Drawn To You

by Lily Summers

  Things are getting very real very fast, and a voice from the dark corners of my brain warns me that I should put on the brakes. I haven’t been with anyone since Damien, and it’s been a long while since Damien. I need a breather to think this through before I leap.

  Very reluctantly, I pull back.

  Ezra’s breathing is heavy. “Something wrong?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head to reiterate. “Everything’s great. This is great. I just need a minute.” I stall, searching for something else to show that my hesitation isn’t about him. My brain has kind of shut off, though, so the best thing I can come up with is, “Plus, I need some water. That okay?”

  Smooth, Mia.

  “Yeah, of course.” Ezra pushes himself up off of me and sits on the bed, running a hand over his hair to smooth it, and my fingers ache to do the same. I watch him closely to see if his pride’s wounded, but he looks cool as ever in the dim light.

  To distract myself from immediately going in for Round Two, I reach over to my tableside lamp and click it on. “Sorry,” I say. “I haven’t done this in a while, I’m rusty.”

  His smile is genuine. “Don’t apologize, I get it. Besides, the thirst is real.” He pulls me close for another kiss. “Both literally and figuratively. We danced our asses off.”

  “You definitely didn’t leave your ass on the dance floor,” I tease. “Which is good, because it’s a pretty nice ass.”

  “True,” he says. “I won’t mind watching yours while you walk away, either.”

  I swat him and go back for yet another kiss. They’re addictive, his kisses. Hot, insistent, but never demanding. He smells like the dance floor, and I have no problem with that.

  I finally manage to pry myself away to go get us something to drink. As soon as I step out of my room, I feel like bouncing around the entire apartment. Letting him in feels like a weight’s been lifted off my chest. I could float away. I could float forever. My nerves are sparking and sending signals to parts of myself I haven’t felt in far too long. I’ve missed feeling this way.

  In the kitchen, I dig around in the fridge and manage to rustle up two bottles of water. For good measure, I grab an extra. We’ll probably need it.

  I kick the fridge closed and walk back down the hall, pausing beside my door to take a deep breath and toss my hair out of my face before going back inside.

  “I’m back,” I say as I push the door open.

  I look up.

  I freeze.

  Ezra’s standing by my desk with my sketchbook in his hands. I left it there earlier, open to my latest drawing of Iris. It clearly caught his eye.

  No one sees my sketches. No one.

  He hasn’t looked at me yet, hasn’t seen the expression on my face. “These are incredible, Mia,” he says. “I knew you were talented based on your eye for detail, but these are otherworldly. How —”

  His words are cut short as I storm across the room and snatch the book away from him. He doesn’t drop his hands right away, looking at me with surprise.

  “Mia, what —”

  “These are private,” I snap. “You have no right… you didn’t even ask… why would you touch another person’s things like that?”

  His jaw is slack, his mouth hanging open in bewilderment, but I’m too upset to care.

  “This is personal.” I’m on a tear now, the words spilling out of me like paint across the floor, tears threatening to break my voice. “You can’t just go through it like it’s nothing, like it’s for you. She’s not for you.”

  He tries to break in. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was private.”

  I barely even hear him. “You’re not supposed to know about her, about me, about any of this.” I press the sketchbook to my chest until it hurts. “It’s my heart on this page. You don’t get to see it without my permission.”

  “You’re right,” he says gently. “So I’m asking now. Who is she? Will you tell me?”

  My breathing’s too fast. I’m starting to see spots. Ezra puts a hand on my shoulder, but I jerk away from him.

  “I was supposed to come here and disappear. Get a job, become one of those background people that no one remembers. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wasn’t supposed to see you that night, to feel the way you make me feel. You… you…”

  I drop the sketchbook to the floor and Ezra catches my wrists, pulling me closer. Part of me resists out of habit, but the rest of me is falling into him. He’s warm, he’s solid. He’s everything I don’t deserve.

  “She should be here.” I’m crumbling to pieces. “Iris should…”

  My legs go limp as I break into sobs in Ezra’s arms, my anger draining out of me in teardrops. He’s so gentle, moving me across the room until we’re seated on my bed again. I cry against him and he lets me, one hand rubbing my back and the other stroking my hair. He tells me everything will be all right, and I wonder how he can possibly know that. My love and sorrow are pouring out, memories of that night washing over and through me. Guilt gnaws at me with familiar teeth. Ezra’s patient, and his gentle touch alleviates some of the pain. Knowing he’s here helps.

  Eventually I’m spent, my breaths heavy against his chest. I open my eyes to see the tearstains I’ve left all over his shirt. He doesn’t seem to mind. When I wipe at my eyes, my fingers come away smeared with mascara and eyeliner.

  “Shit,” I say, my voice coming out a croak. I reach for the tissues on my bedside table.

  Ezra holds me still and reaches for one himself. “Let me,” he says. I drop my hands to my lap and look up and away, embarrassed, as he dabs the tissue beneath my eyes.

  “There,” he says. “Better?”

  I know he isn’t talking about my makeup situation. “Yeah,” I say.

  “Do you want to tell me about the girl?” he asks.

  I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Trust is something I haven’t afforded anyone in this town. Audrey’s been getting close, but we’re not quite there. Ezra, on the other hand… he’s faced the darkest parts of me head-on. When Damien turned my world on its head, Ezra protected me. He’s incredible. A beam of sunlight in a shadowed corner, a spark of fire that spreads warmth everywhere he goes. He’s stayed beside me no matter what, and if I really want to be with him, I’m going to have to let him in.

  So I throw the door open wide, finally.

