Chapter 21 - Margot
Margot
Istir my drink for the third time, watching the lime wedge do slow laps through the ice.
Across the table, Tyler is explaining his fantasy football league in painstaking detail. I’m so beyond lost that I don’t even know what questions to ask. I nod or smile whenever it feels appropriate, but mostly I’m just trying to keep my expression from going completely blank.
More importantly, I’m trying to keep my mind from wandering back to Ethan. It’s not an easy task, but it’s a very necessary one. And truthfully, it’s the only reason I’m on this date tonight.
One glance at Tyler’s profile told me that we have absolutely nothing in common.
The three hobbies he listed were football, going to the gym, and chilling.
I’m clueless about two of those things and skeptical that the third actually qualifies as a hobby.
But he seemed nice enough. His messages were polite and included full, intelligible sentences—a rarity on dating apps, I’ve learned.
“So, that’s pretty much my draft strategy,” he concludes, taking a sip of his IPA.
“Oh, that’s…” a lot of words I didn’t understand “… interesting.”
He grimaces. “Sorry, I tend to talk too much when I’m nervous.”
“Well, I tend to talk too little when I’m nervous, so I guess we’re a good match.”
This, of course, is not true. Luckily, Tyler flashes a strained smile across the table that assures me he is also aware that this is not a love connection. But I don’t really need a love connection at the moment; I need a distraction.
As predicted, my heart has been all tangled up with unwanted emotions ever since Ethan and I slept together.
It doesn’t matter how much I try to remind myself that he was just doing me a favor, much like picking up lunch or lending me a phone charger.
I don’t want things to be weird between us now, and I certainly don’t want Ethan to think he made a mistake.
I need to prove to him—and to myself—that I’m perfectly capable of moving on.
So, here I am… moving on.
Absolutely not thinking about Ethan at all. And certainly not wondering if Ethan is also moving on right now with some random woman he met at the hotel bar.
The thought makes my stomach twist and my appetite vanish into thin air. Fortunately, there’s no food in sight. We’ve apologetically sent the waiter away three times already without ordering anything because Tyler was too busy explaining his draft picks to look at the menu.
I take a sip of my drink, my gaze roaming the restaurant. That’s when I see him.
My heart stutters, along with my straw as I drain the last of my gin and tonic.
Ethan strides through the restaurant like he owns the place.
He’s wearing a tailored navy blue suit and a white shirt with the first two buttons undone.
His eyes scan the tables with purpose before connecting with mine.
I sit up a little straighter, my brow quirking with confusion.
He doesn’t slow down, doesn’t smile. In fact, this is the closest to pissed I’ve ever seen Ethan North look.
Tyler is talking again. About what? I have no idea. But when Ethan stops abruptly at our table, Tyler’s voice trails off and confusion clouds his features.
I try to act casual, like my pulse isn’t racing and my cheeks aren’t actively on fire.
“Ethan, what are you doing here?” I ask.
“I need to talk to you,” he replies, voice clipped and firm, like the matter is already settled.
Curiosity tugs at me with enough force to make standing up and following Ethan feel like the most natural thing in the world, but social decorum dictates that I should at least pretend to object to this disruption.
My eyes shift uneasily to Tyler then back to Ethan. “I’m sort of on a date right now. Can this wait?”
“No,” Ethan says.
Luckily, Tyler seems more confused than annoyed when he turns to me and asks, “Do you know this guy?”
I nod. “He’s my boss.”
“Why is he here?”
I shake my head and shrug at the same time, emphasizing that I am just as confused as he is.
Finally, Ethan acknowledges Tyler’s existence by addressing him directly. “Look, nothing personal, but this date is over. She’s coming with me.”
“What?!” The word flies out of my mouth with a laugh that’s half nerves, half amusement at the absurdity of this statement. “Ethan, you can’t just show up and declare that my date is over. What are you thinking?” Glancing at Tyler, I say, “I’m sorry about this.”
“Don’t be,” Ethan says. He pulls a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and tosses it onto the table. “Your dinner’s on me,” he tells Tyler. Then he turns to me, tilts his head towards the exit, and says, “Let’s go.”
At this point, I’m so stunned that I simply comply with Ethan’s demand, but not before giving Tyler one last apologetic look and repeating, “I’m so sorry.”
