Broken Juliet (16 page)

“You were groping her in the goddamn open. What the hell is your problem, man?”

“What’s
your
problem? Can’t handle that she’s moved on with someone else?”

I sigh. All I wanted to do tonight was get drunk and forget about my stupid emotions. Now I’m stuck in the middle of some sort of macho pissing match.

I push between the two men still glaring at each other. “I’m leaving, but by all means, you two keep arguing. It looks like you’re enjoying yourselves.”

Nick grabs my hand. “Wait, Cassie. Please. I’ll drive you home.”

Ethan bristles. “The hell you will.”

“No, Nick,” I say, and turn to face him. “You’re drunk, and I’m walking. Also, I don’t think we should see each other anymore. You did paw me like a creeper, and I’m not cool with that.”

Nick frowns but doesn’t let go of my hand. “Can’t we go somewhere to talk about this?”

“No. Now let me go, or I’ll let Ethan hurt you, and you really don’t want that. He’s good at inflicting pain.”

I don’t miss the expression that passes over Ethan’s face.

When Nick drops my hand, I walk to a pile of coats near the front door and dig until I find mine. Then I pull it on and walk out.

As I close the door behind me, the chill hits my cheeks. When I exhale, a cloud of steam pours from my mouth.

I really just want to go to bed and forget about today. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

I’ve barely gotten to the sidewalk before I hear footsteps behind me.

“Cassie, wait.”

I keep walking. After all this time, why does Ethan choose tonight to break our unspoken rule to stay away from each other?

“Hey. Stop.”

He grabs my arm, and I shove my hands in my pockets as he walks around and stands in front of me.

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” he says. “Let me drive you home.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re shivering.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but I’m about to get into my nice, warm car, and you’re about to freeze your ass off. Come on, I can have you home in twenty minutes. Don’t be stubborn.”

“Hah!
You’re
calling
me
stubborn?”

“Well, I would have said ‘
fucking
stubborn,’ but I’m trying to fucking cut down on my fucking cursing.”

“Funny. Why do you keep swooping in and trying to save me tonight? I don’t need you.”

His mouth twitches. “Oh, I realize that. Over the past year, you’ve made it abundantly clear.”

“Then why are you even bothering?”

He pulls his jacket around him and looks at the ground. “I don’t know. I just figure it’s about time we start being civil to each other. You looked upset tonight, and more than a little drunk. If you stay out here, you could freeze to death. Or worse, run into a drunk asshole like Nick. I’m leaving anyway. Why not let me drive you home?”

I can think of about a thousand reasons, but he’s right. I am freezing my ass off. Still, the thought of spending time with Ethan sends an unwanted thrill of anticipation through me. I inhale the chilly air to dampen the fire.

“Whatever. Take me home.”

He breaks into the most genuine smile I’ve seen on him in a long time.

The fire inside me grows.

Bad idea. Such a bad idea.

His car is like an airtight chamber of Ethan-essence. I’m sober enough to know how much it’s affecting me and drunk enough to not really care. I lean my head back.

Inhale.

Shudder.

Exhale.

Resist watching him drive.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Fine.”

“You look … hot.”

I turn to him.

He blinks and looks away. “Temperature-wise, not…” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

He grips the steering wheel harder. I close my eyes so I can avoid staring at his hands. Or thighs. Or jaw. Or lips.

Dumb tequila. Lowering my defenses. Making me horny.

We drive in silence. It’s uncomfortable. And arousing. We haven’t been this close to each other in ages. In a strangely masochistic way, it satisfies something in me that’s been severely lacking.

When we pull up in front of my apartment building, I almost don’t want to leave. There’s an energy firing between us. One that we’ve both suppressed for a long time. I’ve spent so much time training myself to be numb, I was getting worried that was all I’d ever be. It’s a relief to feel this lusty simmer; like someone who fears they’ll never walk again getting an unexpected tingling in their toes.

I’m about to reluctantly get out of the car when Holt turns off the engine.

I glance over at him. He’s still gripping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead. Tense always did look sexy on him.

He turns in my direction without actually looking at me. “So, you’ve been dating that Nick guy?”

