Chapter 10
TATUM
My head buzzes as Ethan pulls into the lot of Oakridge Hall and parks. I grapple with the door, growling in frustration when I can’t seem to get it open.
Chuckling, Ethan gets out and rounds the car, opening the passenger door easily and offering me his arm when he sees I’m unsteady on my feet.
With a small smile, I hook my arm in his, clinging to him like a baby sloth as he guides us inside and to my dorm room with ease.
Why the hell did I drink so much? The question bounces around inside my head as I struggle with my keys.
The hallway spins, and I stumble, the key missing the lock entirely when Ethan’s arm tightens around my waist, steadying me. “Easy,” he says, his tone amused. “Why don’t you let me do this?” He gently removes the keys from my loosened grip.
Within seconds, he has the door open and is guiding me inside my suite and to my bedroom, where I flop down on my small bed with a sigh.
The ride here was mostly quiet, and even though I’m completely wasted, it’s not lost on me how upset he must be.
My thoughts drift back to the party. To the shock of seeing Brandon’s body in the moonlight. To the look of challenge in his eyes when he asked Ethan if he trusted me with him, and the way Ethan’s dark eyes hardened in return when I admitted I once had a crush on my best friend.
Shit. Why did I have to go and get shit-faced?
My stupid crush was a secret never meant to be shared. One I’d kept in the darkest, deepest recesses of my mind.
But I’m not a liar. Even drunk. And now I have to deal with the cost of my honesty.
The little crease in his brow tells me he’s lost in thought as he kicks off his shoes, then kneels in front of me, unbuckling my sandals without asking. One by one, he places them on the floor by my desk, and I hate that he’s being so sweet when I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve him.
What kind of girlfriend ogles her best friend right in front of her boyfriend?
And, God, I had ogled him. I’ve seen Brandon in swim trunks a hundred times over the years, but I never remembered his body looking like that.
Like Polykleitos himself had carved him from marble.
I probably would’ve stayed like that, frozen as I drank him in, had Ethan not whispered in my ear that I was embarrassing both myself and him by staring.
Every second that passes without us speaking feels like a loaded gun—quiet now, but seconds away from going off.
Without a word, he drags the desk chair across from us closer to my bed and sits, far enough away that I can feel the distance, close enough to reach out and touch if I wanted.
The tension stretches between us like a rubber band until I can no longer take it. “I know you’re upset,” I start, unsure of how to broach this, wishing again I were sober. “Maybe we should talk about it.”
“You mean, about the fact that you admitted you once had feelings for your best friend? The one person you spend all your time with when I’m not around?”
I bite my lip and glance away. “It was a long time ago.”
“High school wasn’t that long ago.”
“Ethan . . .” I plead, reaching for him and panicking when he pulls away. “We’re friends, that’s all. We’ve never been more than that.”
He glances away from me, like he can’t stand the sight of me. The muscle in his cheek tightens and it feels like minutes before he finally says, “Then maybe you should tell that to him.”
I laugh before I realize my mistake, because Brandon has never thought of me as anything other than a friend. In fact, I’m the complete opposite of the girls he’s into. But Ethan’s entirely serious.
“Brandon doesn’t like girls like me,” I say when he doesn’t laugh.
Ethan scoffs. “The way he looks at you . . . and the way he talked down to me tonight . . .”
“He’s just being overprotective. And the transfer thing took him by surprise, so he’s understandably upset.”
And I don’t think he’s used to sharing.
“Well, whatever it is, I don’t like it.” Ethan cracks his knuckles before standing and sinking down on the bed beside me. “And I hate that he gets to see you every day, and I don’t.”
He doesn’t see me every day. But somehow, I don’t think that’ll make Ethan feel any better, so I reach out and thread my fingers through his hair, staring down at our intertwined hands when I say, “Once I’m at Michigan State, we’ll have all the time in the world to spend together.”
“You’re not backing out? You’re still planning on transferring to be with me?” he asks, turning to search my eyes for the truth.
“Of course,” I breathe.
Sighing, he presses his forehead to mine, and I hate the way my thoughts drift to Brandon. “You know I love you, Tatum.”
I suck in a breath, jerking back to look into his dark eyes, sure I misheard him. “You . . .”
“I love you,” he repeats. “And I pray to God you feel the same, because it would kill me if you didn’t.”
I swallow, wanting to say the words back to him, frustrated when they form a lump in my throat I can’t seem to choke down.
