The Temptation of Lila and Ethan

Chapter Four

Lila

It’s amazing how one moment in life can be beautiful, and then you return home—to reality—and remember that beauty isn’t everything and that the ugly painful part will always exist in the form of unpaid bills, bad choices, and tiny white pills.

At what point do you finally admit that your life is falling apart, not to just yourself but to the outside world? When should I finally tell someone what’s really going on? That I’m penniless pretty much, soon to be homeless, carless, jobless, everythingless. That my mother was right. I was nothing without their help.

I thought about telling Ella once, a couple of months before she left for California, about some of my money and even my pill issues, but then I remembered what I’d been taught and decided it was best to keep my mouth shut. Besides, now she’s got her own life with Micha. And I’m here, wondering what I should do with my life because I want to do something—anything. I wonder how long I can keep going like this, blacking out, having unmemorable sex, like I did the other night with some random guy I met at a club. It was after Ethan suggested our road trip together, even though I’m still not certain if he was being serious. Afterward he had to drop me off at my apartment because he had stuff to do and the emptiness and silence wore me down and I went looking for someone to fix it, after I’d taken a few pills. I’ve even considered telling Ethan about my problems a few times because I know he’s done drugs in the past and might understand what I’m going through, maybe just a little. Although, it’s not really the same. I mean he did weed and stuff and I just do pills.

“Earth to Lila.” Ethan waves his hand in front of my face. I blink and then direct my focus to him. He shakes his head in disbelief as he shoves up the sleeves of his black-and-red plaid shirt that has a torn front pocket. “You totally just spaced out for, like, five minutes straight,” he says, resting his heavily inked arms on the table.

“Well, maybe it’s because you’re so boring,” I tease with a grin, stirring my Long Island iced tea with my straw. We’re in a quiet bar with dim lighting and small lanterns on each table. Music plays from a jukebox in the corner near the restrooms and we have a platter of mozzarella sticks, jalapeno poppers, and hot wings in front of us. It’s not usually my kind of scene—I like more glitz and glamour with a more sparkling atmosphere, classy music, fancier food, and top-shelf drinks. But I’m enjoying it for some bizarre reason, maybe because I feel heavily subdued. Or maybe it’s because of Ethan. “You’ve barely said two words to me.”

“Actually, I think it was five,” he says indifferently, but the corners of his lips quirk. He picks up his glass of ice water and takes a sip.

“Since when do you drink water?” I remark and wrap my lips around the straw, taking a swallow of my drink.

“I think I need a break from drinking.” He ogles some blonde wearing a tacky leather skirt and a bright pink tube top at the bar and I have to resist the urge to slap him against the back of the head. “It’s getting exhausting.”

“I hear you,” I say and he crooks an eyebrow, staring at the drink in front of me. “No, not about drinking. About other stuff.”

“Like what?” He picks up a mozzarella stick and dips it into the cup of marina sauce.

“Like stuff,” I respond vaguely, and then reach for a jalapeno popper. It took me a while to actually try one, because the idea of eating something that had the word “popper” in it seemed repulsive. But they are really good. Way better than the appetizers at the restaurants I grew up eating at.

“Care to share the stuff?” He has a string of cheese on his chin from the mozzarella stick.

Biting my lip to restrain from smiling, I extend my arm across the table and pick it off, letting my fingertips graze the stubble on his chin, pretending it’s by accident, when really I just like touching him.

His brown eyes widen and his lips part as I lean back. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“You had cheese on your chin,” I explain, flicking it to the ground. He quickly wipes his chin with his hand and I laugh. “I just got it off. Duh.”

He rolls his eyes. “I was just making sure you got all of it.”

I dip a stick into a cup of ranch. “I got it all, so relax. I would never let you walk around with cheese hanging off your face,” I tease. “Although, it would be kind of fun to watch you go hit on the slut over at the bar with cheese on your face.”

