Ethan sighs and bends forward to press a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll be waiting for you when you get out.”
I nod and head into the guest bath, where I let the hot water cascade over my shoulders, washing away the tension of the evening. Steam fills the small space as I try to sort through my jumbled thoughts, wishing Brandon would stop making an appearance—his easy smile, the way he knows exactly what to say to make me laugh.
Certain boundaries make sense.
Ethan’s words echo in the back of my mind as I shut off the water with more force than necessary and towel off, slipping into my pajamas.
God, maybe I’m just a selfish jerk. It shouldn’t even be a debate who to put first, should it? I’m with Ethan. So, Ethan needs to be the priority no matter how weird it feels to put my friendship with Brandon on the back burner.
Maybe Ethan’s right. Maybe I do need to create some distance between Brandon and me if I want this relationship to work.
Prepared to put the evening behind us and ask Ethan to forgive me for being so shortsighted, I open the bathroom door. Steam billows out around me as I step into the bedroom and freeze. Ethan is sitting on the edge of the bed, his face hard as stone. In his hand is my phone, its screen glowing in the dimly lit room.
My stomach drops at the look in his eyes?anger and confusion and pain.
Then he stands, hand shaking as he extends the device toward me like it’s evidence in a trial.
“Just friends, huh?” His voice is dangerously quiet, close to being lethal. “Do I even want to know what the ‘massage incident’ was?”
I take the phone with trembling fingers, my cheeks burning so hot I’m surprised they don’t sizzle from my still-damp hair. Charlotte’s text glares up at me from the brightly lit screen:Has Brandon mentioned the massage incident? Girl, I can’t stop thinking about it.
I stare at Ethan, my mouth hanging open in shock as the blood rushes to my face. “You went through my phone?” The words come out strangled, caught between outrage and guilt.
“Don’t turn this around on me.” Ethan jabs a finger at the phone. “I heard it buzz while you were in the shower. I thought it might be important.”
“So, you read my private messages?” My hands are shaking now, clutching the phone like a lifeline, unsure if I even have a right to be angry.
“That’s not the point,” he says, his voice rising. “The point is you and yourbest friendare clearly doing more than just hanging out. A massage, Tatum? Really? Just what the hell happened the other night?”
I swallow over the growing lump in my throat, unsure of what to say. All I have is the truth, and the truth feels a little like an admission of guilt I’m not sure I’ve earned.
I breathe through my nose, struggling to get my bearings despite feeling trapped, cornered in this unfamiliar room in his parents’ house.
The walls seem to close in as I search for an explanation that won’t make this worse. “It wasn’t like that,” I finally say.
“Then what was it like?” His eyes bore into mine, demanding an explanation I’m not sure how to give.
God, it’s going to sound so much worse than it was.
I take my phone from him, closing out of the text messages as my mind races. “It was nothing. It was just an awkward situation, that’s all.”
“That’s not what that text sounds like. It sounds like that asshole did something, and I want to know what it is.”
My cheeks burn with mortification as I remember the feel of Brandon pressed against me. How the hell do I explainthat?
“It was nothing—stupid, really.” I close my eyes as I start to explain. “We were having a spa day.”
“Which means what exactly?”
I bite my lower lip and blink my eyes open. “We were doing face masks and my nails,” I say, thinking of my bright-pink toes and how he said my feet were cute. “And he didn’t want the mask on his face anymore, so he took his off and rubbed my shoulders while my mask and nails dried.”
“And?” The muscle in Ethan’s jaw flickers, a warning he’s close to losing it. “Did he cross the line? Did he touch you—”
“No. No, he didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just . . .” I cover my face with my hands, mumbling, “I noticed he”?I swallow?“he?”
“Hewhat?” Ethan snaps, clearly growing impatient.
Rip the Band-Aid off, Tate.
