The Temptation of Lila and Ethan

Chapter Eleven

Lila

Ethan’s teaching me how to take care of myself, like how to shop cheap at the grocery store and pretty much spend as little money as possible wherever I go. It’s a little bizarre, not just because I need to be taught these things at the age of twenty, but because what he’s teaching me goes against everything I’ve been taught. I grew up in a home with maids, nannies, dry cleaners, chauffeurs, and money always on hand. Then while I lived with Ella, when I couldn’t pay someone to do these things for me, she’d do them. Looking back at it now, I feel guilty. I should have never let her be responsible for cleaning up after me. Now I’m broke and doing my own laundry. It’s weird and kind of sucks, yet at the same time there’s this strange gratification of being able to take care of myself, like I’m finally not completely worthless.

“I have a job interview tomorrow morning,” I announce as I walk into the apartment, shutting the door behind me, feeling a little proud of myself, despite what position the interview is for.

Ethan glances up from the book he’s writing in at the kitchen table. His hair is swept back out of his eyes and sticks up everywhere. “Oh, thank God. Finally. I was beginning to think I was going to have to kick you out on the streets.” He grins, amused with himself, but there’s an underlying pain in his expression, almost as if he’s forcing his humorous self to come out to disguise something else.

I’d ask him about it, but after the whole truck fiasco I’m deciding it’s better if we keep a little bit of distance between us, until I can figure out where we stand.

“Rude much?” I toss my purse on the couch and chuck the keys at him. He ducks, laughing, and the keys miss him and hit the wall behind him. “And I know you would never put me out on the streets.” I grin as I enter the kitchen. “You like me way too much.”

“Do I now?” He sits up straight and humor dances in his eyes. “But I’m glad you finally got an interview. You’ve seriously applied for, like, a hundred jobs.”

“I know.” I sigh and head to the kitchen, opening the fridge. “But apparently if you’re twenty and have never worked before, no one wants you to work for them.” I grab a can of soda out of the fridge and bump the door shut with my hip. “They all kept looking at me like I was worthless, and I’m not.” I tap the top of my finger against the can as I sink down into the chair. “I’ve got skills, you know.”

“Mad finger skills?” He laughs as he eyes my finger tapping insanely against the top of the can.

I flip him my middle finger. “You would be very surprised at what I can do with my fingers.”

He clenches his fist and places it in front of his mouth. “Oh, I’m sure I would.”

We both go silent. I can hear the loud roar of an engine outside and the clanking of the refrigerator. It’s an awkward silence, which is becoming more common the longer I live here with him. I’m not sure what’s causing it. Sexual tension? Probably from me, but I’m assuming Ethan’s managed to maintain his playboy lifestyle, bringing his women home late at night and sending them home as soon as he’s done with them, because that’s what he’s always done. I haven’t actually seen any of them, but none of them in the past have stuck around very long anyway. I’d be disgusted by his behavior, but I’ve done the same thing time and time again, only I’m usually the one leaving the house in the early hours of the morning.

Ethan clears his throat and then shuts his book, shoving back from the table. “So should we go celebrate?”

“Celebrate what?” I take a gulp of my soda to cool down my body.

He scoops up the keys without taking his eyes off me. “The job interview.” He stands up straight, closing his fingers around the keys. “By the way, where is it at?”

I set the soda can down on the table. “It’s at that bar.” I try not to go into the details on purpose because I’m not sure how he’s going to react.

“What bar?” He pushes the chair in and tucks the keys into the back pocket of his jeans.

“The one down on that street by the old section of Vegas,” I say evasively, pushing away from the table. I collect my can and head for the hallway. “I’m going to go to bed early, so I can get some rest for tomorrow.” I glance over my shoulder as I step through the doorway. “Rain check on the celebration? I only want to celebrate if I get the job.”

He scans me over quizzically. “Where’s the job interview, Lila?”

“Nowhere.” I walk quickly down the hall to avoid any more questioning. Once I make it to my room, I shut the door and breathe in the silence, but as soon as I step away from the door it opens and Ethan comes walking in.

“Where’s the interview, Lila?” he repeats, standing in the doorway, looking vexed.

I place the soda can down on one of the boxes I haven’t unpacked yet and then cross my arms. “Why is this bothering you so much? I thought you were just happy I finally had an interview.”

