“What kind of work were you getting?”
She closed her eyes and half shrugged. “My first job was on Broadway, actually. I was in a revival ofGypsy.”
“Never heard of it.”
“It’s an old musical, about this super pushy stage mom. I understudied the girls who played her daughters.”
“Is that what your mom is like?”
She opened her eyes again.
“No.”
He waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t. She reached her hand out for the bottle. He passed it to her, a little surprised she wanted more, and she tilted her head back to drink deeply.
She wiped her mouth on her arm and passed it back to him.
“My turn. We gotta get through these faster or we’ll be out here all night.” She flopped her head toward him, her eyes heavy. “I like…I like that you go out of your way for people when they need you.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Two words: Belgian waffles. Your turn.”
“I like how much you speak your mind.”
“Only around you. You bring it out of me, for some reason.”
He bit back a smile. “Your turn.”
“I know, I know, I’mthinking.”
Her eyes took a long tour up and down his body, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. When they settled back on his, it was impossible to misinterpret: she was giving him fuck-me eyes.
“I like how…talentedyou are. I don’t think I thanked you enough for your help on my audition.” She was practically purring. He shifted in his seat, alarms blaring in his head. This was taking a dangerous turn.
“Thank you. I mean, you’re welcome.” He cleared his throat. “You’re very funny. Okay, that’s five.”
He stood up abruptly. “I think that’s enough for me tonight, I’m exhausted.”
She batted her eyes at him. “Aren’t you going to carry me?”
Ethan was trapped. He’d be an asshole to refuse her. On the other hand, the last thing he needed was to get up close and personal with her when she suddenly seemed hellbent on seducing him. He forced himself to take an honest inventory of his self-control: if he took her in his arms right now, would he be able to walk away once he laid her down on the bed?
“I’ll see you inside,” he said gruffly, turning away.
—
IT HAD BEENtoo long since Grey had been stoned. Long enough to forget a crucial detail: being cross-faded always made her devastatingly, world-destroyingly horny. And that waswithoutbeing primed by weeks of excruciating sexual tension first.
She wasn’t deterred by Ethan’s initial refusal. She’d known it wouldn’t be that easy. She felt like a heat-seeking missile, programmed for a single purpose. Never mind that following that comparison to its natural end would mean mutually assured destruction.
She carefully prepared herself for bed, stripping down to a clingy T-shirt and lacy underwear just cheeky enough to give herplausible deniability. She could hear Ethan watching TV in the living room. She tousled her hair, turned off the lights, and slid open the dividing door.
The lights were out on his side, too, the only illumination the flickering colors of the television. Ethan, beer in hand, looked over at her when he saw the door open. She wished she could have taken a picture of his face when he registered what she was wearing (or, more specifically, what she wasn’t wearing).
She leaned against the doorframe. “How’d that couch treat you last night?”
His eyes were heavy-lidded, his voice even and careful.