The corners of his lips quirk as he watches me chew and he leans back in his chair. “I’m sure I could still get her to let me fuck her.”

I throw a mozzarella stick at him, but he ducks so it misses his head. “You are such an ass.”

“Why? Because I say the truth.”

“In the foulest ways.”

“What? Saying fuck is foul?” he asks. “Would you rather me say let me screw her? Bang her? Let her ride me? Give her the hottest, sweatiest, lip bitingest, best orgasm she’ll probably have?” His voice is getting louder and people are watching us, which seems only to amuse him while it embarrasses me.

“Ethan, please keep it down,” I hiss, glancing at the tables around us, embarrassed, but a giggle escapes my lips. “People are watching us.”

“Do the dirty nasty with me?” he continues, unbothered, his brown eyes darkening as he leans back in his chair, watching me with an arrogant grin on his face. “Fuck her brains out? Or should I just make the noises for you so you really get the picture?” He tips his head back, his black hair falling back out of his eyes, and he starts making little moans. Even though it’s embarrassing, it’s also turning me on. Especially how his lips hypnotically move and the way the light reflects in his eyes and makes them look lustrous.

Stop thinking about him like that. He made his rules for a reason. Shaking my head and the near-orgasmic feeling out of my body, I lean over the table and cover his moaning lips with my hand. “Okay, I get the picture. Will you stop now?”

His grin broadens against my hand and I withdraw, sitting back down in the chair. “I win,” he says and winks at me.

I shake my head, but smile brightly. “For the record, fucking her and fucking her brains out are pretty much one and the same.”

He covers his mouth with his hand, containing his laughter, because he always seems to think it’s funny when I say the F word. In fact, he blames it on his bad influence on me. “Oh, I completely disagree. A lot more effort goes into fucking someone’s brains out.”

I want to argue with him, but I stop myself, because even though I’ve had a lot of sex, I’ve had a lot of meaningless sex, which doesn’t make me an expert. I’ve often wondered what sex would feel like if I wasn’t high on alcohol and/or pills. Would it feel different? Would I feel different, less worthless, or would I feel more? Would it finally feel good for once? Hot, sweaty, and lip biting? I wonder what it would feel like with Ethan…

I dive into the wings, eating one after another, trying to contain my sex-driven thoughts. Ethan devours the jalapeno poppers and continues to check out the slut at the bar, who’s now noticed him, probably because of his moaning and groaning. She looks interested and he’ll probably go home with her, which is fine. I’ve seen him do it a ton of times.

Ethan finally tears his attention off her and it looks like he wants to say something but is wary about it. I figure he’s probably about to ask if he can go do his thing with her and I prepare myself for the stomach punch I always feel when he does this sort of thing.

He blows out a breath and wisps of his hair flutter to the side of his face. “Did you ever get your rent thing taken care of?” he asks, completely blindsiding me.

“Um… what… oh, yeah I did,” I lie, licking some barbecue sauce off my lip.

He cocks an eyebrow at me with skepticism on his face. “Lila.”

“Don’t Lila me.” I sound whiney and I clear my throat, reaching for a napkin. “Okay, so I haven’t yet, but I’m working on it. I just need to get a job, but they’re really hard to find.”

He hitches a finger over his shoulder, pointing at the bar, where a guy is wiping down glasses with a towel. “They’re hiring here.”

I eye the bar as I wipe the barbecue sauce off my fingers. “Yeah, for a waitress.”

“So?”

“So, I can’t be a waitress.”

“Why? You could end up being good at it.” He inclines forward, resting his arms on the table, and amusement dances in his eyes. “And think of all the tips you’d get if you wore a short, low-cut dress that showed off all your goods.”

I roll my eyes. “You know I don’t dress like that.”

“Well, you could always wear that towel of yours,” he says in a husky voice. “You looked good in that.”

It feels like I’m falling, air gets trapped in my lungs and my heart flutters at the hooded look he’s giving me. I’m about to ask him if he liked the towel, because I would seriously put it on for him right here, right now, when he sputters a laugh.

