Page 8 of Game Changer
I want to tell him that he’s wrong. Maybe I was a flirt in the past, but at every party I go to now, the only person I want to see is him. I miss him. I miss our late-night conversations at their house when Maddie went to sleep and I had nothing better to do than stay up. I’d join Ethan in the kitchen, and we’d have a bowl of ice cream and talk until the wee hours of the morning. Then we fucked and everything changed. I had to choose between my parents and him, and it’ll always be them.
Instead, I say nothing, because staying silent is better than telling him I was too chickenshit to tell my parents they were wrong about him.
When we make it to his car, he tucks me into the passenger seat and reaches over to buckle me in. I want to sink my fingers into his disheveled blond hair, but I refrain and close my eyes instead.
“You okay?” he whispers.
My eyes flicker open, and time comes to a halt when Ethan’s gaze dips to my lips before slowly working back up to meet my stare. I’m suddenly aware of how quiet it is a block away from the party. How there isn’t a single soul on these streets to interrupt us if I was to do something incredibly stupid like make a move on him again.
Ethan doesn’t bother to wait for my answer. He breaks the tension by shutting the door and clambering into the driver’s side. My heart flutters when he passes me a bottle of water sitting in the cupholder. “You should drink this,” he says. “It’ll help.”
And for the next five minutes, I sip my water while he drums his fingertips on the steering wheel. I shouldn’t be bothered by the silence, but our friendship was never like this. It was teasing, flirtatious, andfun. I want to get back on common ground; I just don’t know how. Flirting with him would send the wrong impression when we can’t ever get back to the place we were in five months ago.
The world isn’t spinning nearly as much when we make it back to my dorm room. I’m expecting Ethan to tell me goodbye, but instead, he follows me into my room and eyes the empty bed adjacent to mine. “You don’t have a roommate?”
“Not yet. Maybe she’ll get here on Monday when classes start.” I collapse onto my bed, hair fanning out around me, and the breath stalls in my lungs when Ethan approaches and stands over me in a way that shouldn’t be as domineering as it is. His eyes remain locked on mine as he grabs my foot and fumbles to get the strap of my heel off, then doing the same with the other. Then he examines my dresser, his eyebrows scrunched up in an agonizingly cute way. “Where are the makeup things?”
I tilt my head to the side.“Makeup things?”
“Yeah. Those things you use to wipe off your makeup.”
“Ethan.” Is my vision blurry from the alcohol or my tears? “You don’t have to do this.”
“Please.” He scoffs, continuing to scan and remaining oblivious to the emotional reaction I’m having. “You’re a licensed cosmetologist, Maya, and you fail to realize we grew up around each other. Your skincare routine is right up there with your fascination withThe Bachelor.”
That gets a laugh out of me. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for romance and glowy skin.” I point to the spot beside my lipstick case. “It’s that orange pack.”
I sit up, and after he grabs a wipe, Ethan steps between my legs and tilts my chin up. I’m utter putty when he gently wipes my makeup off, taking his time and ensuring there’s none left behind. He runs one last swipe over my lips, his thumb tracing the motion afterward. My pulse skyrockets from the contact, and I’m afraid if he doesn’t step away from me right now I’m going to drag him onto this mattress with me.
“You should be good now,” he says raspingly, his voice rougher than normal. He steps away and turns for the door.
“Wait,” I blurt. “I really don’t want to ask you to do this, but I can’t reach the zipper of my dress.” I’m not lying. Destiny had to get me into the skintight number before we left together, and without her here, it’ll be hopeless trying to get out of it.
Ethan clears his throat and instructs me to turn around, and all I can think about is that night in the hot tub when I taught him how to fuck. When he surprised me by bending me over and nipping at my ass, almost like he’s wanted to do it for years.
I’m a sweltering, wet mess when he steps behind me and tugs the zipper down. The dress falls to my feet before either of us can catch it, and although I shouldn’t, I relish the strangled noise that leaves his throat. I’m not wearing a bra, which means the only thing he sees is my ass in a neon-pink thong.
The last thing I want is to lead him on, so I spin around and scramble to pick up the dress. Ethan juts a hand out to stop me. He does a slow, heated perusal of my exposed skin—like he didn’t get a good look before and is trying to etch it into his memory now.
Alcohol still runs through my veins, and my hormones are overpowering the logical part of my brain. Ethanstoppedme from putting on the dress, though, and that awakens the flirtatious, horny part of my brain that should be shut off.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
Hehuffs a laugh, no sign of anger or irritation. But that’s how Ethan is. He’s too good of a guy, always thinking of others.
Too good for me.
“The thong is cute, Maya. Very you.”
There. A glimmer into the past of a friendship I longed for. Or not a friendship, since this is definitely not what friends do, but it’s us, and I’ve missed it. The humor. The banter. The flirting. I don’t wish we’d never slept together, because that night is something I’ll cherish forever, but do I wish things could be different? Of course I do. If he could battle his anxiety and take a chance on himself to find what he’s passionate about, maybe then my parents would see what I see in him.
But he’s still living life by the seat of his pants, so despite my body urging me to tell him to come show me just how cute he thinks this thong is, I have to sober up, listen to my head, and be rational about this. Starting things back up with Ethan will only result in heartbreak.
“Do you need anything else before I go?” he asks.
“No,” I whisper, ignoring the way my heart clenches. “Thanks, Ethan.”
And when the door clicks shut behind him, I’m left with a nauseated feeling that has nothing to do with the alcohol and everything to do with how wrong it feels to be without him.
