Ethan scoffs. “The way he looks at you . . . and the way he talked down to me tonight . . .”
“He’s just being overprotective. And the transfer thing took him by surprise, so he’s understandably upset.”
And I don’t think he’s used to sharing.
“Well, whatever it is, I don’t like it.” Ethan cracks his knuckles before standing and sinking down on the bed beside me. “And I hate that he gets to see you every day, and I don’t.”
He doesn’t see meeveryday.But somehow, I don’t think that’ll make Ethan feel any better, so I reach out and thread my fingers through his hair, staring down at our intertwined hands when I say, “Once I’m at Michigan State, we’ll have all the time in the world to spend together.”
“You’re not backing out? You’re still planning on transferring to be with me?” he asks, turning to search my eyes for the truth.
“Of course,” I breathe.
Sighing, he presses his forehead to mine, and I hate the way my thoughts drift to Brandon. “You know I love you, Tatum.”
I suck in a breath, jerking back to look into his dark eyes, sure I misheard him. “You . . .”
“I love you,” he repeats. “And I pray to God you feel the same, because it would kill me if you didn’t.”
I swallow, wanting to say the words back to him, frustrated when they form a lump in my throat I can’t seem to choke down.
My stomach squeezes, and I blame it on the booze.
His gaze turns expectant as I sit there in silence.
My boyfriend just told me he loves me, and suddenly I’m tongue-tied?
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Of course I feel the same,” I finally manage, because it’s the closest I can get without muttering those three stupid words that just won’t seem to come.
Doubt flickers through his eyes, but before he can question it, I crush my mouth to his.
I need to erase the uncertainty I’ve created, so I put everything I have into this kiss. Maybe I can’t say the words, but I can show him.
His lips are warm, familiar against mine in a way that eases some of the rising tension in my chest. I press closer, threading my fingers through his hair when his hands find my waist.
The room spins—from the alcohol or from the intensity between us, I’m not sure—but it’s like an out-of-body experience, as if I’m experiencing all of these sensations from some distant place.
His tongue slides against mine as he presses me back against the mattress, his weight shifting over me as his kisses grow more insistent. His hands slide under my shirt, fingers skimming over my ribs, leaving goose bumps in their wake. “Let me show you how much I love you,” he murmurs against my neck.
His breath is hot on my skin, and my head swims as he tugs at the material separating me from him before he lifts it over my head in one fluid motion. The cool air hits me like a slap, and a moment of clarity cuts through the alcohol haze.
What am I doing?
“Ethan, wait—” I gasp as his lips find my collarbone, his weight pressing me deeper into the mattress.
“I’vebeenwaiting,” he murmurs, fingers working at the clasp of my bra. “For months.”
I shiver as the room tilts again. Nausea turns my stomach, forcing me to close my eyes. I try to work through the fog of my thoughts, but it’s too hard. Everything is muddled, my head swimming as the clasp of my bra gives way.
“You’re so beautiful,’ he whispers, squeezing one of my breastshard.
“Ow!”
He chuckles against my skin, replacing his hand with his mouth as he murmurs, “Sorry.”
“Wait. Ethan . . . maybe we should wait. I’m drunk and . . .” My voice quivers as I trail off, wondering why I feel like I’m going to cry.
