Roommates (Soulmates #1) (7 page)

Chapter 12: Ethan

No big deal my ass.

I knew when a kiss wasn't a big deal.

Kissing Naomi, for example, had been a lot like paint by
numbers.

I put my hands on her hips and my lips on her mouth and had
every intention of kissing her for a polite amount of time before she felt I'd
shown her enough respect that she would consider kissing me somewhere else.

But there was nothing polite on my mind when my lips met Jen's.

So much for the levelheaded calm I felt after my run.

That all went out the window as soon as she was close enough for
me to smell her candy scent.

What the hell was I thinking?

I tilted my face under the showerhead and let the cold spray
sober me up.

I didn't normally take cold showers, but if the water had been
even slightly warm, my hard on would’ve gotten the best of me, and rubbing one
out to the thought of her kiss when she was on the other side of the wall was a
line I wasn't ready to cross.

Kind of like kissing her, but I'd blown through that red light
without so much as a second glance, confirming my greatest fear.

Not only did I want her because I couldn't have her, I wanted
her because she was as delicious as she was beautiful.

And she didn't even know it.

Shit. I don’t even think she really expected me to kiss her.

But I had to.

Not going through with it would've made the whole thing a big
deal. A big, awkward deal.

And I didn't want that.

Seeing as she was effectively going to be my roommate for at
least a few more days, the last thing I wanted was to feel awkward in my own
goddamn apartment.

Fuck.

I sighed and turned the nozzle just enough to take the iciness
out. Then I poured some body wash in my palm and tried to guess what she was
thinking.

Probably nothing.

Or she was questioning why I fled the room so abruptly after our
read through. Not that she'd ever ask, which was good. Cause telling her I'd
come down with the first unruly boner I'd had since I was fourteen probably
wouldn't make things less awkward.

I rinsed myself off and stepped out of the shower, doing my best
to ignore the nagging ache in my balls as I wrapped a clean towel around my
waist.

I wondered if I was better or worse than she thought I'd be.

After all, I knew kissing me must've crossed her mind at some
point because a year after I left for boarding school, I came home for
Christmas and saw the proof with my own eyes.

I never should've snooped, but I did a lot of questionable shit
back then. I didn't think I was a bad person. I just considered the subject of
my morality a flexible one.

And when I got home that day, everyone was out. So I did that
thing people always do when they know they're home alone. I called everyone’s name
while I pushed open all the doors in the house just to be sure.

Of course, if Jen had been there, I never would've touched her
bedroom door.

But as soon as I did, I saw a notebook sticking out from under her
pillow. It looked as if she'd left in a hurry but wasn't worried about anyone
coming in her room, which meant they'd likely gone somewhere together as a
family.

I remember hoping it was the grocery store because I was so
fucking sick of cafeteria food I could've forked my own eyes out.

Anyway, without even giving myself a chance to consider doing
the right thing, I crossed the room and slid the journal out from under her
pillow.

As I flipped through it- because that seemed a lesser offense
than starting from the beginning- my eyes mostly caught words that were
uninteresting- homework, drama, queen, psycho, sad, hurts, funny.

But then I saw my name. Actually, it wasn't my name. It just
said E.

So naturally, I had to keep reading to see if I was E. And I
hoped I was. Cause it said "last night I touched myself for the first time
like Brandi told me to. But it only felt good when I started thinking about E.
Does that make me a bad person? I came and everything. Can I go to hell for
that?"

I think my first thought was something derogatory about Brandi,
and my second thought was the realization that she fucking wanted me back.

But that's not the most shameful part of the story.

The worst bit is that I slid the journal back under her pillow
where it was, stole a pair of her underwear from her underwear drawer, and
stroked my dick with them until I came.

Needless to say, I don't think I looked her in the eye a single
time over Christmas break.

And it killed me that I couldn't take her aside and tell her that
she wasn't going to hell, that an angel like her would never get in.

But that was a long time ago. Shit, I don't even know if
"E" was me. But why else would she think it was wrong? Unless some
idiot told her masturbation was sinful?

I’d never know.

The point was, I had jerked it to the thought of her more times
than I was proud of, and knowing there was a chance she'd thought of me like
that kept me in wet dreams for years.

But maybe it wasn't so much wrong as it was inconvenient.

Still, it was too late for anything more to happen.

Our parents had been married for years at this point, and she'd
lived under my tyrannical father's roof for longer than I could imagine. Frankly,
I'm surprised she'd ever kissed anyone with him as man of the house.

Regardless, it didn't matter how much I still wanted her, how
much I still got hot for her smell, her skin, her smile.

Cause she was off limits.

Besides, she deserved someone better than me.

So I needed to put the thought of that kiss out of my mind and
remember why the hell I went to so much trouble to stay away from her all those
years.

Because I knew what it was like to unravel, to come unhinged,
and I'd spent a long ass time pulling my shit together.

I was a grown man now with a killer job, and I knew better than
to feel bad about things I once wanted and couldn't have.

