But those rational reasons don’t hold up while Ethan’s kissing me like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing.
It’s magnetic. We’re pressed to each other, skin and lips and breaths aligned, like the pages of a closed book. I feel his fingers on my back, in my hair, trailing shivers with his touch. His mouth is hot on mine. I cling tighter, wanting the heat.
I’ve known Ethan’s got a couple inches on me. I’d resented the height difference, hating how nature itself decided to give him the upper hand. Right now, I don’t dislike the opportunities it presents. The unconscious necessity of raising my chin to kiss him, giving him room to bring one hand to the curve of my neck.
It’s unlike the locker hall or the party. While our first kisses felt like collisions, this one feels like running hand-in-hand into whatever we’re going to be.
His lips part from mine for one moment. “This skirt is nice,” he says. He runs his hand up the fabric of my pleated skirt, planting his next kiss on my neck.
“You hate this skirt,” I murmur, remembering the last time I wore it, he specifically commented that he loathed my wardrobe.
“Hmm. I like it now,” he replies immediately, like he’s hardly registered what I said. His fingers move up to trace the V-neck of my sweater. “I like this too.”
Surprise surfaces above the sensations overwhelming me. I pull away, heart still racing while confusion seeps in. “What did you just say?”
“I said you look nice,” he says. I feel his hand on my waist, pulling me closer again. “Is that a problem?”
I stay where I am. “What are you playing at?” I’m searching for his next trap, struggling past how dizzy my head still is with him. But I don’t find it. It feels striking how fast my emotions shift, passion spiraling into skepticism.
“Shit, I’m just complimenting you,” Ethan says, lightly indignant.
“Why?”
Impatience hardens his features. “I need a reason?”
I step out of his arms. “Yes, Ethan. You do.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He shoves the hand that was just moments ago sliding up my thigh into his pocket.
“I want a straight answer.” I push aside his fervent kisses, flirtatious texts, his invitation to have fun. “Did you kiss me that day in the locker hall as some sort of payback?”
His eyes widen. “Payback?”
“For pulling your story from the Chronicle.”
He laughs, short and bitter. “First, I didn’t kiss you. Second, how could our kiss possibly figure into any kind of payback?”
“It’s not payback to make me think I might want you?” The word gets strangled in my throat, but I don’t drop his gaze. “To mess with my head that way, then pick the perfect time to drop me when it’ll humiliate or cost me?”
Ethan’s silent for a moment, his shoulders rigid. “Not everything is about our rivalry, Alison,” he finally says, his tone dangerous.
“You know it is.” His denial sends my heart pounding. For years, absolutely everything has been about competing, winning. Endless late nights, obscenely early mornings, frantically written essays—it’s all been for one thing. Hasn’t it?
“Not this.”
“Then why?” I ask. I’m desperate now, more so than ever. I thought I understood, but his words have destroyed every conviction I’ve been clinging to, leaving me defenseless.
He doesn’t say anything. His eyes leave mine, dropping to the floor.
My blood freezes. No. It’s not possible. It can’t be. “Why, Ethan?”
Green irises flick up. His jaw is squared, ready for the impossible, and I already know.
“Why?” I ask. I need him to say it.
“Because, despite everything, I’m attracted to you.” He reaches for my elbow, caressing with some combination of urgency and frustration. Half resistant, half enthralled. In the bright bathroom light, I catch every uncomfortable flicker of his expression. This confession isn’t a victory, it’s a vulnerability. Ethan’s never vulnerable. “Because I like you. There. Are you happy now?”
“You . . . like me.” I’m mute except to repeat his words. It’s unthinkable. Nothing, none of it was a game. This . . . is real. Or it could be. If I let it.
Ethan’s irritation visibly increases. “Unfortunately,” he says. I pace the floor from the sink to the window, glancing up every couple steps, studying him like a formula I don’t recognize on my homework. “Do you have anything to say in response?” he prompts when I’ve stayed silent for too long.
I stop, facing him. “I failed my driving test.”
Ethan opens his mouth, the instinctive way he does when we’re mid-fight. Then he closes it. “I’m sorry, did you just say you failed?” he finally asks.
“Yes. I failed, Ethan. Texting with you left me completely distracted.” It feels like I’m reminding myself. The heat coursing through me isn’t the good kind. It’s annoyance and shame I keep letting myself hook up with the source of my every misfortune. Predictably, Ethan’s stunned expression splits, and he laughs. He literally laughs right in my face. My cheeks redden further. “So hilarious,” I say, crossing my arms. “Alison Sanger failed something. You win.”
I head for the door, passing him. He catches my arm.
“I didn’t text you to mess with you,” he says. I search his eyes. “Honest. I really was just trying to flirt with you.” He pulls me toward him, reaching for my hands. I let him. What’s more, I believe him. While sabotaging me would be fiercely in character, deflecting the credit for it isn’t. If he’s not gloating, something is very different. “Not that I’m not amused you failed,” he adds, humor in his voice now.
I shove his shoulder. “You’re serious.” I say, softening. “You like me.”
He nods.
I narrow my eyes. “When did you know?”
Ethan grins wryly. “You’re going to keep rubbing it in my face, aren’t you?”
“Wouldn’t want to disappoint,” I confirm.
“I guess I realized after my party,” he says eventually, neither humorous or resentful. “When we first kissed, I was . . . surprised. I’d never thought about you like that.”
“Is this still flirting? I can’t tell,” I reply dryly.
“Like you’d ever thought about me that way, either.”
“Fair,” I say, resting my hips against the marble counter behind me. Ethan’s hand moves to grip the ledge, his waist pressing mine. “I knew you were objectively attractive, but not in a way that interested me.”