He shifts his weight and then sweeps his fingers through his hair, brushing it out of his eyes. “Because… you’re not…” He’s struggling and I’m twistedly finding it amusing. “You’re not applying to be a stripper, are you?” His gaze locks on me and fury burns in his eyes.

Without taking my eyes off him, I sit down on the foot of my bed. “Why would it matter if I was? I thought you loved strippers.”

He shrugs, casually leaning against the door. “It doesn’t matter, but it’s not the place for you. You’re too…” His gaze skims my entire body, making even the coolness of the air conditioning feel stifling.

“Too what?” I press.

His attention lingers on my chest and then he blinks, fixing his eyes on my face. “It’s nothing… you just don’t fit in a place like that.”

I bend my knee and unfasten my sandal, wiggling my foot out. “I think a lot of people would disagree with you.” I shake my chest and then roll my eyes. “What else am I good for?”

He remains by the doorway, grasping on to the doorknob. “You’re good for a lot of things, you just don’t see it.”

Okay, so that was a little bit sweet. “Like what exactly?” I toss my sandal into the closet without getting up. “I can’t do anything by myself. I mean, you had to teach me to work the dishwasher for crying out loud.”

He lets go of the doorknob and sits down beside me on the bed while I take off my other sandal. “So what? Everyone has to learn sometime. You’re just learning a little bit later than most people.”

“Because I’m a spoiled brat who had a maid.”

“You don’t any more, though. You’re becoming an independent, strong Lila.” He winks at me and gives me a lopsided grin. “And that Lila doesn’t belong in a strip club.”

I think I may have just fallen in love with him. No one has ever said something so nice to me or put that kind of confidence in my character. In fact, I’ve been told the opposite for as long as I can remember. Lila, you’ll never make it. Lila, you’re worthless. Lila, you’re messing up this family. No one will ever love you if you don’t change into something they can love. Be perfect. Be beautiful. Because no one will want you if you’re not.

“Even though I know you’re to going to get annoyed with me for saying it,” I begin, slipping my foot out of my sandal, “you’re seriously really sweet when you want to be.”

He frowns with annoyance. “I’m not sweet. I’m actually really, really mean.”

“You’re so full of it.” Once I get my shoe off, I flop back on the bed, not bothering to tug my shirt down when it rides up over my stomach. “I have to take more of my clothes down to that store tomorrow because I’m running out of money. Can you give me a ride? Or can I borrow your truck?”

He lies down beside me on the bed, surprising me, and turns his head toward me. “You say that like it’s the most tragic thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“It kind of is.” I pout with my arms overlapped on my stomach and my gaze fixed on the ceiling. “As shallow as it’s going to sound, I love my clothes.”

“You’ll get over it.” He runs his finger along my exposed stomach, right above the scar hidden behind the waistband of my shorts, and I fight back the urge to shiver and moan. “Besides, you’re not dressed up all fancy now.” He props up on his elbow, keeping his fingers on my stomach, although I’m not even sure he realizes they’re there. He peers down at my tight, purple T-shirt that Ella left behind and my denim shorts I’ve never worn until today. “And you look pretty fucking good.”

“I’m dressed this way because of where I applied.” I have to work to keep my lungs moving as he continues to trace his fingers back and forth across my stomach. The insides of my thighs are starting to shake, more than any other time a guy has touched me. “I had to play the part.”

“And what part is that?” He cocks an eyebrow and then playfully pinches my stomach right above my belly button and a hot sensation coils deep within me. “Come on, just tell me where you might be working because I’ll end up finding out anyway.”

I begrudgingly sigh. “Fine… at Danny’s Happenin’ Bar and Entertainment.”

His fingers stop moving and his eyebrows arch. “The one on the old strip?”

I nod, avoiding eye contact with him. “Yep, that’d be the one.”

His fingers stay on my stomach for what seems like forever, blinding me with heat and deafening me with desire. I’m so relieved by the time he pulls them away because I swear I’m seriously on the verge of having an orgasm. “You dance?”

I tilt my head toward him, finally encountering his gaze. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

He wavers, chewing on his lip. “It’s just hard to picture you dancing… like that.”

“What? Slutty? I don’t see why you’d be surprised about that.”

“It’s not slutty,” he says, still seeming puzzled as his eyes do a quick sweep of my body. “It’s… sexy and kind of erotic, at least from what I can remember. It’s been a while since I’ve been down there.”