“Relax, I’m just messing with you.” He scoops up a wing and takes a large bite. “I’d rather you not dress like that out in public.”

I swallow hard, feeling like an idiot. Of course he’s just teasing. He always is. And that’s how it’s supposed to be between us. Just friends. But then what the hell was that hyperventilating, falling-off-the-cliff feeling then? “I knew you were,” I lie, sounding pathetically disappointed and feeling strangely conflicted inside.

His expression falls a little and he forces the bite of chicken down his throat. “Are you okay?”

“I’m perfectly okay.” I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear as I lean forward in the chair and dunk a wing into the ranch, biting my tongue hard as I struggle to keep the tears back. Stop it. You don’t ever get upset over a guy like this. Get it together. “I’m just thinking that you’re right and I do need a job, but not here.” My heart is aching inside my chest and I don’t know why, but I feel furious. “And just because I like sex doesn’t mean I’m going to use my body for money.”

“I told you I was just joking about the towel.” His eyebrows lower as he studies me. “I’ve already told you I don’t think of you that way.”

“What way?” I snap, dropping the wing back into the basket. “A slut. An easy lay. A whore.” I hate the word whore. Hate it! But it sums up what I am really well.

He throws up his hands exasperatedly. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you. I’m just trying to help, but clearly I’m not doing that so I’ll back off.”

“Well, I don’t want your help because I don’t need help.” I shove away from the table, my heart racing. Is it time for another pill yet? I feel like I’m crashing. I wind around the table, picking my purse off the back of my chair, then storm for the exit and shove out the front doors, stepping out onto the street. I start to walk down the busy sidewalk, searching the streets for a cab since I didn’t drive here. I start twisting the platinum ring on my finger as my emotions take over and the need to medicate burns inside me. I know I’m acting ridiculous and probably look nuts because of my abrupt switch in moods. I could try to blame it solely on the fact that I need a pill, but it’s much deeper—like the fact I have so many bills and no money left, that I’m proving my parents right and I can’t take care of myself, that I’m going nowhere with my life and have no idea how to change it. And then there’s Ethan. God damn him for being so sexy. Seriously. I’ve liked him since the first day I met him and it gets harder to be around him when it’s clear he doesn’t want me, at least not how I want him. He just teases me. Plain and simple.

I reach the corner of the sidewalk and look left and right before I step off the curb. The evening sky is cloudy and there’s the faintest scent of rain in the air. I hope it doesn’t start raining because I don’t have a jacket on and I’m wearing opened-toed satin high heels and water will ruin them.

“Lila!” I hear Ethan shout as I reach the other side of the street.

Having no desire to talk to him right now, I pick up the pace. I hear the sound of his footsteps rushing after me, but I only walk quicker, balling my hands into fists, and the platinum ring digs into my skin. I clench them even tighter, hyperaware of the pain as the metal indents into my skin and of each scar on my body, all linked to the damn ring.

“God damn it, Lila.” He’s getting irritated. “Slow the fuck down.”

“Ethan, just leave me alone,” I call out over my shoulder, wrapping my arms around myself. “I’m not in the mood to talk right now.”

The sound of his footsteps get closer as I zigzag around a group of people standing in front of one of the older casinos. “I know you’re not, but that doesn’t mean I should leave you alone walking down the fucking strip by yourself.”

I pause near the street post beside a mob of people waiting to cross and I deliberate if I should turn around. I don’t move as his footsteps arrive beside me, but I don’t turn my head and look at him either.

“Look,” he says, panting. “I have no idea what the hell happened back there, but whatever I did or said to make you mad, I’m sorry.” In the year that I’ve known Ethan, I’ve never heard him give a genuine apology.

With my arms crossed over my chest, I peek over at him, feeling the slightest bit embarrassed over my outburst. Ethan looks sincere, his eyes dark and slightly wide underneath the flashing florescent lights, and his chest is moving rapidly as he works to regain his breath.