“Sort of.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Why would you? We don’t talk.”

He leans back in his seat, and stares at the clock on the dash. “Did you sleep with him?”

It takes a moment for me to register what he just asked, but when I do, my hands curl into fists.

“Who I’m sleeping with is none of your business.”

“I know that, but—”

“Is that what was happening tonight? Cock-blocking him?”

He turns to me. “Do you seriously believe I’m that petty? I was trying to
protect
you, or were you okay with him shoving your hand down his pants and ignoring your pleas to stop?”

I fiddle with the button on my coat, knowing very well he was looking out for me. I just prefer to make him the bad guy. It means whatever is currently happening between us is easier to ignore.

He sighs and cracks his knuckles. “Forget it. You don’t have to tell me anything. What you do is your business. It was stupid of me to ask.”

He doesn’t say “sorry” but his tone is apologetic enough to persuade me to tell him the truth.

“I didn’t sleep with him.”

He loosens up just a bit, and the look of relief on his face is nearly laughable. “Good. He seemed like a prick. Better to be celibate than sleep with someone not worthy.”

“I didn’t say I was celibate.”

He blinks. “What?”

“You asked if I was sleeping with him. I’m not. But I’m not celibate.”

His browns furrow. “So, what? You’re sleeping with someone else?”

“Well, you could hardly call what we do sleeping.” I shouldn’t torture him with the details, but I really want to.

Silence hangs in the air between us for a few seconds.

“Who?”

“His name’s Buzz. He screws my brains out several times a week. Sometimes multiple times a day.”

Even in the dim glow of the streetlight, I see him go pale. He grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “Is he a student?”

“No.”

“How long have you been … seeing him?”

“About eight months.”

The muscles in his jaw go crazy. “What the hell, Cassie? You were fucking this Buzz asshole while you were going out with Date-Rape Nick?”

“Well, sure. I mean, Nick was okay, but Buzz and I are just about the sex.” I try not to laugh.

He leans his head against the steering wheel. “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t you want to know how we met?”

“No.”

“Ruby introduced us At a sex shop.”

“Please stop talking.”

“She knew just by looking at him that he’d be able to make me come.”

He groans. “Fuck … Cassie. Please…”

“For a while I thought you were the only one who could get me off.”

“… stop…”

“But once I figured out he had multiple speed settings, he made me see stars, and I’ve been devoted to him ever since.”

“Too much fucking information. Literally.” Then he stops, and turns to me. “Wait … multiple speed settings?”

I have to smile. “Yep.”

He stares. “So Buzz is your … uh…”

“Vibrator. His full name is Sir Buzzalot. Best orgasms money can buy.”

He closes his eyes. “Yeah, you’d think that would make it better than fucking another guy, but it really doesn’t. You’ve been making yourself come … with a vibrator. I can’t even … God—”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t enjoying his discomfort.

“Since we’re being all chatty and whatnot … what about you?”

He rubs his eyes. “I don’t own a vibrator.”

“You know what I mean. Are you sleeping with anyone?”

“No.”

“Dating anyone?”

He makes a noise that’s almost a laugh but not quite. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because if I were capable of dating someone, why the fuck would I have broken up with you?”

The silence solidifies between us. It feels like we have so much left to say after not speaking for so long, but neither of us knows where to start.

At last, he comes up with something appropriate. “Do you have any alcohol in your apartment?”

“Yeah. Tequila. Or wine.”

“Can I come in? I need a drink. Plus, I don’t really feel like going home. If I have to spend another night in my apartment alone, I’ll—” He shakes his head. “If you don’t want me to, it’s fine.”

I think of all the days he sits by himself to eat lunch. The way he separates himself in most social situations. Even when he started coming to parties again, he’d keep to himself. Was he just there to escape his solitude?

Throughout this whole thing between us, at least I’ve had people to support me. Ruby, Mom, my classmates. Hell, even his sister.

Who’s been there for him?

My pride is mad at me for feeling sorry for him, but I can’t help it.

“I could use something else to drink, too. If you want to come in, you can. I suppose.”

