“Yes.”
“How long did it take?”
“I didn’t keep track of time. I just needed you to know. I still need for you to know.”
I grip the door tighter.
I know we shouldn’t be having this discussion in my hallway, but if I let Ethan in, he’ll touch me, and then whatever fragile strength I have left will shatter.
“So … where do we go from here?” He moves forward. “I mean, I know what I want.” So close, his feet almost touch mine. “I think I’ve made myself pretty clear. But what about you?”
I tense because of his proximity.
This man represents so many things to me. He was my first true friend. My first love. First lover. The master of more pleasure than I knew existed, and the architect of more heartache than I thought I could endure.
It seems almost impossible to translate all of those men into the one he wants to be. The one who just wants to be a single thing to me.
Mine.
“Cassie…” He touches my hand, then traces down my wrist and over my forearm There’s an explosion of goosebumps left in his wake. “What do you want?”
I want him. Can’t want him. Need him. Hate needing him.
“I don’t know,” I whisper.
“I do,” he says, leaning forward. “Invite me in. I promise, I’m here to stay this time.”
TWO
DESPISED VULNERABILITY
Six Years Earlier
Westchester County, New York
The Grove
When I wake, I stretch, and it takes me a moment to realize why I’m sore. Then I remember.
I had sex. Incredibly passionate, muscle-trembling sexual intercourse. With Ethan.
I smile.
Ethan Holt took my virginity.
Oh, Lord, how he felt. All around me and inside.
Scenes from last night come flooding back and make the ache transform into tingles.
Surely I’ll look different now. I feel different. Wonderful. Like a whole new world of experience has been opened up to me, and I can’t wait to explore it.
With him.
As I sigh in contentment, I reach over to the other side of the bed, only to find it empty.
I open my eyes. “Ethan?”
I get up and check the rest of the apartment. Empty.
I go back and sit on my bed. The sheets are crumpled and still smell like him.
I check my phone. No messages. I look under the bed to make sure that a touching love note/apology hasn’t slipped under there.
Nothing.
Great.
I’m pretty certain when a man leaves your bed in the middle of the night, it’s not a good sign.
Later that morning, I jiggle my knees as I wait for our Advanced Acting class to begin.
Holt’s late. He’s never late.
I still can’t believe he just left. I mean, if you sleep with a girl for the first time, you at least send her a text, right? If not an actual phone call to say, “Hey, thanks for letting me deflower you. It was rad.”
I know that being open is a struggle for him, but doesn’t he realize he’s not the only one who needs reassurance?
Erika sweeps into the room, and I try to put Ethan from my mind.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back. I trust you all had a refreshing Thanksgiving break.” Everyone murmurs something vaguely positive, and she smiles. “Good, because for the next few weeks, I’m going to push you harder than ever before. This term we’ll be working with masks, which is one of the most challenging and ancient art forms within the theater.”
The door opens, and Erika frowns as Holt walks in and sits down. He looks tired.
“Thank you for joining us, Mr. Holt.”
He nods. “Yeah, no problem.”
“Can I get you anything? A watch, perhaps?”
He looks down at his hands. “Sorry I’m late.”
She gives him a pointed look. “As I was saying, mask work is difficult and requires the actor to be completely honest and open. It’s not an art form that forgives emotional blocks or insecurities. Be prepared for some brutal self-examination.”
Holt glances at me and gives me a tight smile before he turns away.
Erika goes to her desk and collects a large box filled with masks. She spreads them out on the floor.
“These masks exhibit specific emotional traits. I’d like you all to take a few minutes and choose one that appeals to you.”
Everyone goes over to the masks. As they talk and laugh among themselves, Ethan stands at the back, waiting for the crowd to subside. I go and stand beside him.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” He barely looks at me.
“You bailed on me this morning.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, and the muscles tighten in his jaw. “Are you … upset with me? About what happened? I mean, I know you said we should wait, and I pushed you to do it anyway, but—”
“No.” He shrugs. “I’m not upset with you. I was just … I had stuff to do and I didn’t want to wake you. Everything’s fine.”
His words are reassuring, but they don’t make me feel any better. “So, you … enjoyed it then? Me? What we did?”
He drops his head, and I see the hint of a smile as he leans down to whisper in my ear. “Cassie, only you would want to discuss sex in the middle of acting class. Can we please talk about this later, when we’re not in a room full of people?”
“Oh, yeah. Absolutely. Later.” I know he’s right, but my ego deflates more every second. “When, later?”