“You don’t need to be sorry.” I sigh as uncross my arms. “I’m not mad at you.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair. “Then why the heck did you take off?”

I shrug, shuffling my shoes on the sidewalk. “I don’t know… I guess I’m just feeling a little down lately and I was taking it out on you.” I put my fake, pill-induced game face on and smile at him. “It’s really not a big deal.”

He takes a deep intake and releases it. “Stressed out over bills?”

“That among many things.” I push my finger against the crosswalk button on the pole.

“Is it your mom again?” He folds his arms over his chest, and I can’t help but notice how his muscles flex beneath the vibrant artwork on his skin. “Has she been hounding you to move home? Or is it your dad? He’s not being a douche to you again, is he? I swear to God, Lila, you need to just tell them to fuck off if they are. They don’t deserve to even know you with the way that they treat you.”

I bite down on my lip, trying not to stare at his lean muscles or his luscious lips or the fact that he just told me one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard. “No, I haven’t even talked to him in months. My mother’s been calling me all the time to come back home, but that’s not what’s wrong.”

“Did you finally tell her off?”

“As much as I always do.”

“Was she mean to you?”

I shrug. “It doesn’t even matter. At this point it barely affects me.” I’m such a liar and I think he can tell.

His forehead creases as he studies my face. “Do you want to just tell me what’s bothering you or should I keep guessing?”

The light flashes to go ahead and cross the street and I step off the curb. He walks with me, keeping close to my side as we maneuver through the crowd coming at us. I want to tell him what’s wrong, but I’m not one hundred percent sure what’s bothering me just yet. If it’s money, the loneliness I’ve felt for the last month, the fact that I need a job but don’t even know how to get one, or if it’s the feelings I have for him.

“Did you know that Ella and Micha are engaged?” I say, changing the subject and stepping up onto the curb.

Traffic rushes by us as we walk past the towering, uniquely shaped buildings that glimmer and shine. Each building is so different from the other: a replica of the Eiffel Tower, a massive pirate ship, a pyramid—you name it and it’s probably here. Neon lights flash across billboards and marques, trying to entice people to come gamble their money away, see flamboyant shows, or drink drinks while staring at tits. There are a lot of people whisking around and the heat, the dancing, the skimpy clothing, and the music playing make the atmosphere erotic and steamy. The combination makes me want to dance and have fun, instead of thinking about stuff.

“Yeah, Micha told me a couple of weeks ago.” He slips his arm around my shoulder and draws me closer as a guy tries to hand me a card with a picture of a naked lady on it. “Sorry I didn’t mention it. Micha wasn’t even supposed to mention it, because Ella wasn’t ready to tell anyone, but he let it slip out.”

“She told me the other day,” I say, breathing in his scent. He smells so mouthwateringly good. “And she sounded so happy.”

“I’m sure they are.” He slants his head down to meet my eyes and inquisitiveness sparkles in them. “Is that why you’re upset? Because they’re getting married?”

“No, I’m just… honestly, I’m not sure what’s bothering me. I think maybe I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

He searches my eyes a moment longer, the lights on the marque above our heads reflecting in his pupils. “Do you want me to take you home?” he asks. “So you can get some rest?”

I shake my head, even though I’m exhausted. I don’t want to go home to my empty house. “Can we go to a club or something? And I mean really nice one.” I grab his arm and pretty much beg. “I need to do something that’s fun.”

He dithers. “You know how I feel about clubs. They’re too God damn noisy and packed and fancy ones are even worse.”

“Please.” I pout, exaggeratedly sticking my lip out. “I’m not ready to go home just yet.”

“Can’t we just go to a bar?”

“I want to do something that’s my kind of fun.”

“You mean spend money you don’t have?” he says bluntly.

I glare at him. “Fine. I’m sorry I even tried.” I start to stomp away, but he pulls me back.