My stomach squeezes, and I blame it on the booze.
His gaze turns expectant as I sit there in silence.
My boyfriend just told me he loves me, and suddenly I’m tongue-tied?
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Of course I feel the same,” I finally manage, because it’s the closest I can get without muttering those three stupid words that just won’t seem to come.
Doubt flickers through his eyes, but before he can question it, I crush my mouth to his.
I need to erase the uncertainty I’ve created, so I put everything I have into this kiss. Maybe I can’t say the words, but I can show him.
His lips are warm, familiar against mine in a way that eases some of the rising tension in my chest. I press closer, threading my fingers through his hair when his hands find my waist.
The room spins—from the alcohol or from the intensity between us, I’m not sure—but it’s like an out-of-body experience, as if I’m experiencing all of these sensations from some distant place.
His tongue slides against mine as he presses me back against the mattress, his weight shifting over me as his kisses grow more insistent.
His hands slide under my shirt, fingers skimming over my ribs, leaving goose bumps in their wake.
“Let me show you how much I love you,” he murmurs against my neck.
His breath is hot on my skin, and my head swims as he tugs at the material separating me from him before he lifts it over my head in one fluid motion. The cool air hits me like a slap, and a moment of clarity cuts through the alcohol haze.
What am I doing?
“Ethan, wait—” I gasp as his lips find my collarbone, his weight pressing me deeper into the mattress.
“I’ve been waiting,” he murmurs, fingers working at the clasp of my bra. “For months.”
I shiver as the room tilts again. Nausea turns my stomach, forcing me to close my eyes. I try to work through the fog of my thoughts, but it’s too hard. Everything is muddled, my head swimming as the clasp of my bra gives way.
“You’re so beautiful,’ he whispers, squeezing one of my breasts hard.
“Ow!”
He chuckles against my skin, replacing his hand with his mouth as he murmurs, “Sorry.”
“Wait. Ethan . . . maybe we should wait. I’m drunk and . . .” My voice quivers as I trail off, wondering why I feel like I’m going to cry.
He lifts his head, finally. “And what?” he asks, his breathing heavy.
I swallow, watching the emotions flicker over his face.
“I thought you wanted this, wanted us?” he asks.
My heart pounds as I try and think of a way to explain how I’m feeling. But it’s impossible when I don’t even understand the trepidation creeping through my veins.
“I do want us. It’s just—”
“I get it.” He shifts his body off mine until he’s kneeling beside me.
“You . . . you do?”
“It’s him, right?” He grabs the back of his neck. “I mean, it has to be.”
“What? No.” I shake my head as the memory of Brandon in his boxer briefs flashes through my head, and my cheeks flush. Not now, Tate.
“Brandon has nothing to do with this,” I say, wholly believing it.
Ethan snorts. “I wish I could believe you, but we’ve been on this trajectory for months, and now, all of sudden, you’re putting on the brakes. Shit, Tatum, what am I supposed to think?”
Have we been on this trajectory? Maybe he’s right. It’s not like I have much experience with dating, and we’ve been together for three months. He just said he loves me, and only a week ago, I would’ve said I’m falling. What more do I want? What more do I need from him before we . . .
Grow up, Tatum. You’re twenty-one years old, not twelve. This is what women your age in committed relationships do.
But I can’t fully erase the part of me that still has reservations. The one that reminds myself I’ve waited this long, and maybe it’s childish, but I thought it would be different. I thought my first would be special.
I blink and Ethan stares down at me, waiting for an answer.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” The hot press of tears stings the back of my eyes as I repeat myself. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Maybe I should just leave,” he says, starting to get up.
“No.” My hand darts out, grabbing his arm and bringing him back to me, afraid that if he walks out, he won’t come back. “I just . . . I care about you so much. It’s just that I’ve had a lot to drink, so my head’s a little fuzzy, and . . . and I want it to be good between us.”
He nods, shifting over me as he brushes a lock of hair from my face. “Then show me.”
His words hit me like ice water, and I shudder.
“If you care about me like you say, this is your chance to prove it,” he adds, his tone tender as he searches my eyes for signs I don’t want him.
It feels like an eternity passes between us in the silence.
Until finally, I meet his eyes, and I surrender. “Okay,” I whisper.
I stir in bed, instantly regretting the moment I blink my eyes open.
With a groan, I roll away from the sun filtering through my dorm window and smack into a hard wall.
Wait. Not a wall. Ethan.