11
BARBIE
THURSDAY, JULY 17TH
Ethan iskissingme.
On the cheek, if we’re being technical here. The mint of his breath is still warm on my face. The heat of his body is still seared into mine. The press of his fingers is still firm against the small of my back, bunching the fabric of my top.
I want to turn my head an inch so badly and capture his lips with mine. I want to rip his shirt in half with my bare hands and taste the salt of his skin. I want to?—
“He’s not looking our way, is he?” Ethan murmurs. My brain goes through a considerable delay before processing those words. I’m too busy wondering if it’ll be extremely forward of me to smush my boobs against him.
It would be extremely tacky of me.
My parents raised me better. There’s got to be some decorum instilled in me—an ounce, a crumb, a fraction of an atom; whatever it may be. I’m not some middle schooler who’s discovered boys for the first time. I’m Barbie who’s discovered her coworker is very hot for the millionth time.
God, his body is so solid and sturdy and rugged. Not wanting to describe him with adjectives one would use for a tree any longer, I pull my head back an inch, and my gaze connects withhis. The noisy ice cream parlor is practically nonexistent the longer I look up into those dark brown eyes.
It takes a moment for me to realize he’s shielding me with his body, his back to the Flanders, and unless our manager wants to waltz right over and gets super close and personal—he won’t see our faces.
For all Ed knows, we’re just two strangers who can’t keep their hands off each other, and not Ethan and Barbie who can’t seem to keep their hands to themselves now that the floodgates have been opened.
“No.” I lean over slightly and hazard a quick peek, my palms flat against his hard chest. Our manager is too enamored with the various flavors of ice cream on display to notice us standing a few yards away or witness Ethan’s hands sliding down inch by inch—I clear my throat.
Ethan blinks, and I can see the gears working in his head when he comes to realize what he’s doing and abruptly lets go of me. “We’ll have to get pistachio later?—”
A round of cheers and claps cuts him off, startles me, and draws our attention to the pimply teenager who’s probably—let’s be real here, definitely—not paid enough to scoop out ice cream, toss it into the air, and break into a rendition of some theatrical parlor trick with the two scoopers in his hands.
“Is this even hygienic?” I whisper. “Or profitable? What happens if it splats on the floor? That seems like a waste?—”
“Think about that later,” Ethan says, his fingers twining with mine. “Let’s make our escape now.”
He leads me out of the ice cream shop, and it’s as if we’ve stepped into a different dimension because, boy howdy, is it so freaking hot outside. And crowded. So,socrowded.
A pitchy laughter carries with the wind. My mind shuts down.
As does my body when I freeze, and Ethan halts a split second later. The level of focus in his concerned gaze is no match for my racing heartbeat thrumming in my ears.
It’s a lot of people. We’d have to bottleneck our way out, and I don’t see any pocket of space anywhere.
“Barbie.” Ethan’s voice is steady, tinged with something reassuring as concern gathers in his eyes. “Do you want me to carry you out of here?”
“Like a bride?” I wheeze. Absolute horror floods me.
“Like a piggyback ride,” he says, which is much better and less attention-grabby and won’t have me blindly shoving and elbowing my way out of here.
“But your neck?—”
“It’s fine. I’ll let you know if I pull it again.”
I’m not sure how or when it happens because my brain is scattered across a hundred different things going on all at once in my head, but I’m eventually on his back, my arms looped around his neck, and my thighs clinging tightly to his hips. I’m breathing through my nose and trying to focus on it.
“So, what’s the internship for?” Ethan’s voice breaks through my flimsy attempt.
“What internship?” I gasp, barely catching a glimpse of a chalkboard sign posted outside a pub. Everything around us is so bright and sporadic and so goddamn dizzying.
“The one you’re abandoning the dream team for,” he says, his tone is even and calm like his heartbeat.