“It’s not that sexy… I mean, I don’t take my clothes off or anything,” I explain. “It’s just dancing at a bar and sometimes on the bar, depending on what night. I get to wear normal clothes… well, normal tight clothes. And eventually they’ll teach me how to bartend.”

“I know what it is, Lila.” His hand lazily scrolls up my body again and I swear to God I’m going to melt from the heat emitting from his eyes. Then he catches sight of his fingers on my stomach and, blinking at them, he quickly pulls his hand away.

I sit up, no longer wanting to be on the bed with him because I’m seriously about ready to straddle his lap and force myself on him. “Look, I really need to get some rest.” I climb off the bed and backtrack to the door, opening it wider so he’ll get the hint to leave and let me be horny for him in peace.

He doesn’t get up, only pushes up on his elbows. “You want me to leave?” He fakes a sexy pout, trying to be mocking, but it comes off more mouthwatering than anything. “I thought you were going to show me the moves you used when you applied.”

I place my hand on my hip and give him an overdramatic look of aggravation. “Ethan, seriously, stop teasing me. I only had to fill out an application so far. Besides, you really don’t want to see me dance. You just want to try to make me blush or something.”

“Why would I ever want to do that?”

“Because… I have no idea. You tell me.”

He sits up and crosses his arms, his muscles flexing. “It’s just something to think about. You could practice on me.” He smirks. “I’m an excellent judge.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you are.”

He chuckles under his breath, totally pleased with himself, and then he stands up. “Are you sure you want me to leave? I mean, I’m assuming that’s why you’re standing by the door, looking all hot and bothered.”

I open my mouth to say, “Get out please,” but nothing comes out. I never want him to leave, which is really bad. I could blame it on the fact that I like his company, but the fact of the matter is that I need him. “You want to watch a movie or something?”

He smiles broadly. “A sappy, poetic one maybe?”

I point a finger at him. “You know they don’t exist. We tried to find one on Netflix, remember?”

He sits up, ruffling his hair into place. “I’m sure one exists, we just haven’t looked hard enough… but we can watch a movie.”

“Which one?”

“Whatever you want?”

I raise my eyebrows to express my doubt. “And what if I say the girliest movie ever?”

He yawns, stretching his arms above his head, showing off his rock-hard abs and the artful ink on his skin. “Then I guess I’ll finally get a nap. I’ve been wanting to take one all day.”

I roll my eyes, but smile. “I secretly think you like girly movies,” I say as we head out into the living room.

He shakes his head, but I hear him laugh under his breath. “Not the movie, just the company that comes along with it.”

I don’t say anything, because I can’t. I’ve never been around guys before who have complimented me on anything besides my tits and my ass. I situate myself on the couch while Ethan boots up the Xbox so we can stream Netflix. Grabbing the remote, he sits down on the couch beside me. He sits closer than I anticipated, his knee resting against mine and it feels almost painfully good, to the point where my body feels like it’s going to explode from the tension and heat, and while I hate it, I also love it because I’ve never felt it before. It’s crazy and strange, like I’m a virgin again or something, and it alters my entire thought process. For the first time in my life, I picture myself sitting next to him, doing this exact same thing ten years down the road. We would be living in the same shitty apartment and Ethan would still be working his job in construction because he never graduated from college and I don’t think he cares enough to do anything more with his life. And I won’t be going anywhere, since I could barely get a job as a dancer at some skanky run-down bar. I would still be wearing an outfit I got off a clearance rack and we would have the same crappy furniture because Ethan hates fancy stuff and we couldn’t afford it between our crappy salaries. But despite poverty, everything would be okay. In fact, I can actually envision myself happy, even if I were poor. I’ve had everything before, material-wise at least, and look where it got me. Addicted to pills, struggling to take care of myself, and bearing all the emotional trauma I couldn’t deal with because I’d been taught it was wrong to show emotions that were anything but perfect and pretty. I feel so content right now and I want to keep feeling content. Genuinely content.

Ethan drapes his arm on the back of the sofa and his fingers brush my hair away from my neck. He starts searching through the movies, asking me questions about them, and I answer with minimal responses because I’m too engulfed in what’s happening to my body and mind. There’s so much clearness in it and I’m hyperaware of everything, from the way his lip is slightly swollen from where he chews on it to the intoxicating scent of him. I can even feel the heat flowing off his body, enflaming my skin and he’s not even touching me. It’s amazing. Clear. Undiluted. Is this what I’ve been missing? All these years? Is this what things are supposed to feel like? Warm and heart pounding, instead of cold and silent. If it is, though, then what the heck am I supposed to do with it?

