Roommates (Soulmates #1) (6 page)

Chapter 10: Ethan

I saw her curled up in one corner of the couch as soon as I
walked in.

She was the only feminine thing about the place and stuck out
like a sore thumb.

I pulled my headphones out and let them dangle over my shoulder.
“Hey.”

“Hi,” she said. “I didn’t know you were a runner.”

I unclipped the iPod from my sleeve, turned it off, and set it
on the counter with my headphones. “I wouldn’t say I’m a runner.”

She furrowed her brow. “But you run?”

“Yeah.” I walked to the fridge, pulled a bottle of water out,
and slammed as much as I could.

“What’s the difference?”

I shrugged. “I’m not addicted to it.”

She set a stapled stack of papers on the coffee table in front
of her. “I didn’t realize runners were addicts.”

“They are,” I said. “Whereas I don’t do it all that often, and I
could quit tomorrow.” Assuming I never got stressed the fuck out again by
surprise houseguests who made me feel like I had to take extreme precautions
just to manage my own goddamn hormones.

“I see.”

I lifted my shirt up and wiped the sweat off my brow. When I
dropped it again, she was scrunching her face at me.

“Does my sweat offend you?”

“No,” she said. “It just makes me feel kind of bad about the
gallon of milkshake I drank this afternoon.”

I took my shirt off and used it like a washcloth to wipe my
chest and the back of my neck. Then I slung it over one shoulder.

“So,” she said, pulling the fallen strap of her black tank top
up. “What did you do today?”

I topped my water bottle up at the sink. “Bits and pieces, lunch
with a friend, worked out.”

She leaned up and crossed her legs. “Is that pretty typical for
you?”

“Yeah. Then I work at night.”

“Not a bad routine,” she said. “Doing what you want all day.”

“Beats the alternative,” I said, drinking some more water and
catching a lose drop with the back of my hand. “How did your audition go?”

She pursed her lips. “Sort of bittersweet.”

I raised my eyebrows and walked around to sit on one of the
barstools on the other side of the counter, trying to keep my distance out of
respect for her comparative cleanliness. “Why? What happened?”

“I got a callback.”

“Isn’t that a good thing? Doesn’t that mean they want to see you
again?”

She nodded. “Yeah, and for a decent part, too. I’d have lines
and everything if I got it.”

“So what’s the bad news? Who you have to blow to get the part?”

“Very funny,” she said. “But you’re not totally off base.”

I craned my neck forward. “What?”

She raised a hand when she saw my face drop. “Whoa. I didn’t
mean- I don’t really have to blow anybody. Obviously.”

I felt my shoulders relax again.

“I might have to kiss somebody, though.”

Why didn’t I feel any better? “Who?”

She raised her palms to the ceiling. “Don’t know. Suppose I won’t
know until he’s standing there in front of me.”

I scrunched my face.

“At which point I’ll have to focus on the role I’m trying to
play instead of whether he has herpes.”

I felt a chill run up my neck.

“Yeah. That’s sort of how I feel.”

“I suppose this kind of thing was going to happen eventually if
you want to go into this line of work.”

“I know,” she said, casting her eyes down. “I was just hoping
I’d have a lot more experience by then.”

A hundred questions flashed through my mind like sparks. “What
do you mean?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never had to kiss someone I wasn’t attracted
to before.”

“Right.”

“You have any tips for me?”

“Let me see,” I said, extending my hand towards the script on
the table.

She stood up and smoothed her jean skirt down.

I looked away when she bent over to grab the script because I
didn't trust myself not to look down her shirt.

"Here," she said, bringing it to me. "The scene
I'm talking about starts at the bottom of this page and goes on to the next
one."

I took it and skimmed the text while she slid onto the barstool
beside me. "I take it you're Marilyn?"

"Maybe," she said. "If I don't blow it on
Thursday."

I turned the page and kept reading. Sure enough, Brian and
Marilyn kiss halfway down the page.

"I assume it has to be more than a peck because they're
married in the very next scene."

