5. Ethan #2
“Good to see you, man. Thought the hospital finally swallowed you whole.”
I smile, taking my seat across from him. “Not for lack of trying.”
The conversation flows easily. Work, family, the ongoing disaster of his parents’ divorce.
He talks about it with a kind of weary detachment, like he’s used to it, like he made peace with their dysfunction a long time ago.
He doesn’t mention Ivy, and I don’t bring her up, even though she’s been lingering in the back of my mind all damn morning.
I go through the motions—laugh at the right moments, throw in my usual dry remarks, pretend I’m not distracted. But the longer I sit there, the more I feel an itch under my skin, a low, insistent irritation in my bloodstream.
By the time I leave the restaurant, it’s settled into something darker. I tell myself I just need a distraction and go to a bar. I find a stool at the far end, push up my sleeves, and order a drink.
Sipping slowly, I let the burn settle in my chest, letting the noise wash over me. A woman slides into the seat next to mine, blonde, confident, wearing the kind of perfume that’s meant to be noticed.
She leans in slightly, just enough for it to be intentional. “You here alone?”
I glance at her, take in the way she’s looking at me, already waiting for an invitation.
Saying yes, taking her home, letting her distract me, letting her pull me under and erase the lingering pull in my chest—that would be easy. But I can’t because all I can think about is Ivy.
I see the way she smirked over the rim of her coffee cup. The way her eyes softened for half a second before she put her armor back on. The way she walked away without looking back.
I toss back the rest of my drink, drop some cash on the bar, and stand.
The blonde pouts, tilting her head. “Leaving so soon?”
With a curt not, I move aside, stepping away. “Yeah. Wrong company.”
I don’t mean to drive to Ivy’s Airbnb. But somehow, I find myself parked outside, fingers drumming against the steering wheel, headlights off.
She’s not inside, so I sit there, watching the street, waiting. Maybe just to see her, maybe to prove something to myself, maybe for a reason I don’t care to name.
When she finally appears, she doesn’t see me at first. She moves toward the small cottage-style house, steps light, hair loose around her shoulders, cheeks flushed from the cold. Then her eyes land on me, and everything shifts.
She stops abruptly, her entire posture changing in an instant. Her shoulders stiffen as her gaze turns sharp and wary.
I step out of the car, and the reaction is immediate.
“Ethan?” She goes completely rigid. “What are you doing here?”
I watch her, the way her fingers clench and release, restless, like she’s holding something in that’s threatening to break free. Her shoulders are rigid, tension radiating through every inch of her, as if she’s willing herself to stay perfectly still.
“I wanted to talk,” I say. “You weren’t answering your phone.”
Her eyes are flashing, but the rest of her is rooted in place. “So you just… what? Came to my Airbnb?”
I step closer, lowering my voice. “Ivy, what’s wrong?”
“Were you following me?”
The accusation hits me in all the wrong places, and my brows pull together. “What? No. Why the hell would I?—”
“I don’t know,” she cuts in, voice shrill with what sounds a lot like terror-induced rage. “You tell me.”
I take a step back, my pulse ticking faster. Dread creeps into my gut as I realize she actually thought I was following her.
“Damn, Ivy,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair. “You really don’t trust me, do you?”
Her lips press together, her spine straightening. “I trust you to know when to leave me alone.”
I stare at her in the vain hope that she will see reason. But she merely holds my gaze, chin lifted, walls locked into place. There’s nothing I can do or say to make this better, so I dip my head. “Fine.”
I take another step back, hands loose at my sides, heart hammering hard. “You win. Consider me gone.”
For half a second, something flickers across her face, but there’s no point in waiting to figure out what it means.
Turning, I get in my car and drive, putting distance between myself and that goddamn Airbnb, between myself and her, gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles ache.
The cold seeps into my bones, but it does nothing to dull the sharp, cutting weight pressing into my ribs.
I was a fool to think there was a chance, even for a second.
I don’t know what the hell I was expecting.
She’s Ivy—Drew’s little sister, the one woman I’ve spent years forcing myself not to want, not to look at for too long, not to think about in ways that would break every unspoken rule I’ve ever set for myself.
And yet, I have. More times than I can count.
I’ve spent years watching from the edges, pretending I didn’t notice when she stopped being a wild, rebellious kid and grew into a woman who made it impossible to look away.
That meant long legs and curves, soft lips that could bring a man to his knees, and those eyes—Christ, those fucking eyes—dark and luminous in the same breath, the kind that could strip a man down to nothing with a single look.
I’ve imagined her in ways I shouldn’t. Thought about her in my bed, her back arching, her breathless moans breaking apart in my mouth.
Wondered how she’d taste, how she’d sound when she finally stopped fighting, how she’d feel when she let me take her apart, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but me.
And last night, for the first time, she let me have it. The price I pay is evident in the way she’s shutting me out, closing herself off, running just like she always does.
She’s hiding behind whatever demons have convinced her that men are the enemy, retreating into the walls she’s built so high, no one can touch her. And unless she opens the door, unless she’s willing to let me in, I won’t force my way through.
Even if I want to. Even if I fucking ache to.