about once a month. I had just gotten out of the hospital after the last surgery, and the doctor said I shouldn’t be on a plane—something about the air pressure changes and possible swelling. I don’t really remember. They were going to forget the usual weekend voyage altogether, but I knew they needed a break, and I told them to go. A bunch of my friends were going to throw me some kind of get-well party or whatever, so I wouldn’t be on my own or anything. They finally agreed to go without me. It was a small plane flown by one of my dad’s friends, and it was just them, the pilot, and the pilot’s wife. No one knows exactly what happened—turbulence or what—but the pilot lost control of the plane and everyone was killed.”
Ethan reached up with the back of his hand and swept moisture away from his eyes. I maneuvered out of my bean bag chair and knelt before him, taking his hands. He glanced at me shyly and looked down to our joined hands. He shifted over a little in the bean bag, making room for me to sit next to him. I crawled in beside him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I felt his arms encircle my shoulders, holding me against his chest.
“Thanks,” he said softly.
“You’re welcome,” I responded, not really sure what else I could say.
“I spent a lot of time thinking I should have been with them—that we all should have been killed. Then I spent a lot of time deciding it was my fault because I told them to go without me. I don’t feel that way anymore, but it took a lot of time to work through it. I definitely learned something though.”
“Nothing matters more than the people in your life,” Ethan continued. “Your relationships with those around you are what defines you and makes you real. My parents live on because I remember them, and I see how what they did affects everything I do today. They don’t live on in the stuff in this penthouse, the family property in Wales, or the money in the trust funds.”
I could understand why he would think that though I wasn’t so sure my friends would agree. To many of them, money was everything.
“It’s usually lonely here,” Ethan said. “I spend time with my friends in their crappy, little, overcrowded apartment because they are real. They have no idea how much money I have though they know my parents left me something, but they do know that money means nothing. I’d rather eat grilled cheese made on a hotplate at their place than have some chef cook up filet mignon and eat it here alone. Nothing here means anything because I don’t share it with anyone else.”
Ethan was quiet for a minute, his fingers slowly tracing up and down my back.
“I think you are closer to your parents now than I have ever been to mine,” I said softly. “Mom is off in her own little world—I think in Paris now—and Dad is…well, he’s just Dad. I’ve never really known him.”
“Does he work a lot?” Ethan asked.
“Does all the time count as a lot?” I laughed humorlessly. “When he isn’t at the office, he’s having dinner with clients or golfing with board members. He’s never not working.”
“He sounds dedicated.”
“He is,” I agreed. “The business is very important to him. That’s one of the reasons he says he won’t trust it to anyone but me.”
“Well, I guess my money will continue to safely accrue interest, then.”
“What is your last name?” I asked, wondering if his family was one of the bigger clients whose names I would recognize.
“Ramsey,” he said softly, and I couldn’t help my gasp.
&
nbsp; Chapter 6—Bonding
As soon as I heard him say it, the whole story he recounted came back to me. Doctors Bryson and Grace Ramsey, along with two colleagues, were tragically killed in a small-engine plane accident a little less than two years ago. It was all over the society pages for a month. I vaguely recalled mention of a single heir, and obviously Ethan was he. The Ramseys were one of the top five clients at Draganov Financial, going back to the turn of the century for both families. Their portfolio was in the billions.
“Oh my God,” I heard myself mutter. I lifted my head up off his chest so I could look at him better. I tried to remember if I had seen pictures of his family before. I probably had, but I couldn’t remember. “I had no idea.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Ethan said, succinctly cutting me off. He looked down into my eyes, and his expression was pained. “Please, don’t let it make any difference.”
“It doesn’t,” I said. It was true, but not for the reasons Ethan thought. Even with his name, my father would never see past the metal and the ink. My friends would never see anything but the boyish face and the BMX bicycle of the guy seven years my junior. No one would see past the lack of college degree and the numerous friends living in the worst part of town.
