Chapter Eleven
Ethan
I sit on the last bench of the last train leaving the city toward Cliffton Heights. Gil’s five rows up and over from me. With my takeout containers next to me, I wait, knowing this is the worst decision I could’ve made. But for some reason when it comes to Blanca Mancini, I have no restraint.
My dad was unable to join us today, which left me as the only one my mom could play twenty questions with since my sister Kori said she had a project at work she couldn’t get away from.
I check my watch. Just as I close my eyes thinking Blanca must’ve took an earlier train, the doors open and my eyes spring open. She’s like a vision standing there on the far end of the train. Her smile is immediate as is the pink flush to her cheeks. Why do I love to torture myself?
I watch her closely as she walks down and places a container next to Gil and continues her way to the bench across from me.
“Are you stalking me, Ethan Ryland?”
“I told you I was, so you shouldn’t be surprised.”
She laughs and it’s the best sound I’ve heard all day. It’s all a bad idea. The fact that she’s across from me after another shitty Sunday. Every week I leave my mom’s with a mix of knotted up emotions I can’t unravel. Now two weeks in a row she’s like an angel who makes me forget all the shit I’m leaving behind for another seven days.
“It’s sick that I hoped I’d find you here. What does that say about me?” she asks.
I get up from my seat, leaving my food and bag, sitting down next to her. “That you can’t get that kiss out of your head.”
“Ethan,” she sighs and stares out the window.
The train jolts and starts moving down the track. More tension leaves my body as the distance grows between my past and my future.
The expression on Blanca’s face looks pained when she glances over at me.
“What?”
“This.” She waves her finger between us. “The hot and cold.”
“I wasn’t aware there was any cold.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Really? You gave me the cold shoulder Friday afternoon, then kissed me breathless and ran out of the elevator? I’d say that’s the definition of hot and cold.”
Of course, she’s right. But the high of finishing an article is nothing to joke around about. I always want to party and celebrate, but Friday afternoon, I wanted to throw Blanca over my shoulder, drag her to my apartment, and fuck her six ways to Sunday. Because she would be the ultimate celebration.
“I’m sorry. I’m not mature when it comes to my feelings.”
She laughs because she gets my humor. Although there’s always some truth inside a joke. “Seriously, what’s your plan here?”
I shrug. “I like you.”
She sighs.
“Do you like me?” I ask.
“Are you sure you don’t want to pass me a note where I check off yes or no?”
I reach over to my bench and grab the tortilla espanola I made. “Here.”
“You’re dodging the question with food?”
“I am.”
She breaks off a piece and holds it over her open palm, bringing it to her mouth. “Umm.”
“You like it?”
She swallows. “I do.” Then her eyes grow wide. “Oh, I’m sorry do those two words make you itch?”
I stare blankly at her and shake my head. “Not at all. If you hadn’t shown up Monday morning at my office, I guarantee you I’d be offering to put more in your mouth than my espanola right now.”
Her gaze turns heated and I notice the way she pushes her legs together. “I’m wondering how long you can hold out.”
I shift in my seat in an attempt to make room for the blood rushing to my dick. My head falls back to the seat and I inhale a deep breath.
Blanca busies herself getting her leftovers out. “I cut the chicken parmesan into small bites and I brought you a fork.” She passes me over a plastic fork. “Disclaimer, I had nothing to do with this meal.”
“Didn’t let your brother ruin it?”
Her jaw ticks. “No.”
I fork a piece of chicken and eat it. It’s so delicious it makes me want to cook Italian. I’ve only ever really cooked Spanish or American food. “It’s delicious.”
“Maybe one Sunday you could come to my parent’s house. They live in Carroll Gardens. Where are you from?”
I stall until I realize she’s not going to let me not answer. “Mont Haven.”
“Bronx.” She doesn’t have the same tone to her voice most do when I tell them. Not like I tell many people though. The only person who really knows where I’m from is Dylan and that’s only because he met me the first day of freshman orientation.
“And your family? You never really mention them.”
“My mom loves my caramel chocolate chip bars.” I grab the container and open it for her. “Try one.”
Her mouth hangs open and she takes one like she’s trying to dodge the stickiness of the caramel. I’d lick the remnants off her finger if she were mine. Placing it on her tongue, her mouth closes and her eyes light up as she chews and swallows. “Have you ever thought of being a baker?”
“Nah, I learned because sweets made my mom and sister happy when I was younger.”
She lets the topic go and doesn’t pry for more information. Blanca’s polite and understands my need for privacy and I feel bad that I’ve left her in limbo like she said. Taking her on a date that I said wasn’t a date, then bringing her bagel, flirting with her non-stop, kissing her in the elevator and bolting afterward.
I place my hand on her knee and she twitches at first, then relaxes, staring up at me with those doe eyes. What I have to tell her might not even register because she’s lived a happy childhood.
“It’s not fair what I’ve been doing and I’m sorry.”
Her lips tip down in the corner. “Maybe we should draw the line now?”
“Like either friends or more?”
“I’m guessing since you have such a problem dating a co-worker, we’re going with the friends side of that offer.”
Since when did the word friend sound like she should put money in the swear jar after saying it?
“I really like you,” I say, like that’s going to make this any easier.
“So you’ve said.” Her tone isn’t anything like it usually is. Her flirtatiousness has dimmed significantly. She’s mad, I think. “It’s fine. Honestly.”
“PEEKSKIL!” the train conductor announces, and Gil stands up, staring at both the Tupperware containers, confused. He raises them in the air, leaves the train and stumbles down the platform.
Once we’re alone, any resolve I had vanishes. “This is a hard decision for me to make. You have no idea the amount of sleep I’ve lost over it.”
She nods, but she’s looking anywhere but at me.
“Blanca, please understand,” I plead.
Finally, her gaze meets mine. “What exactly do you want from me? To tell you I’m cool with being in limbo? Give you permission to kiss me whenever the mood strikes you and then run away scared?”