And of all the things that qualified to be on that list, Jen was
right at the top.

So it didn't matter if her skin was soft. It didn't matter if
holding her face in my hands made me feel more right than anything ever had.
And it didn't matter if kissing her made me feel sky high.

All that mattered was that she was my guest.

And it was about time I kept my hands to myself.

Chapter 13: Jenny

I watched some kissing montages on my laptop after Ethan left.

I was hoping the sight of other people's passionate kisses might
help me stop dwelling on ours.

It didn't work very well, though, so I stopped and went back to
practicing my lines.

When I needed a break, I made myself one of the packets of Easy Mac
I'd brought with me. I know I should've been braving the big city or at least
not eating Easy Mac now that I was a college graduate, but it was so comforting
and cheesy and delicious.

Kind of like movie kisses.

After I washed my bowl, I crossed to the door by the bookshelf
again and turned the handle. It was still locked.

I was sure there was nothing interesting in there. It was
probably gross lacrosse equipment or porno mags or DVDs or something, but the
fact that it was locked unsettled me.

Like a mouse in a maze, I knew I'd feel more comfortable if I
was able to sniff out every corner of my new habitat, but the locked door was
standing in my way.

I tried to imagine what a person living alone needed a locked
door for, but I couldn't think of anything.

And then the thought occurred to me that Ethan might have his
very own red room of pain and the idea made me feel so completely uncomfortable
that I had to talk myself down.

After all, chances were it was just crap.

Still, it must’ve been important crap or it wouldn't need to be
kept under lock and key. Right?

What's more, it bothered me that I didn't know what could be so important
to him when we were family. Sort of. I mean, I knew we weren’t close, but
wouldn’t Marsha have known what was in Greg’s closet?

When I considered his room at our parent's house, it didn’t
help.

His space had virtually no personality. Then again, I suppose
mine wouldn't have either if it were up to Ed. His days in the military made
him a stickler for standards, especially in terms of a people's personal space.

I can still remember the fight he and my mom had after I asked
if I could put a Twilight poster on my wall. In the end, it came down to one of
those "I don't tell you how to raise your kid" moments.

But Ethan's room was completely bare apart from a few sports
trophies and a desk with a picture of his mom on it. And apart from the latter,
he never struck me as the sentimental type.

After all, if there had been so much as a passed note or a dirty
magazine in his room, I would've found it. Cause not only was I desperate to
know more about him, but I had lots of friends over the years that were, too,
and I wasn't exactly difficult when they wanted to snoop through his personal
space.

And his apartment was just as mysterious, largely on account of
that damn door.

Later that night, I found myself glancing at the clock a lot,
wondering what Ethan was doing at work.

I assumed he was a good bartender and being good at anything was
an attractive quality. I wondered what kind of women flirted with him on the
job and if they ever gave him tips that weren't strictly monetary.

I shuddered at the thought.

As luck would have it, I looked at the clock at eleven past eleven
and, as always, I decided to make a wish.

But I was torn.

Part of me wanted to wish that things wouldn't be awkward after our
kiss.

But I knew wishing away my own awkwardness was damn near
impossible from personal experience.

As a result, I decided to wish for the role of Marilyn cause at
least then our kiss wouldn’t have been in vain.

A second later, my phone rang.

I paused Catastrophe on my laptop before picking up. "Hi, Mom."

"Hi, Honey. How are you?"

"Fine. Good."

"What do you think of New York so far?"

I smiled. "The size is a little intimidating, but I love
the buzz of the place."

"Oh good," she said. "And how did your audition
go? It was today, wasn't it?"

“Yeah."

“I'm sorry I couldn't call sooner, I was covering for Margie
tonight so-"

"That's okay. It went really well. They want me to come
back in and audition for a speaking part."

"That's fantastic."

"I know. Way more than I was expecting."

"When's the callback?"

"Thursday."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed for you."

"Thanks." I pinched one of the buttons on my pajama
top.

"How are you and Ethan getting along?"

I swallowed. "Okay."

"Just okay?"

I shrugged.

"Is he being moody?"

"No.” I took a deep breath. “He's fine. But just so you
know, Ed never told him I was coming, and I don't think Ethan ever gave him
permission to copy his key. So he was kind of ticked at first."

Silence.

"Mom?"

"I didn’t realize that was the situation. That must’ve been
awkward for you."

"Yeah."

"Was Ethan really upset?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. "Honestly, I think he expects
that kind of thing from Ed at this point. I wouldn’t bring it up anyway."

"Mmm. I thought Ed was mellowing out, but maybe he's not
quite as far along as I thought."

"Everything's fine otherwise. His place is really nice.
He's… tidy."

"That's good to hear."

"And I probably won't have to cramp his style for much
longer."

"I'm sure you're not cramping his style."

"I'm trying not to.”

"Well, I'll call to check on you soon.”

“Okay.”

“Give Ethan a hug for me."