He sighs. “Fine.” He gives in to me, then lets go of my arm and offers me his elbow and I take it, even though I know I shouldn’t, because I’m getting too attached, dangerously one-sidedly attached. He guides me across the road, talking about how hot it is. So simple. So easy.

Too bad he doesn’t want me because I would love to let him have me.

Ethan

I really hate clubs. There are too many people packed in a tiny area and the music is always turned up to the point where it vibrates in my chest. But Lila didn’t want to go home and I don’t want her out and about when she’s obviously upset about something.

We’re sitting on barstools at the bar that probably cost more than my truck. The bartender keeps hitting on Lila, even though she seems uninterested. It’s annoying to watch, but it’s always hard to watch her get hit on. In fact, it’s harder than it used to be and I can’t help thinking she’s mine, even though she’s obviously not.

“Are you sure you don’t want a shot?” she asks me over the music as she slams down her fifth shot of top-shelf vodka, which I’m sure she can’t afford. I remember when I first met her how much of a lightweight she was, barely able to drink beers, but now she’s fucking crazy, reckless even. It makes me a little nervous and I’m seriously considering taking her fake ID and cutting it in half so she can’t use it anymore to go out, but then again I’d be a fucking hypocrite if I didn’t get rid of mine so I could stop going out.”

“Then who would drive home?” I ask loudly, glancing at the dance floor. There are a ton of women out tonight, dressed in short dresses, tight pants, their tits pretty much bulging out of their tops. It’s usually a nice sight, but I’m not feeling it tonight. I wasn’t even feeling it back at the bar with the blonde eyeing me. I kept staring at her, deciding if I wanted to hit on her or not, but Lila and my worry for her kept pulling me back and finally I’d decided just to focus on her.

“We could get a cab.” She spins the empty shot glass around on the bar. I open my mouth to protest, but she interrupts. “You don’t have to. You’re just always so tense when we come to these kinds of places and alcohol usually relaxes you.”

My forehead creases as I assess her. Typically, people don’t notice my uneasiness and it makes me question why she’s been paying such close attention to me. I remember the countless times London use to drag me to noisy places, either not noticing that I hated the noise or not caring.

“What?” Lila touches her hair self-consciously and then glances down at her dress that brushes the middle of her legs. She has a sweater jacket thingy over it, which makes no sense to me since it’s hot as hell outside. She also has a pearl bracelet on and a diamond necklace and everything about her screams money, a rich princess pretty much. We’re so opposite, yet I can’t seem to stay away from her.

“It’s nothing,” I say, patting the bar with my hand. “I’ll take a few shots with you, but you have to order them.”

She lowers her hand to the bar. “Why?”

I restrain an eye roll. “Because the bartender is obviously into you and I’m guessing he might get the shots for you faster.”

She glances over at the bartender talking to a group of women. “He’s not my type,” she says nonchalantly, looking back at me with curiosity. The lights from the dance floor flash across her face and there’s no use trying to deny how beautiful she is, princess or not.

“Not preppy enough for you?” I tease, but underneath my skin, irritation surfaces.

She props her elbow on the bar and watches me, not saying anything. It’s making me uncomfortable. I want to ask her what the hell she’s thinking about and why she’s staring at me like that, but I don’t because I’m afraid of the answer. “What do you want to drink?” she asks.

I shrug, taking an uneasy deep breath, hating how unsettled I feel inside. When did things get so complex between us? How did I let it get that way? “I’m going to have to go with tequila.”

She giggles under her breath. “To kill ya coming up.”

She raises her hand, leans over the bar, and flags down the bartender. She slips off her jacket, the thin straps of her dress revealing her shoulders and the low-cut back showing her smooth skin. I’m not sure if she does it on purpose, to get the bartender’s attention, but it works. She orders a shot of vodka and a shot of tequila. He grins at her, drinking her in, and I want to punch him in the face just for looking. I’m not much of the jealous type, so the feeling throws me off a little.