"Yeah," I said, reading the part with the kiss again
and doing everything I could not to hope she wouldn't get it. What the fuck was
wrong with me?

"So," she said. "Any advice?"

"Act your ass off?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Seriously." I set the script on the counter and
leaned back. "There's a good chance whatever thespian you have to kiss to
get this part is going to have total dick breath."

"Dick breath?"

"Yeah. From eating-"

"I got it," she said, raising her hand. "Thanks
for your help anyway."

I sighed. "You're right. That probably wasn't the support
you were looking for."

She cocked her head. "Ya think?"

"So practice with me once."

Her eyes grew wide. "Practice what with you?"

"The scene. The kiss. Whatever."

She swallowed.

"I'm perfect." I slid off my chair and held my arms
out. "Especially right now when I'm at my grossest."

She looked me up and down, her face suddenly pale.

"If you can pretend to be attracted to me right now,
there's no question you can be convincing with anyone else. After all, who are
you less attracted to than me?"

A nervous smile cracked her face. "I suppose you have a
point."

"I thought so." I tossed my sweaty shirt on the
counter. “Plus, I don’t have herpes.”

"Are you sure?"

I furrowed my brow. “Of course I’m fucking sure-”

“No I mean-” She shook her head. "What about-"

I squinted at her. "What about what?"

"Our parents?"

I ran a hand through my hair. "Jesus, Jenny. Who gives a shit?
I wasn't going to call them up and tell them."

"Right."

"Do you want my help or not?" I asked, my eyes
bouncing from her to the clock. "Cause I have to shower and eat and get to
work in the next-"

"Okay," she said, sliding off her stool and laying her
hand on the script. "But only if you're really going to take it seriously
because I can do crappy practice on my own.”

"I'll do my best."

"Okay," she said, handing the script to me. "You
be Brian."

I raised my eyebrows. "I thought you'd pick up more pointers
if I was Marilyn."

She groaned.

"I'm kidding, okay. That was a joke."

She shook her head.

"What?"

"Nothing," she said, her arms hanging at her sides.
"It's just that this is important to me, and your jokes aren't helping."

"Okay. Sorry. Just give me two seconds to get into
character.” I turned around, squeezed my eyes shut, and tried to ignore the alarm
bells going off in my head.

"Whenever you're ready," she said.

I looked over my shoulder. "You know your lines?"

She nodded. "Of course. I've been practicing them all
day."

Chapter 11: Jenny

All I could think about was spin the bottle at Jesse Kandinsky's
house.

Did Ethan remember that?

Did he remember completely ignoring me in front of everybody
when the prospect of kissing me came up?

I suppose it was better than if he'd laughed in my face.

Of course, I couldn't shake the feeling that that was exactly
what was about to go down here. In his kitchen. Seven years later.

At the same time, his willingness to do a read through with me
was a welcome surprise. If anything, it confirmed the idea that a little fake
kiss was nothing to be worried about.

And if he wasn't freaked out about it, I wasn't going to make a
scene. After all, we were both adults. We weren't related. And he was pretty
gross right now.

Except I didn't mind the smell of his sweat, the way it made the
hairs on the back of my neck stand up. And I certainly wasn't disgusted by his
chiseled abs or the way his shorts hung off his protruding hip bones.

To be honest, I was more attracted to him than anyone else on
the planet, but I couldn't say that. If I refused to kiss him he'd either think
I was a prude, or worse, that I wasn’t repulsed by him.

And surely that would cause a lot more problems for me than just
letting him think he was helping me out.

"You don't have to memorize your lines," I said.
"It's fine if you just read them. I'm the one that has to be
convincing."

He nodded but didn't turn around.

I wiped my clammy hands on my skirt and watched the muscles shift
in his back as he turned the page.

"Okay," he said, turning around. "I'm
ready."

My heart was racing.

"Do you want me to talk like a surfer dude or-"

I narrowed my eyes on his. "Your regular voice is
fine."