"Sure," I said.

As if I could stop at a hug.  

Chapter 14: Ethan

I liked working at the club early in the week.

It was a different crowd, an arguably cooler crowd than the
hoards that nearly busted the door down to get in at the weekend.

I didn’t know if it was cause we got more freelance, hipster
types in or what, but for some reason, the people that could party late on
Monday and Tuesday seemed a more mellow bunch.

What's more, not only could I actually have some banter with my
coworkers while we poured drinks, but people were less likely to be on drugs so
I was able to carry on more interesting conversations with the customers.

Once Thursday night rolled around, though, it was too busy to
think, much less chat. Most of the time I just shut my brain off and made
drinks like a sexy robot would… the sexy part meaning I threw in the occasional
wink or compliment depending on who was around.

After all, I wasn't just a bartender. I was a host. Or at least
that's what my buddy Ben repeated until he was blue in the face when we first
opened the doors.

I met him through Christophe, who used to be a regular at the
last place I worked. I don't know how he and Ben met. I didn't understand how
any rich people met. It just sort of happened, as if money had a distinct scent
or something.

Anyway, he was the one that got me the job, and being head
bartender at the most exclusive club in town had changed everything for me. I
was earning more money than I could spend, meeting more women than I could
fuck, and having more fun than I'd ever had.

I absolutely loved it.

How could I not?

After so many years of rules and regulations and uniforms and
watching my language and being in control, it was a huge relief to be around
people who were relaxed, people who were just trying to have a good time.

Sure, there were benefits to my strict education. I learned a
bit of much needed respect, was able to look after myself, and had a level of
personal discipline that was unparalleled… at least, when Jen wasn't around.

But becoming the person I was had a cost, and I’d spent more
time feeling oppressed than I would wish on any man.

Still, I was free at last.

All that mattered now was that working in a room full of tipsy
people made me forget the raps on the knuckles, the pushups in the mud, the
please sir yes sirs I muttered every time I wanted to piss or shit or blow my
goddamn nose.

Escaping that environment was all I thought about for years, and
I’d done it. And it was just as amazing as I thought it would be.

And then Jen showed up.

Yes, she had a beautiful face, and yes, I was ashamed of how
much I liked her laugh and her smell and her spunkiness.

But her presence was a downer, too.

Cause I felt like a success most of the time. But seeing her again
reminded me that while I'd come a long way, there was much I hadn't achieved.

After all, there were only two things I ever really wanted so
much it hurt, two things I was too chicken to go after.

Jen was one of them.

And the other, well, I didn't see how I was ever going to get
that either.

But I couldn't shake the nagging feeling that those two things
were only out of reach because I wasn't fucking reaching for them.

Was there something wrong with me? Did other people go around
ignoring what they wanted most?

What kind of success did that really make me? After all the effort
I put into becoming a man, I was still afraid to go after what I wanted.

What was I so afraid of?

That I’d pursue my goals and get rejected on both counts?

I didn't see how that would make much difference to my life.

Take Jenny, for example. We couldn't be friends. I was too
attracted to her, too interested in her, too aware of how her body moved in
space.

And we couldn't be proper siblings. We weren't related. Apart
from the obligation I felt to look out for her, I didn't have a single other familial
feeling about her.

So the question was, could we be more than friends? Do more than
kiss?

Was that completely ridiculous?

Frankly, part of me hoped my gag reflex would kick in when I
went to kiss her and make it impossible to go through with it.

But that hadn't happened. On the contrary, I had to restrain
myself from the urge I felt to pull her hips against me and let her feel the effect
her taste had on my body.

What if I'd taken it further?

Would she have stopped me?

Of course, there was a question I needed to ask before I even
considered those.

And that question was, how wrong was it to want more with her?

I knew my dad wouldn't be impressed, but I hadn't impressed my
dad since I graduated second in my class, and I didn't do that to impress him.
I did that to prove to myself that I wasn't the piece of shit he thought I was.

And what could he even do if he found out I'd laid my hands on
her?

Beat the shit out of me?

Maybe ten years ago, but he didn't even have all his original
parts anymore. The chances of him raising a hand to me were slim. And it
wouldn't matter anyway because no one was more interested in protecting Jen
than I was.

Hell, I'd been protecting her my whole life.

The only problem was that no one else knew it, including her.

What’s more, I didn't know if she wanted me like that, if she
felt anything during that kiss. And while I was happy for other women to
consider me a mistake, I didn't want her to look at me that way.

I liked how she looked at me now- with a mixture of curiosity
and feigned disapproval, disapproval that I noticed she forgot to feign when I
walked around my apartment shirtless.

Plus, I’d always wanted to believe that my coming into her life
was no accident, but after all this time, I still didn't know what to make of
her. Of us.

And something told me that if I didn't figure it out while she
was here, I might never know, might never even see her again.

And that thought made my heart ache because I'd missed her more
than I realized.

After all, she was my yellow daisies.