A little bit into the movie Ethan falls asleep and he slumps over, putting his head onto my shoulder. I’m fairly sure he has no idea that he did it and I wonder what he’ll think when he wakes up. I let him stay there, running my fingers through his hair, across his nose, his jawline, his lips, like a creeper touching someone in their sleep. I can’t help it though. He’s got such soft skin and amazing lips. I wonder what they’d taste like if our mouths finally came into contact with each other.

I’m smiling at the thought when he starts muttering in his sleep. At first it’s really quiet and it almost sounds like he’s saying “Lila.” But then he starts to get louder and I realize he’s saying “London, don’t leave me… Please, stay… I need you…”

London? Is it a person? If so, Ethan’s never mentioned a London before. Who could they be? A girlfriend? But if they are then why has he never introduced us? An endless list of things runs through my mind and I realize that even though he sleeps around, the idea of him having a girlfriend is like a knife to the heart. Sex is meaningless, but a girlfriend he could care about.

Maybe even love.

Ethan

“Oh, Ethan,” London singsongs as she skips through a field. There’s a bonfire burning near the trees in the distance and the smoke rises to the starry sky. There’s a party going on and people are laughing, shouting, drinking, having sex and London is out in the field skipping like the strange girl that she is.

“What are you doing?” I ask, drinking my beer as I walk slowly behind her, watching her move through the field of tall grass and weeds. “You’re going to get us lost.”

She spins around and around, with her head tipped back, her dark hair blending with the night. “I’m having fun.” She spins again and then stops as I reach her. “How about you?” she asks, breathless.

I knock back the rest of the beer and then crush the cup, throwing it into the dirt. “What about me?”

She grins, walking toward me, swaying her hips. “Are you having fun?”

“I’m having a blast,” I say flatly, placing my hands on her hips.

She frowns. “Well, that sounds convincing.”

I sigh, letting my head fall forward so it’s pressed against hers. “Sorry, I’m just tired. And there are too many people over at the party for my taste.”

“You can be such a party pooper,” she says. “But only half the time. And then sometimes you’re totally into it.”

“I’m totally into it when I’m either drunk or stoned,” I admit. “But when I’m sober, it drives me crazy.”

She pauses, hooking her finger through my belt loop. “Sometimes I think you’re going to just pack up and leave and go wandering off on your own.”

I don’t answer right away, moving my forehead away from hers so I can look her in the eye. “I sometimes think about it. Just packing up and hitting the road.”

“Would you take me with you if you do?”

“Would you want to go with me?”

“Maybe… I don’t know.” She doesn’t look like she wants to. “Would you want me to go with you?”

“Maybe,” I say, but honestly I’m not sure. I really like her, more than any other girl out there, but there are times when I do think about leaving not just my life behind, but everyone in it.

“You’re such an ass,” she says. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t want to take me with you.”

“I never said that,” I tell her.

“But you didn’t completely deny it,” she retorts.

Silence grows around us and she holds on to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Okay, I take my ‘maybe’ back. I want to go with you but only so you can take me away from this place—my life.” Her voice is flat, saddened, devoid of any emotion. She gets this way sometimes when she’s talking about her life.

I kiss the top of her head. “What’s so bad about your life?”

“What’s so bad about yours?” she says, dodging the question like she always does whenever I try to dig deep into her psyche.

“Nothing, except that I don’t want it,” I reply, pulling her against my chest. “London, if you want me to take you with me then I will.”

“Okay, well, I’ll need notice before we go,” she jokes, the sadness leaving her voice. “And I’ll have to check my calendar. I’m really busy this summer.”

I pinch her ass hard and she squeals, backing away from me. She takes off running through the field and I chase after her, but somewhere along the line I lose track of her and the darkness swallows her whole.

“London,” I call out, but she doesn’t reply. I hear her laugh from somewhere, but I can’t figure out where. “London…”

Someone is shaking my shoulder and I’m snapped out of my dream. I feel hot, burning up, like I have a fever and my heart is racing erratically.

“You’re totally a lightweight,” Lila says when I open my eyes. I’m lying on my back, my head resting in her lap, my feet kicked up on the armrest.

