“How long?” His voice is careful, curious.
I sit up, needing distance to admit this. My skin feels too tight, too warm. “Since... a while. A long time.”
“That's not really an answer.”
“Since freshman year,” I say quickly, the half-truth easier than explaining. “The first few weeks, I hooked up with this guy from calc. Nothing serious, just... you know. Normal college stuff. But then I met Miles and that was it.”
I stop myself before addingexcept for last summer.Before admitting to those three months that I still can't fully process. The nights I don't talk about. The mistakes I made when I thought?—
No. That's not a story for tonight. Maybe not ever.
The bed next door creaks ominously. We both pause, listening. It holds.
“That's a long time. So you didn’t have any sophomore flings? One-night stands?” Ethan says softly, and something in his tone makes me wonder if he heard the pause, the thing I'm not saying.
“I didn't want to risk it,” I continue, skipping over the complicated middle. “What if Miles finally noticed me but then saw me with someone else? What if that was the thing that made him realize he didn't want me? So I waited. And waited. And now...” I take a shaky breath. “Now I'm terrified I've forgotten how to be touched. How to want. How to be wanted.”
“Piper—"
“It's pathetic, I know.”
“It's not.” His hand finds mine, thumb stroking over my knuckles. “And for what it's worth... you definitely haven't forgotten. That kiss tonight...”
Heat floods through me at the memory. The way he’d groaned into my mouth. The evidence of his desire pressed against me.
“I should tell you something,” I say, wine and proximitymaking me brave. “When I felt you... when you got hard during the kiss... I was excited.”
His breath catches. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I turn to face him fully, my knee brushing his thigh. “It made me feel powerful. Like I could affect someone like that. Like maybe I’m not completely broken.”
“You’re not broken.” His voice is rough. “You’re just... waiting for the right person to touch you.”
The words hang between us, heavy with implication. Next door, Delilah makes a sound that should be illegal, but all I can focus on is the way Ethan’s looking at me. Like he wants to be that person. Like he’s barely holding himself back.
“I felt it too,” he admits suddenly. “When you kissed me. Not just the physical stuff, but... the way you grabbed me. Like you wanted to crawl inside my skin. Like you were starving for it.”
“I was,” I whisper. “I am.”
We’re so close now. His hand is still holding mine, and I can feel his pulse racing. Or maybe that’s mine. The moment stretches taut, like a string about to snap.
“Tell me to stop,” he says softly. “Tell me this is just the wine and pretending to be on a date and listening to other people fuck. Tell me to stop looking at you like?—”
“Like what?”
“Like I want to be the one to remind you how good it feels to be touched.”
My whole body lights up at his words. “Ethan...”
“I know.” He releases my hand, pulls back slightly. “I know this is complicated. You’re dealing with Miles stuff, and we’re supposed to be pretending, and?—”
I kiss him.
Not for show. Not for anyone else. Just because I want to know what Ethan tastes like when it’s real.
He makes a sound—surprise, desire, relief all tangled together—and then his hands are in my hair and he’s kissing me back like he’s been thinking about it all night. Maybe longer.
This kiss is different from the one downstairs. Slower. Deeper. His tongue traces my bottom lip and I open for him, gasping when he takes the invitation. His hand slides down to my waist, fingers skimming bare skin where my tank top has ridden up, and it’s such a simple touch but I feel it everywhere.