"Suit yourself," he said, squaring up to me.

I took a deep breath.

He stared at me.

I glanced at his lips.

He raised his eyebrows.

I nodded at the script in his hand.

"Oh right- me first…" He dragged his large finger
across the paper and mumbled to himself. "Okay. I got it."

I sighed.

He read his line and I started reciting the ones I'd memorized.

His turn.

My turn.

His turn.

My turn.

His turn.

My turn.

His turn.

"I knew from the moment I heard your music that I wanted to
meet you," I said.

"Meet me?" Ethan asked, glancing between me and the
script. "Is that all you wanted to do?"

I clasped my hands in front of me. "Actually, I knew when I
saw you perform that I'd never be happy just meeting you."

Ethan stepped up to me and looked me in the eyes. "What
would make you happy, Marilyn?"

I cast my eyes down at his chest and tried to imagine a Hawaiian
shirt in its place. "I'm afraid it wouldn't be very ladylike of me to
say."

"Then I'll have to read your lips," he said, dropping
the script and putting his hands on my shoulders.

My eyes bounced back and forth between his. "Well, that's
music to my ear-"

And then he laid one on me.

I went limp as soon as his lips touched mine. At first, he just
held them there, but a moment later, he opened his mouth and slipped his tongue
in mine.

He tasted like sweat and it made me thirsty, but I couldn't pull
away as he swirled his tongue deeper and grabbed my face.

I put my hands on his bare chest to brace myself as a curl of
warmth rose through my center like a trail of smoke.

Then he pulled away, and my breath hitched as I opened my eyes.

He was staring at me with a funny look on his face, an uncertain
look I’d never seen before.

I pursed my lips.

"See," he said. "No big deal."

I let my eyes fall down to his lips for a moment before raising
them back up to his dark eyes.

"You got this," he said. Then he grabbed his sweaty
shirt off the counter, walked in his room, and closed the door.

I looked over my shoulder towards his bedroom and raised my
fingers to my lips, knowing that if I could recreate that kiss, the part would
be mine.

But there was no way.

Because I hadn't done any kissing there whatsoever.

I had been kissed.

And I had been kissed so good my mind went blank.

Was my acting just so good that the kiss seemed real?

Or had I actually just gotten butterflies from kissing my
stepbrother?

I leaned over, picked up the script, and turned to the part
about the kiss. Sure, the stage direction said "Brian gives Marilyn a
passionate kiss," which explained why Ethan sank his fingers into my soft
arms and why he held my face.

But I'm not sure it explained the tongue.

Was tongue really called for?

I suppose it was probably implied by the word
"passionate."

But while part of me thought Ethan had missed his true calling
for how convincing his performance was, another part of me was skeptical.

Because that kiss wasn't merely French. It was intense.

And as much as his tongue had swirled around mine, I still felt
like he was holding back, like I could feel an energy coming off his body that
heated me from the inside out.

I put the script on the counter and grabbed a glass from the
cupboard.

A moment later, I heard the shower go on.

I filled my glass from the sink and tried not to think about
Ethan stripping down on the other side of the wall, tried not to think about
him washing himself moments after we'd just shared the most delicious, interesting,
addictive kiss of my life.

A kiss I would never mention again to anyone, least of all him.

Cause it shouldn't have happened.

I knew that now.

Granted, if I'd felt nothing at all afterwards, I wouldn't have
thought twice about it.

But I didn't feel nothing.

I felt everything.

And all the good things I felt were butting heads with the shame
and the guilt and the knowledge that how I felt about what just happened was
even less okay than the fact that it did.

I mean, was what we'd done even legal?

He’d fled the scene so quickly I can only assume he thought it
was wrong, too.

Or at least that it felt wrong.

Because it felt so right.

And it wasn't supposed to feel like anything.

I took a deep breath, gripped the edge of the counter, and
wondered what kind of freak I was that I'd enjoyed his physical attention so
much.

Then I tilted the glass of water against my mouth and swallowed
my stepbrother's kiss.