I’m very aware how comfortable I am on the outside, but on the inside I’m a mess as memories of London float around in my head. Once again, I’m stuck somewhere between Lila and London and I don’t know how to get over London completely so I can just be just with Lila.

Lila hovers over me with a hurt look in her blue eyes, like she’s upset about something. “You passed out, like, ten minutes after it started.”

“I made it ten minutes?” I instantly crank up my humor, trying to shut down my thoughts of London as I blink up at Lila. “I should get a medal for that or something.”

She rolls her eyes and sits back on the couch so that I can sit up. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“No, it was terrible.” I stretch my arms above my head and yawn as I lower my feet to the floor.

She watches me with this strange look on her face, like she’s trying to unravel a puzzle. “Who’s… who’s London?”

My heart just about drops into my stomach as a shock pulsates through me. “What?”

“London.” She repeats, relaxing back in the sofa, with an intent look on her face. “You were muttering it in your sleep.” The corners of her lips quirk, but it looks forced. “At first I thought you were saying my name and I thought, ew, gross, he’s having sex dreams about me. But then I realized you were saying London and I’m starting to wonder if you have a secret girlfriend or something.”

“She’s no one,” I snap, not meaning for my voice to sound so clipped, but I’ve never talked to anyone about London because talking about her makes everything real. “So don’t worry about it.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t get all snippy with me. You know a lot about me—things I’d rather you not know—and I think it’s only fair that I know a few things about you.”

“You already know things about me,” I say, trying not to snap, because it’d be bad, both for her and me. “Now drop it.”

She considers this and then her expression darkens in a very un-Lila-like manner. “No, it’s bullshit.” She inches closer to me on the sofa. “You’ve gotten into my head so much over the last few weeks and it’s not fair that I don’t know a lot about you.”

“You know enough.” My voice is tight and packed with a warning for her to not go down this road.

“Apparently not, since I’ve never heard of this London, yet she seems to be important to you.”

“Lila, drop it,” I warn, sitting up and stretching my arms above my head. “You don’t want to go there.”

“Yes, I do.” I’m not sure why, but she seems like she’s looking for a fight.

Anger crashes through me, a ripple of fire, ready to burn anything in its path. I’m a very controlled person, except for that one time, right after I heard about London—the one time I lost it. The one time I turned into my father and shouted at everyone, broke stuff, showed my rage. “Shut the fuck up.” My voice is low, but the deep, heavy tone is worse than me yelling.

Her eyes water over, like she’s about to cry. “You shut the fuck up. I just asked you a God damn question.”

I take a few deep breaths, and then I stand up. “I’m going to my room.” As I walk toward the hall, she watches me, looking enraged, irritated, and the slightest bit hurt, just like how London looked the last time I saw her, the last time I walked away from her.

But I can’t bring myself to turn back to her. I’m too worked up over London, and the emotions surfacing inside me make me want to run out and find someone to fuck. But I can’t. God, I haven’t been able to since the incident on the strip, and honestly I’ve been pretty content about it until now.

My head is in such a weird place right now over the dream. I try not to think about London, but she always catches up with me, whether I’m awake or asleep. Plus, Rae won’t stop texting me, so that doesn’t help. Three to four times a day, every fucking day, she texts me or leaves me a voice mail. I’ve been screening her calls, refusing to answer until I’m certain about what I want to do.

I lock myself in my room and do the only other thing I can think of to try to clear my thoughts. I write.

I’m afraid. More than I want to admit. Fear has never been a feeling I have been comfortable with. I always adopted the artificial, subdued, and in-control demeanor, because I don’t think anyone needs to know what really lies inside me. Like the fact that I still feel torn apart, ripped in half, my soul split, because the only girl I thought I wanted to be with is an outer shell that still exists in every aspect down to the mole she has above her lip. That’s still there, along with her hazel eyes and the scar above her mouth. Her skin is still flawlessly smooth. Her looks still exist, but she doesn’t. The London I knew—the London of the past—is no more. She’s forgotten her life, and life for her now is only about the future. Everything else is lost to her.

But what I really worry about is if I do go and see her, I’ll finally have to let her go. Forever. And the scariest thing is I both do and don’t want to. I want to move on, maybe with Lila and yet I want to hold on to London because it’s easier than feeling everything that comes along with letting go. But deep down, I’m realizing that eventually I’m going to have to finally say good-bye.