He nods and tries to hide his half smile. “Fine, I will, but please, stop begging. It’s embarrassing.”

“What can I say? I don’t like drinking alone.”

He turns to me, eyes almost black in the shadows of the car. “Me neither.”

The air between us becomes stifling. Crazy thick.

He lets out a breath before saying, “One drink, then I’ll be on my way.”

Flutters tickle my stomach and then move lower. “Okay.”

I’m laughing so hard, I can barely breathe. Ethan’s in the same boat. He’s wheezing like a cartoon character. I don’t even know what we’re laughing about. This is surreal. After more than a year of bitterness and snark, how the hell did we get here?

I topple to the side and collide with his shoulder. He leans back against the couch, and I’m so busy marveling over how stunning he is when he’s happy, my head slides down his arm and lands in his lap. We keep laughing. My head bounces off his stomach. It makes me laugh more. I sound deranged.

He spills some of his drink and licks the liquid off his thumb and forearm before it can drip onto the carpet. I’m transfixed by the motion of his tongue. I want to find out if it tastes like tequila.

He drops his head back and says, “I think we’re drunk.”

“I think you’re right.”

Gradually, our laughter dies down, and I flip onto my back and let my head nestle on top of his thigh. It feels strange to be with him like this. Like these are versions of ourselves from an alternate universe in which things are totally different, and we’re both happy. Touching him with such ease after all this time feels more like d
é
j
à
vu than something I’ve done before.

I close my eyes and let myself enjoy it. I know this a stolen moment, but it’s exactly what I need right now.

I feel fingers on my forehead as he strokes my hair away from my face, and I open my eyes to see him staring down at me. All laughter has left his face. There’s an intensity in his expression that makes goose bumps flare across my skin. He threads his fingers through my hair, and everything seems to slow down. Like the air is charged with extra gravity.

I inhale with effort.

Within three seconds his fingertips have aroused me more than Nick could in three months.

The box in which I’ve locked my passion explodes open.

Ethan licks his lips. “I’m starting to think this was probably a bad idea. Being alone with you.”

I’m mesmerized by the movement of his mouth when he talks. “Yeah. Probably.”

“It’s easier when there are other people around. They distract me, you know? When it’s just us … it’s—”

“Harder.”

His expression softens. Fingers trail down my cheek.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, like he’s afraid I’ll hear. “Every day I think that but can never tell you.”

His touch is feather-light, but each stroke sinks into my bones. Sets them ablaze. “Why tell me now?”

“Because I’m too drunk to stop myself. And because neither of us is likely to remember this tomorrow.”

His chest rises and falls in fast shallow breaths. Eyes are hooded. Deep and needy.

Lonely.

Sad.

“I miss you, Cassie.”

My heart races. I’ve wanted to hear that so many times, but now that he’s said it, I have no idea how to respond.

He’s still stroking my face. Studying me. Trying to keep himself together.

Seeing him like this instantly pulls me apart.

I look away.

He sighs. “On a scale of one to wanting-to-kick-me-in-the-balls, how much do you hate me for dumping you? Be honest.”

I pick at the outer seam of his jeans. “Some days, I hate you lots. Most days, to be honest.”

“And other days?”

I run my fingernail down the stitching while ignoring how his thigh is tensing beneath my head.

“Some days, I…” He grazes his fingernails down the back of my neck and then up across my scalp. It makes a quake of shudders roll through me. “Sometimes I don’t feel like kicking you in the balls at all.”

“What about right now?”

I turn to face him as I fight the burn that’s rising up my chest and neck, and the hungry ache that’s pounding down low. “Right now, I have no idea how I feel.”

He stares at me for a long time, then nods and takes a mouthful of booze. He frowns at his glass.

I sit up and wait for him to say something. He doesn’t.

His knuckles go white as he grips his drink.

“What are you thinking?”

He shakes his head. “I’m thinking I really want to kiss you, but I can’t.” He gives a short laugh. “While I’m admitting stuff, I’ll tell you that’s what I’m thinking pretty much every day. It’s fucking pathetic how often I fantasize about it. I thought I’d be over you by now. But I’m not.”