“Can I kiss you yet?” he asked, his voice quiet again. He looked at me pleadingly.
“Yes,” I replied.
He tilted his head down and pressed a soft, gentle kiss against my lips. He hesitated only a moment before pulling back and granting me his glorious smile, times ten. It lit up his entire face. No, his entire body. No, wait—it lit up the whole fucking room it was so blinding.
“Again?” he asked.
I could only nod.
His lips met mine a second time, and again he was gentle and slow, leaving quiet, closed mouth kisses on my lips. He moved from my top lip to the bottom one, then to one side before the other. The metal from his lip-rings glided smoothly over my skin. I reached out my tongue to taste the rings and quickly found his tongue touching mine, first just the tip, then wrapping around and sucking my tongue into his mouth.
He tasted like warm summer dusk, vanilla ice cream, and Coca-Cola with the slightest lingering hint of his last cigarette. He moaned against my mouth and leaned back in the beanbag chair, pulling me slightly on top of him.
I opened my mouth and let him inside, his tongue reaching up and stroking my lips first before tasting me as well. Despite the desire I felt behind his kiss, he remained gentle, quiet, and completely, incredibly sweet.
I cupped his face in my hands, ran my fingers over the rough stubble on his cheeks, noting the contrast between his rough jaw and his smooth lips, and pushed against him to deepen the kiss. I ran my tongue over his top lip, then the bottom one. The metal loops slipped and slid across the tip of my tongue.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
“Does what hurt?”
“The rings—the ones in your lip. Does it hurt to kiss?”
“Does this hurt?” Ethan’s teeth gently gripped my lower lip and pulled, biting and sucking it into his mouth before slowly releasing it.
“No…that feels awesome.”
“The rings kind of feel like that,” he said with a half smile. “Suck on them.”
I blinked a couple of times, a little surprised by his bluntness, but my curiosity overcame any hesitation I had. I leaned close to him again and wrapped my lips over the top and bottom of his lower lip, effectively trapping the rings in my mouth. I ran my tongue over the metal, which was warm from our kissing, before I did as he said and sucked a little.
Ethan moaned, and his grip behind my back tightened, crushing my chest to his. I pulled back and let go of his lip, and his eyes flew open.
“Was that too much?” I asked.
“Fuck, no,” Ethan said. “That felt great. Don’t stop!”
I sucked his lower lip into my mouth again, caressing the rings with my tongue and my lips, getting to know the feel of them before my tongue found his mouth. He let me lead for a while, then ran his hand up to the back of my head and pressed harder against me, invading my mouth with his tongue like the Roman army invading Gaul—relentless and all-powerful.
I have no idea how long we sat in a fluorescent pink, bean-bag chair, making out like a couple of high school kids, but I knew my lips were actually starting to get sore, and my bladder desperately needed a break. I pulled back from him.
“I think I need a minute,” I said quietly, trying not to blush.
“Are you okay?” Ethan asked, searching my eyes with his.
“I’m good,” I said. “I just need to, um, use the bathroom.”
“Oh, okay. No problem.” Ethan stood up, taking me with him and helping me turn around so I was facing the hallway. I stepped into the bathroom again and looked over my flushed face. My breaths were still coming in pants, and my heart was still trying to jump right through my ribcage so it could do a little happy dance on the bathroom counter. I tried to calm myself down a bit as I took care of business, washed my hands, and splashed some cold water on my face.
I came out of the bathroom and didn’t see Ethan in the living room any longer. After a quick look around, I felt a light breeze and followed it out to a balcony door where Ethan was leaning against the glass and metal rail, smoking a cigarette.
“Hey,” he said softly, and that half smile crossed his face again as he glanced at me, then looked out over the city. He flicked ash over the side and sighed.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said with a bit of a snicker. “I’m just trying to figure out what to do so I don’t fuck this up.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to ask you to spend the night with me,” Ethan said, “but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I just want you to stay and sleep with me.”