The guy on the barstool next to Lila starts flirting with her a few seconds later, eying her lips as she chews on the straw. He’s older, at least twenty-five, wearing a black suit and ridiculously shiny shoes. Lila seems vaguely interested in him, not laughing at his jokes, yet she lets him place his hand on her thigh and inch it up north.

I’m getting pissed. I’ve never had much of a possessive side—I’ve seen my father overact too much with my mother, even if she was just talking to the mailman—but right now my jealous, controlling side is coming out. As the bartender sets the shots down in front of us, I grab the top of her barstool and spin her in my direction so the guy’s hand falls off her leg.

Her eyes widen as the guy shoots a glare at me. “What the hell, Ethan?”

I have an arm on each side of her and my hands are just beside her hips. I lean in so she can hear me. “If you want me to stay here with you and take shots, your attention needs to be on me.” I wince at my own words, but it’s too late and I can’t retract them.

Her expression is calm, yet her eyes carry interest. “Okay,” she says simply and gathers the shot from the counter. She raises it in front of her, giggling. “To paying attention.”

I shake my head, rolling my eyes at her drunkenness, but a laugh slips through as I collect the shot glass. “All right, Lila.” I raise the glass upward. “To paying attention.”

I’m about to clink our glasses when she pulls back. “That goes for you, too,” she says and when my expression slips to confusion, she adds, “You have to pay attention to me tonight, too.”

Why do I see this going very, very wrong? “Okay.” I’m an idiot. “You have my one hundred percent undivided attention, Lila Summers.”

Her lips curve to a smile and then she clinks her glass against mine. We both pull away and tip our heads back, devouring our shots.

“Now what?” I ask, slamming the empty glass down on the bar while she gags on the drink—she always does.

Her grin is almost devilish. “Another one?”

I sigh and shrug, feeling slightly better as the alcohol burns its way through my body. “Why not?”

“Why do you think it’s so hard to be alone?” Lila asks, struggling to keep her eyes open as she gazes out at the night sky through the cab window.

I’m turned sideways in the seat, with my knee up, so I’m facing her, even though she won’t look at me. I lost count of how many shots we had hours ago and I can barely comprehend how we got to a cab—stumbling, laughing, as she rubbed her hand up the front of my jeans. No, that can’t be right, can it?

“I think being alone is fan-fucking-tastic… well, maybe… sometimes…” I mumble, draping my arm on the back of the seat. I stare at her for a moment, taking in her bare skin in the moonlight. I want to touch it. Lick it. Even bite it.

I’m bursting with sexual energy and I channel it to my foot on the floor, bouncing my knee. There’s something different about tonight, something out of the ordinary, this strange need to keep getting closer to Lila. It could be the alcohol. Or it could be something else, but there’s no way my tequila-soaked mind is going to reach any sort of answer.

Lila turns her head toward me, her pupils wide and shiny. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

I keep tapping my foot on the floor, trying to think of a better answer than the first one that pops into my head, but I can’t find one. “Because I’m thinking about you.”

She glances at the cab driver, a thirtyish guy wearing a baseball cap, and then her gaze lands back on me. She sucks her lip into her teeth and I have to bounce my knee faster or I swear I’m going to fucking lose it. “Thinking what about me?” she asks, looking wary, interested, and exhausted.

Don’t say it… “I was thinking about what it would be like to lick you… or bite you… either one really.” It seems like I should regret it as soon as I say it, but regret is nowhere in my reach at the moment.

Her breathing quickens and her voice comes out shockingly unsteady for someone who has sex so much. “Then do it.”

I blink, wondering if I heard her right through the massive amount of alcohol consuming my thoughts. “What?”

She holds my gaze steadily, even though she seems really nervous, her voice trembling. “Then bite me. Or lick me… whatever you want.”