Before I catch Tyler’s reaction, Ethan’s hand is at the small of my back, steering me through the restaurant and out the door. Indignation overtakes my curiosity, and I march beside him, lips pursed and heels clicking angrily.
Ethan is silent the entire walk to his car, his chiseled jaw set tight.
He’s giving off a confusing mix of irritation and something else I can’t quite identify.
Even though I should be outraged over being dragged away from my perfectly adequate date, I can’t help the hope and excitement flickering through my veins.
But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him off that easily.
He opens the passenger door of his dark gray SUV and motions for me to get in like he’s being chivalrous instead of completely deranged right now. I dig my heels a little harder into the asphalt.
“Ethan, what’s happening? Is everything okay?” I ask.
“Everything’s fine. Just get in the car, please.”
I cross my arms. “You can’t just show up here, crash my date, and demand that I get in your car. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on.”
The intensity of Ethan’s stare steals the air from my lungs.
He takes a step forward, leaving a mere inch or two of space between us.
His eyes dip lower, roaming over my red dress (yes, the same one I wore on our practice date weeks ago) like he’s calculating the quickest way to rip it off.
I suck in a shaky breath, allowing Ethan’s familiar scent to fill my lungs.
He always smells like a cool ocean breeze, even though we’re nowhere near an ocean.
When he speaks, his breath grazes my skin, and the low timbre of his voice vibrates through me. “I’m fixing a mistake.”
“What mistake is that?” I ask.
“The one where I said that one time with you would be enough. That if we just slept together once, I would get these feelings I’m having for you out of my system.”
My stomach swoops, making me feel dizzy and off balance. Did Ethan North, Denver’s Most Eligible (and adamantly eternal) Bachelor just admit that he has feelings for me? That can’t possibly be right. How strong was that gin and tonic?
I swallow, but my throat feels clogged, my voice barely above a whisper when I ask, “But it wasn’t enough?”.
The shred of space between us is filled entirely by Ethan. His breath, his scent, his presence.
He shakes his head. “No, Margot, it wasn’t.
In fact, it had the opposite effect. When you said you were going on a date with someone else tonight, it made me crazy.
It was all I could think about. Then I show up here and you’re wearing this dress…
” His eyes flick to my shoulder, where he runs a finger between the thin strap of my dress and my bare skin underneath.
A shiver tumbles down my spine and settles between my thighs. “It’s making me strangely… possessive.”
Ethan studies the strap like he’s testing for weak spots.
Briefly, I ponder how much I would object if he ripped my dress off, right here and now.
If he just had to have me. It’s hard to find that very objectionable at all.
However, the distant sound of voices and vehicles drags me back to reality, but not before I file urgent, passionate public sex with Ethan away in my brain for later use.
It sounds like I may not need to rely on some far-fetched fantasy version of Ethan tonight. He’s standing right here in front of me, offering me something I’m not sure I actually understand. And because I’m nothing if not analytical, my brain takes over where my body leaves off.
“So, you want… more?”
He nods.
I press my lips together, testing the words within the safety of my mouth before letting them loose into the world.
Carefully, I ask, “So, what does that mean for us? Would we be… together? Dating? A couple?”
In an act of self-preservation, my eyes drop to the ground as the last word leaves my mouth.
Seeing Ethan react with surprise—or worse, disgust—would be too devastating.
But before I let Ethan take me back to his house and ravish me until sunrise, I need to know the answer.
I don’t need a commitment from him, not right now at least, but I need to be able to manage my expectations.
Ethan’s physical reaction is nearly imperceptible, but the shift in his demeanor is palpable.
Sobering earnestness replaces blatant desire like clouds suddenly blocking the afternoon sun.
He shifts away, if not physically then certainly mentally, and I feel the loss of his heat all the way to my core.
“I don’t know,” he admits.
The sharp, hollow feeling in my chest causes me to visibly flinch. Ethan studies me for a few long seconds, tense and contemplative.
“I don’t know where this goes, Margot,” There’s something fragile and earnest in his voice, both an apology and a warning. “All I know is that once wasn’t enough. Pretending otherwise isn’t working, but I don’t want to make any promises that I can’t keep. Can you live with that?”