“Ethan, I…”
“Wait a sec.” He took a long drag off the cigarette and crushed it under his heel. “See, I’m already saying it wrong. I just don’t want you to go. I want you to stay so I can make you French toast for breakfast in the morning. I swear I’m not trying to get you to fuck me or anything. I’m not like that. I haven’t had sex since the last steady girlfriend I had, and we broke up more than four months ago. Shit, now I’m just babbling like an idiot.”
“Ethan, you don’t have to tell me this,” I said, secretly thrilled he didn’t appear to be a complete manwhore or anything, not that he couldn’t be one if he wanted to with his looks and that smile. Regardless, I was glad to hear it had been as long for him—a little longer, even—as it had been for me, not that I was planning on sleeping with him or anything.
Not yet anyway.
“I know,” he said. “I just don’t want you to think I’m like that. I really like you, and I want to spend more time with you. If you leave, I might not ever see you again.”
“Of course you would,” I told him.
“You don’t know that.” His tone was insistent. “The last thing my mom said to me was “See you on Monday.” She didn’t mean for it to happen. She didn’t know we’d never lay eyes on each other again. Life’s a lot more fragile than you think. I don’t want to assume you aren’t going to be hit by a bus or have a fluke medical condition flare up all of a sudden and risk never making you breakfast. I’d regret never making you breakfast. Please stay with me.”
“It seems fairly unlikely…” I started to say that nothing was going to happen to me. I wanted to reassure him that sort of thing didn’t really happen, but I couldn’t. He knew that wasn’t always the case. He had lived through just such a fluke, and anything I said now would be a slap in the face to him.
I tried to wrap my head around what he was asking. He wanted me to spend the night with him so he could make me breakfast in the morning. He wanted to spend more time with me, and I wasn’t ready to leave just yet, either. However, it was getting late, and the Ubers were going to get fewer and farther between. I definitely wasn’t going to ride the subway after mi
dnight—too many crazies. At home, there was still my car to deal with.
But stay overnight with a guy I just met? Even for college students, that was pressing the limit a little. What would Zoey say? No—scratch that. Zoey would already be dry-humping him. What about Presley, the voice of social reason? She’d never get past the piercings even if she did hear his last name. My father…well, Dad would probably just lie down and have a coronary.
Ethan reached over and ran his hand over my cheek, stroking my cheekbone with his thumb.
“Please stay,” he said and brushed his lips against mine. “You could use one of the guest rooms if you want, but I’d rather you stayed in my room.”
“I don’t know,” I replied, trying hard not to get lost in his eyes again.
“I’d like to make out with you again, if that’s okay.”
“You have a knack for changing the subject,” I said accusingly. Ethan laughed.
“Sometimes certain topics need to be shut down,” he told me. “People like to harp on the things they can’t do anything about, and it gets them all worried, upset, and even angry. Either you will decide to stay with me in my bed, in the guest room, or not at all. At some point, you’ll decide, and I can’t control your decision. So, I change the subject to something else so you aren’t just spending all your time being anxious about it, and I won’t be either. I would rather be enjoying your company, however long it lasts.”
“You sure are smart for your age,” I mused.
“I’ve lived a lot in the past few years,” Ethan said. “I think the only real mistakes I have made have been when I didn’t tell someone how I felt or didn’t do what I wanted to do when I wanted to do it. You never know what tomorrow’s going to bring, so don’t wait to do or say something important. You only make real mistakes when you refuse to live in the moment. I guess it’s my life motto now.”
Taking his advice, whether he meant it to be advice or not, I reached over and took his face in my hands, bringing his lips to mine. The night air had cooled off the thin silver rings, and the contrast between the metal and his soft, warm lips was enticing. I reached my tongue out and ran it over the little hoops, warming them. Ethan’s tongue pushed past my lips and stroked across my tongue, slowly caressing it and tasting me.