Every part of me is screaming not to do it, that I’m breaking my rules—rules I set for a reason. But desire and fucking tequila rampage the rational side of my mind. Drawn by a needy current, I lean forward, sweep her hair off her shoulder, keeping our eyes locked the entire time, and she quivers as my fingers brush her collarbone. When I reach the curve of her breast and trace a line above it, she bites her lip and groans. It’s way too much. My body feels like it’s going to combust. Before I can even acknowledge what I’m doing, I duck my head forward, slip my tongue out, and lick a path from her collarbone to the arch of her neck, grazing my teeth softly along the path.

“Oh God… Ethan.” She shivers, clutching her hands at her side. “That feels way too good.”

My eyes close and my breathing becomes ragged as I battle to pull back, keep my hands to myself, fearing that if I touch her, I’ll rip her clothes off right here in the back of the cab. And I can’t go there. It’s not the same as when I hook up with random women. I can feel a connection with Lila and sex will ruin it, especially when I bail out afterward.

“Lila…” I trail off as her hand glides up the front of my shorts. “I think…”

I bite down on the sensitive spot right below her ear, just above her neck, not enough to break the skin, but enough that her shoulder jerks upward, and my hands clamp down on her waist, my fingertips delving into the fabric of her dress.

“Do it again,” she whispers, breathless, her hand rubbing me hard. “Please.”

I remember how she told me she never begged, and suddenly all my doubts dissipate into the sea of alcohol swimming around in my head. I move my mouth upward to the tip of her earlobe, breathing hotly on her skin the entire way, and then I graze my teeth along her earlobe, slide my tongue out along it, and taste her just like I wanted to.

“Oh… my… God…” She releases a slow breath that’s echoed by a whimper, her chest curving forward and pressing against mine.

I’m a little stunned by how much she’s enjoying it and by how much I’m enjoying it, too, my moves fueled by an adrenaline surge and yearning in my body. I swear all the sexual tension inside me is pouring out in my motions. I’ve lost control. I place my hand on her bare leg and glide it up until it’s fully underneath her dress, her skin searingly hot against mine, and my fingers graze the edge of her panties. The warmth and wetness that I felt when she had the towel on is there and all I want to do is say fuck my rules, slip my fingers inside her, and lay her down on the seat.

“Shit, Lila…” I sound choked as I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to decide what’s right and what’s wrong—what I need to do and what I want to do. “I think we should—”

The cab jerks to a stop and Lila and I quickly pull back, looking stunned. I’d seriously almost forgotten that we were in a cab. We’re at the entrance of her apartment, the lampposts lighting up the parking lot. It’s late, the neighborhood quiet, and the cab driver looks really pissed off.

“Jesus,” she whispers, blinking her eyes open, and then she aims her attention at the door. Her hand is still on my cock and my hand is still up her dress.

Reluctantly pulling my hand out from underneath her dress, she follows my lead, so we both have our hands to ourselves. I inch my legs out of the way so she can squeeze through and climb out, but she doesn’t budge, looking at me expectantly.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“Aren’t you going to come in?” Her voice carries confidence, but her slackened posture and uneasy demeanor portray self-doubt and the doubt makes me hesitate.

“Maybe I shouldn’t,” I say, torn between the good side of me and the bad, the drunken side and the sober side. Rules. No relationships. What am I doing? “It might not be a good idea… maybe…”

“Oh.” Her eyes widen in horror and it surprises me. With all the flirting we’ve done and the guys Lila has slept with, I’d never expect her to look so hurt. And maybe that’s why I decide to do it. Or maybe I’m just really, really stupid, but somehow I find myself getting out of the cab with her.

After we pay, we run in a drunken stupor to her complex, laughing about God knows what. When we reach her door, she fumbles with her keys, until finally she gets it open. She trips over her own feet, laughing as my fingers fold around her waist, catching her before she falls.

“You’re a clumsy drunk,” I say as she stands up straight, steadying herself by clutching on to my shoulders.

“And you’re sexy when you’re drunk,” she says, biting her lip as she turns to face me.

