Broken Juliet(34)

“When what?”

“When you’re near me! When you touch me. You can’t just … do that to me.”

“Believe me, I know the feeling.”

I throw my hands up. “I didn’t do anything!”

“You don’t need to. Just f*cking existing is enough to completely ruin me.”

The sadness in his tone makes me pause, but it doesn’t make me any less angry.

“Whatever,” I say as I try to unzip my dress. “Forget it.”

He pulls off his jacket and says, “What the f*ck do you think I’ve been trying to do all year?”

The bodice of the dress seems to tighten like a python, squeezing me to the point of asphyxiation. “Get this damn thing undone.”

I turn so he can unzip me, and when he does, I stalk into the dressing room. I rip off the dress and pull my bra and shirt back on. Then I gather up my stuff and throw back the curtain. He’s standing there watching me, like he’s about to apologize or something.

I pause. We stare at each other. No apology is forthcoming.

Of course not.

Freaking typical.

“Oh, hey, guys.”

We both turn to see Jack Avery, holding an armful of costumes. “Oh, wow, did I interrupt something? Need some privacy? Or condoms?”

I make a disgusted noise and push past him. “Shut up, Jack.”

As I walk down toward the exit, I hear Avery say, “Dude, are you still pretending she doesn’t have you totally and completely whipped? How f*cking deluded are you?”

As I reach the door, Holt says, “For once I agree with Cassie, Avery. Shut the f*ck up.”

Hours later, when I get home, I’m still tingling from the memory of my hands on his chest. They crave to feel him again. Want more of him beneath them.

I groan and collapse onto my bed, frustrated beyond belief.

Indifference? Yeah, right.

I have no freaking idea what that word means.

My only consolation is that neither does Ethan.





THIRTEEN


AVOIDANCE


Present Day

New York City, New York

The Apartment of Cassandra Taylor


I snuggle into the warmth beside me.

Hmmm. Boy. Soft skin. Smells good.

Ethan?

An arm wraps around me and I snuggle further, reliving the memory of lips and tongue. It wakes me up from the inside, making me greedy for more.

I put my hand on his stomach. Feel the taut muscles there. So many muscles.

Wait. Too many muscles.

I trail down to his belly button.

“Sweetheart, if you go much lower we’re going to have to re-examine my sexuality, and I don’t think either of us is ready for that right now.”

I open my eyes. My roommate, Tristan, is lying next to me with one of Ethan’s journals open in his hand.

“You know, I always thought your stories about this guy were embellished out of hurt or bitterness, but reading this? It’s a wonder he could walk upright and talk at the same time. There’s some serious self-flagellation going on in here. Did he actually have his own whip? Or was it all just in his mind?”

I grab for the book, but he tightens his arm around me and holds it out of my reach.

“Nuh uh uh. I’ve been hearing about his antics for three years. I think I’ve earned a little peek inside his crazy. Of course, the important question is, where did you get these journals? Please tell me you didn’t steal them like a crazy stalker-lady.”

I rub my eyes. It’s too early for one of Tris’s interrogations. “He gave them to me.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“At rehearsal?”

“No.”

“Then where?”

“At his apartment.”

He pauses. “Uh-huh. So you went over there, picked these up, and left, right? No romantic contact? No reminiscing about how obsessed you are with his cock?”

“Tristan…”

He pulls back so he can glare at me. “No, don’t you Tristan me. You swore you were going to take things slow with this guy, and I get home this morning to find your sex-kitten underwear on the floor, loverboy’s journals on your nightstand, and scruff rash all over your face. Seems to me you’re determined to screw this up before you’ve even given it a chance.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Do I actually need to check if your pants are on fire, Miss Liar? Because it looks like your face has been exfoliated with a sandblaster.”

“Okay, nothing much. We kissed.”

“Just kissed?”

“And … humped against a wall.”

He exhales. “That’s not nothing.”

“It’s not sex.”

“It’s also not slow.”

I know he’s right, but admitting it is beyond me. “What do you want me to say, Tris? That it was stupid? It was. Do I know what the hell I’m doing with him? Absolutely not. Did I have highly pornographic dreams about him last night? Hell yes. Honest enough for you?”

I slump against his chest as he tightens his arm around me and rests his head against mine.

“Sweet girl, I’m not trying to be a dick here. I just don’t want this to go south again. I know he probably turns you inside out but if you go too fast, too soon, then you’re going to do exactly the same thing he did—freak out and bail. I’m pretty sure neither of you wants that, right?”