Page 39 of Crushed By Love

Ethan, unfortunately, hasn’t left. He’s standing in the path, scrutinizing me. This is his fault too. He’s got some kind of hold over his brother and has decided to use it to keep Cooper away from me. Cooper may be the spineless idiot going along with it, but Ethan’s the mastermind.

“Why?” I ask simply.

His bicep flexes as he tightens his grip on his board. “You know why.”

I’ve been holding my arms crossed over my chest in protection, but I drop them, completely at a loss. I don’t understand any of this and I just want answers, and to feel better, to be included, to be liked. Maybe one day I could be loved.

But I’ll take answers instead.

Answers that let me put things into neat little rows in an attempt to get some meaning out of everything that’s been happening.

“No. I really don’t know why because you won’t fucking tell me shit.” I suppress a cringe at the way I sound. So desperate. So angry. Hurt and needy.

He carefully sets down his board and stalks in so close that I have to crane my neck up. “I told you not to hook up with any of our friends and I specifically told you not to get with Cooper. You did it anyway, so now you have to live with the consequences.”

And by that, he means back to invisibility.

I press my hands against his chest, pushing him back, but he just uses that as an opportunity to grab onto my wrists and hold my palms to his pecs. His skin is cold and prickly from the ocean, but it still sends a flood of warmth through me.

“You don’t get to have control over this,” I challenge. “It’s my decision. Mine and his.”

Ethan shakes his head. “You don’t understand our relationship. How would you? You don’t even have a sibling, let alone a twin.”

“That’s low.” Way to twist the knife.

He leans in close, enunciating each word. “He only wants you because you’re mine.”

Outraged, I try to pull back, but he’s not letting me. My hands are splayed out and he’s breathing hard. I’m breathing harder.

“I’m. Not. Yours.”

“But you are,” he says simply. “And everybody knows it.”

Am I really hearing this? “You don’t just get to lay claim to me like that. I’m my own person.”

He scoffs. “I didn’t claim you. This is bigger than both of us.”

“Explain it to me then.”

“No.”

“But I’m yours?” I dig my fingers into his chest.

His face is like a steel mask. “Correct.”

“And you don’t actually want me?”

“Also correct.”

Something comes over me. Something primal and brimming with feminine rage. I want to test him. I want to bring him to his knees until he begs my forgiveness for the pain he’s caused me. If I could make him cry, I would.

And so instead of pulling away, I surprise both of us and lean in close. I press my body against his, my hands still flat-palmed on his chest, my stomach sliding against his swim trunks, my breasts resting under his bare pecs.

“If I’m yours, prove it.”

He thinks about it. I know he does. His eyes flick to my lips but he doesn’t move. I don’t move either. This is a game of chicken that neither one of us is willing to lose.

But his heart––I can feel it beating under my fingertips.

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