My hands are still on her waist, my fingers gripping at her skin, wanting to feel more of it, but I’m still hesitating to take it any further. I know Lila—like really know her—and afterward, I’ll have to see her again. What if it changes things between us? Do I care? As soon as I think it, I realize I do care about her more than I want to admit. She knows more about me than anyone. Jesus, she really does. I’ve told her shit about my parents, my druggy past, and my future loner plans and she’s told me a lot of stuff about her and how her dad is verbally abusive and cheats on her mom all the time and her mom just accepts it. We know stuff about each other and I never even got that far with London.

Looking anxious and uncertain, Lila grips the front of my shirt and tugs me with her as she walks backward toward the hallway. Neither of us says anything. We don’t turn on the lights. We just breathe loudly with each step, our eyes fastened together as we move our legs in sync.

Minutes, or maybe seconds, later, we’re falling onto her bed. I brace myself with my arms, catching my weight so I don’t crush her, and she gazes up at me, not saying anything, just breathing, her chest brushing against mine with every inhale. I want her so damn bad and I know she can tell since my hard-on is pressed up against her hip. Unable to tolerate the tension anymore, I lower my mouth toward hers, ready to kiss her, but she turns her head at the last second and my lips brush against her cheek instead. At first it’s kind of weird, but then she slides her body upward, so her neck is in my face and I understand what she wants.

I press my lips to her skin, rolling my tongue out, and then drag my teeth gently across her neck as her hand finds the top of my shorts and she undoes the button and zipper. I shiver and groan as she grabs my cock and starts to rub me hard again. I bite down on her skin, maybe a little too roughly but she trembles with me, enjoying it, but she doesn’t moan, which is disappointing because the sound of it in the cab nearly drove me crazy in a good way. I want to make her moan so badly that it becomes the sole focus of my thoughts. Moving my body downward, I create a path of kisses and gentle bites, nibbling soft skin until I reach the top of her dress. Then I suck the curve of her breast as I reach up and slip one of the straps down her shoulder.

“You are so beautiful,” I mutter. The sight of her skin right there for me to taste is driving me fucking crazy and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to be inside someone as much as I do right now. I’m about to yank her other strap down so I can get a full view of her breasts when I realize how still she’s gone. At first I think she’s passed out, but when I pull back, she’s just lying there motionless as she stares at the ceiling, fiddling with the platinum ring on her finger.

“Lila,” I say, trying not to worry over what it could mean. That maybe I’d misread her and she really wasn’t into this. Did I force her to do something? Shit. I didn’t even remember to ask if she wanted this.

“Yeah,” she answers numbly, without looking at me.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She sounds as hollow as she looks. “Keep going.”

I blink at her, stunned, and then I sit up, disconnecting the fiery connection between our bodies. “Keep going? Are you even into this?” I try not to sound upset, but it shows through the unevenness in my voice.

She still doesn’t look at me, and when she speaks, her voice is flat. “Yeah, I want it.”

“You sure as hell don’t sound like you want it.” I climb off the bed and zip my shorts back up. “How wasted are you?”

She finally meets my eyes and I’m taken back by the emptiness in them. And it’s not because she’s drunk. She knows what’s going on, yet it looks like she feels nothing about it. As much as I hate to admit it, it stings, tears at my heart a little.

“I’m just going to go,” I say, backing toward the door, pissed off at myself for getting into this situation to begin with. I knew better than to go here with her and now I can’t take it back.

She sits up, the moonlight filtering through her window, illuminating her pale skin. Her eyes look black in the shadows. “If that’s what you want,” she says emotionlessly.

I have no idea how to take her right now. I could ask her questions, but we’re both drunk, and honestly the hurt inside me is intensifying. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” It’s all I say—all I can say at the moment because I have no idea what’s going on and I despise how freaked out I’m feeling over it.

I leave her in her room and she doesn’t chase after me. By the time I reach the curb, I’m chewing myself out for ever going there because I know there’s no way we can go back to what we were before. This is irrevocable.