Page 79 of Crushed By Love

And I want him to be more than my friend.

He breaks the kiss, leaning his forehead against mine. “Are you hungry?”

“Starving.” It’s true, my stomach started knocking a good hour ago, but I didn’t want to answer and break the spell we were under.

“I packed us breakfast.” He takes my hand, intertwining our fingers, and leads me back to the car. He parked so the back is facing the lake and he pops the hatch, creating space for us. “It’s nothing fancy.”

Inside is a blanket that he lays over the edge and we climb inside, my feet dangling and his firmly planted on the ground. He unzips a cooler bag and pulls out two burritos wrapped in tinfoil. I can already smell the melted cheese.

“You woke up early and made us breakfast burritos?” I can hardly believe it. This is not the Ethan that he presented to me all summer. That Ethan wouldn’t be caught dead doing something sweet for me. This Ethan? This Ethan shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“They’re my favorite breakfast and they’re easy to make. I also cut up that cantaloupe we picked up from the store and grabbed us some water bottles too.”

I go for the water first and then he hands me the warm burrito and I unwrap it in disbelief. This is the kind of thing a boyfriend would do for his girlfriend, not the kind of thing someone does for a hookup. Does Ethan actually like me for more than my body? Is there something deeper going on here than sex?

I almost ask him about it. Almost. But I don’t want to break the spell. That, and I don’t have the courage to be disappointed. Because what if he laughs at me? What if this is nothing? What if he just wanted to come to the pond and would’ve brought anyone along and I just happened to be the one available?

We eat in silence, and I keep stealing glances at him. His eyes are fixed on the lake, watching the cranes that have joined the ducks. His face is relaxed. He’s so calm, so at peace. This isn’t an Ethan I’m familiar with, but I’ll admit I like it. Maybe this is the real Ethan, the guy he is underneath all the expectations of his father. Remove the demanding wealthy lifestyle with the demanding strings attached and he’s a normal guy.

I snort to myself. Ethan is anything but a normal guy.

“What’s so funny?” He raises an eyebrow.

I feel myself blushing and shake my head. “Nothing.”

“Tell me,” he presses. Of course he does, he’s still Ethan.

“I was just thinking about you being a normal guy doing normal guy stuff.”

“And that’s funny to you?”

I give him a pointed look. “Ethan, you are a lot of things and normal isn’t one of them. That’s not a bad thing, by the way.”

“I could say the same about you.”

My cheeks flush. He takes my trash and throws it back into the cooler bag, then stands and comes in front of me, resting between my legs. I expect him to kiss me, to turn this moment sexual because that’s what has become standard between us, but he doesn’t. He just wraps me in a hug and I find myself leaning into him, my arms tight around his broad back, my thighs resting on either side of his hips. He smells like soap and lake water and his signature spicy cologne. A ripple of comfort stirs something deep within me. Longing. Hope. And fear. He holds me for a long moment, so long that the sound of my rising heartbeat must be louder than the birds.

Then he kisses the top of my head. “Come on, let’s get back.”

We go home and spend the rest of the day hanging out and talking until eventually I can’t take it anymore. Emotionally I’m sated, mentally I’m afraid of what this will lead to, but physically I’m yearning for him again. He’s awoken a new side of me these last few days. I don’t just want him, I need him.

We finish dinner and while we’re cleaning up, he asks what movie I want to watch tonight, saying we should use the theater room for once. I’ve never used it, and I should want to, but I don’t.

I shake my head, take his hand, and lead him up to his bedroom. He doesn’t say another word, just closes the door and lays me down, kissing me tenderly, our mouths and bodies and maybe even our souls opening to each other. The first time we had sex I felt that bone-deep connection with him, but this time I feel a soul-deep connection.

This time, it’s not just two people having sex, it’s two people making love.

I didn’t think it could be possible, but it’s better than every other time before. It’s true intimacy. And it’s terrifying. And wonderful. And it makes me fall asleep with a smile on my face for possibly the first time in my life.

Thirty-Two

“Ican get us off the island this afternoon,” he declares the next morning. He says it evenly and without emotion. We’re laying in his bed and I roll over to scrutinize his profile, trying to ignore my sudden shock of disappointment. It’s August 23rd, which makes it two days earlier than needed.

“You’ll take me to Boston?” I say evenly.

He nods. “The airport has been cleared for flights. I’ve chartered one. I’ll drop you off in Boston before returning to Manhattan.”

It’s silly to want more than a drop off in Boston . . . but I do. I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, same as he’s currently doing. “That sounds good,” I lie.

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