His expression darkens. Point: Alison. “I’m talking to you now.”
I press my advantage, pleased by how rigid his shoulders are. “You’re evading my question.”
He drops his gaze. “Of course it didn’t affect me,” he replies quickly, clearly annoyed to have lost ground. “The kiss was meaningless, inconsequential”—his eyes find mine—“Totally unremarkable.” He delivers the insult with the perfect enunciation I recognize from his closing arguments in classroom debates. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
Point: Ethan. His jab lands, bruising my pride more than I thought possible. But I remind myself I knew he only kissed me out of revenge—not one iota of wanting—and I don’t let my expression waver. “Obviously,” I reply, refusing to break eye contact.
“You say that a lot. Obviously. It’s like you think you’re the first one to have every answer.” His posture’s relaxed again, but there’s a charge to his words I don’t recognize. My face feels flushed, and I hope to god I’m not blushing under his stare. I need out of this conversation.
“I often am,” I say easily, heading for the door.
He doesn’t move from where he’s leaning on the doorframe. I step closer, waiting, not touching him, expecting him to withdraw. But his body blocks the doorway. There’s fire in his eyes, his lips sharp and challenging. The sound from the party has faded completely beneath the rush of blood in my veins, and I feel my fingertips tingling, itching for action. I’m suddenly hyperaware of all the air around us, like I could light a match and send this whole room up in flames. It’s uniquely tempting.
“You’re in my way.” My voice is embarrassingly uneven. We’re toe to toe. My chest would brush his if I were able to take a deep breath, but his gaze has me pinned. To be the center of his ever-shifting focus feels intoxicatingly dangerous. Ethan’s eyes flicker over me, his expression pained. “Are you all right?” I ask.
“No, Alison. I’m not.” I’ve never seen him look so defeated.
I open my mouth to order him out of my way, but the words never leave my throat, swallowed by his lips. They meet mine, hot and insistent, our bodies hurtling together.
It’s somehow more electric this time. The surprise is dulled, the kiss no longer a total shock to my system, allowing me to feel everything more acutely without the distraction of disbelief. My thoughts shut off, and I savor the weightless tug in my stomach, the perfect dizziness brought on by the brush of his tongue. I’ve been kissed before, but never like this. Never with this much intensity, like we both know it’s only a matter of time before someone breaks this off, and we want to get as close as possible before then.
It’s a blitz. Not raced across pages with pens and printed ink. But urged on with fingers entwined, heartbeats colliding, lips pressing deeper, harder.
He tears his hand free long enough to swing his bedroom door shut behind us, his mouth never leaving mine. If this is just for revenge, it feels like Ethan’s really into revenge. I grab his collar, pulling him tightly to me. So, it appears, am I. His hands fist, then smooth down my back as he tugs my shirt up from where it’s tucked into my pants. When his fingers brush the bare skin of my stomach, I make a noise like a moan or a sigh, and I can feel Ethan’s lips turn smug under mine. Point: Ethan.
His conceited satisfaction flames the heat in me. “This,” I say, breaking off between breathless kisses, “is”—I pant—“meaningless.”
His mouth twitches. I think I’ve almost made him laugh, but he kisses me again. “Inconsequential,” he adds, his voice gravelly.
“Totally—”
He cuts me off with tongue. “Unremarkable,” he finishes, forcing emotion out of the word.
I grip him harder, annoyed I can’t get the upper hand. I kiss him more fiercely, tangling my hands in his hair. His breathing is ragged, but it’s not enough. When I feel the tremor in his hand as he explores my midriff, I realize how I can win. Keeping my eyes on his, I draw back just long enough to pull my shirt over my head. I drop it at our feet. The moment his gaze dips down to my chest, his expression tightens. He doesn’t look away until I bring his mouth back to mine.
Point: Alison.
His kisses come faster. I can feel him losing control. The fervor in his touch, his pounding heartbeat, his shallow breaths. While this may have started as payback, I don’t think he was prepared for this. For wanting me as badly as I know he does. This isn’t the Ethan with the perfect detached comeback, the impassive expression, the dry glance. This is Ethan on the edge, fighting desperately to right himself. He’s skidding on wet pavement, knowing if he brakes he’ll spin out, flip, crash. So he doesn’t, he rides it, waiting, hoping to feel the road under him again.
I don’t object when he walks me back to his bed. His hands leave my hair, darting to the buttons of his shirt. I feel his knuckles at my chest, fumbling to undo one button, then the next. Impatient, I knock his hand aside, unbuttoning three buttons, exposing a triangle of skin at his chest I’ve never seen before. His hands move to the bottom of his shirt, working his way up, racing me. We meet in the middle, and I shove his shirt from his shoulders, my skin singing at the new contact.
Heat is building between us, and I don’t know how far we’re planning to take this. We fall into his unmade bed, the smell of Ethan suddenly everywhere. It’s like my thoughts have stalled, unable to keep up with the contradicting desires coursing through me. Distantly, I know I should have a hundred questions right now. Important questions. What this means, why now, whether this is somehow real—they’re obliterated under the brush of his fingers on the curve of my rib cage.
He’s kissing my neck when I feel my phone buzz in my pocket. I ignore it. Ethan hesitates, though. We’re pressed so close together, he must have felt the vibration. I make no move to check whatever text I’ve received, already feeling the pull between us fading. I don’t want it to, not yet. I reach my chin up, catching his bottom lip between my teeth, and he makes a rough noise in the back of his throat. Everything inside me leaps when his hand grips mine on the pillow above my head.
My phone buzzes again.
We both still. The interruption is enough. Without the heady distraction of his kiss, his hands’ slow exploration of my skin, my mind can finally form complete thoughts. What did I just do? Horror cools my heated blood.
“Maybe you should get that,” Ethan says above me. His voice is rigid, his expression stony. He’s realized what I have, and he’s equally displeased.
“Right.” I scramble out from under him, ignoring the fuller view I’m given of Ethan’s shirtless chest. His chest that was just pressed sweaty and hot to mine. I’m dreaming—no, having a nightmare. This cannot possibly be happening.