  “Iris is my sister,” I start. “Was my sister. She died almost a year ago.”

  Ezra’s hand tightens over mine. “I’m so sorry.”

  Now that I’ve started, I have to keep going. “We were so close. People used to ask if we were twins, even though she was two years younger. We didn’t even look that much alike, we were just together all the time. When I went away to school, it was like leaving a piece of myself behind. We still talked every week, but it wasn’t the same.”

  I pause and grit my teeth at the pain welling up inside me. Ezra waits, squeezing my hand softly in support.

  “There was a car accident,” I say. “She lived long enough to go through surgery, but there was too much damage. She died a day later.” I lick my lip before I add, “My ex was driving. He was drunk.”

  “Your ex,” Ezra echoes. “That guy from the other night?”

  I nod.

  “That explains a lot,” he says, not unkindly.

  I’m shaking now, and another tear creeps down my cheek. “It’s my fault. If I’d never gone out with him, Iris never would have met him. She never would have been in the car that night, coming after me…”

  When I trail off, Ezra prompts me. “What happened?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” I wipe my face. “I was upset, and she was in Damien’s car because she wanted to talk to me.”

  We’re quiet for a long moment, and Ezra rubs my back until the tears stop.

  “It’s not your fault,” he says.

  I blink at him. “What?”

  He puts his hand along the side of my face and traces circles on my cheekbone with his thumb. �
��It’s not your fault that your sister died. Your ex has a lot to answer for, but you didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “You don’t understand,” I say, because he doesn’t. Iris is gone because of me.

  Ezra doesn’t argue with me, he just pulls me in closer and rests his lips on my hair. “I’m really sorry about your sister. You obviously loved her very much, and I know she loved you. How could she not?”

  I smile despite my sadness, though he can’t see me.

  “Thank you for telling me,” he says.

  I sit up straight and look him in the face. He’s so earnest, so sincere.

  “You’re the first person I’ve wanted to tell,” I say.

  Then I lean in and kiss him.

  It’s sweet and soft at first, my version of “thank you.” Our hands wander, brushing skin and playing with buttons. I run my hands over his beard and around the back of his neck, and an insistent need begins to spread through me. Trust and desire is a powerful cocktail.

  The door inside me is open wide. I’m ready.

  My fingers twist into the fabric of Ezra’s shirt and I pull him closer. Our bodies shift until we’re lying side by side on the bed, my leg wrapped around his hip.

  The next time there’s a break between our kisses, Ezra whispers, “Are you sure you want to…?”

  “Yes,” I say. “More than anything else right now.”

  That’s all the prompting he needs. In seconds, he’s on top of me, peppering kisses down my jawline. His hand brushes the bare skin of my belly and he works my top up over my head. I gasp as he brushes over my bra, sending a ripple of tension down my body.

  I return the favor in kind, working my hands between us so I can undo his buttons. Then we’re both shirtless, our chests pressed together as we kiss, and my body is tightening like a wire. His tattoos are alive and writhing over lean muscle and smooth skin. He’s so beautiful it hurts.

  Ezra moves his hips between my legs and slides my skirt up my thighs, grinding into me as he does. I can feel his arousal against my own and I throw my head back with a gasp. It’s been so long, and I missed this more than I realized. Every touch is electric.

  His fingers slip beneath my bra strap and pull it down my arm. He takes his time, brushing his lips down to my exposed breast. I arch up into his mouth, warm and eager.

  Our mouths meet again and again as we shed the rest of our clothes, and suddenly I’m bare, completely open. His lips part as he watches me, eyes half-lidded, and the liquid heat inside me becomes a tidal wave. This level of handsome should be reserved for ancient statues. He is wicked and wonderful with his hands, a true artist. I’m nearly splitting apart at the seams, my body loose and languid. I brush my mouth against his ear, let him know I’m ready for him. He pauses long enough to get a condom out of his wallet, and then he’s over me, haloed by the light of my room, and he kisses me deeply as he sinks down.

  We move together like two people with all the time in the world, rocking and aching. Our fingers twine together and he moves my hands above my head, squeezing tighter and tighter as the tension inside us mounts.

  Our breathing goes ragged, the taste of drinking and dancing still on our tongues, and then the world around me goes white hot and I cry out, feeling as if I’m bursting to pieces and showering my walls with every imaginable color.

  He follows me over the edge seconds later. His body shudders against mine as he hits his peak, brow furrowed and mouth open, calling out his pleasure.

  For a moment, neither of us move. We just breathe, my arms wrapped around his shoulders, fingers tangled in his hair. He lifts his head for one more kiss, then another.

  After, as he’s snoring softly beside me under the moonlight coming in through the window, I’m amazed at how full I feel. He looked into my darkness and saw the light.

  He saw it, and he stayed.

  17

  The first thing I’m aware of as I float back into consciousness is that there’s something heavy draped over my midsection. For a second, I’m confused. Then Ezra shifts beside me, pulling me in closer, and I remember.

  My eyes drift open to see him half buried in my pillow. His hair falls in strips across his face and it moves the tiniest bit with every breath he takes. The gray-green light of very early morning covers him like a veil and I want so badly to draw him, to cement this memory forever, but I don’t want to move.

  For once in my life, I want to be still and enjoy this moment, so I do. I paint him in my mind’s eye.

  Too soon, his eye cracks open and he smiles.

  “Morning,” he breathes.

  “Good morning,” I say.

  I’m afraid for a moment that the post-coital awkwardness is going to hit. That he’s going to say “thank you, ma’am” and bolt for the door. He doesn’t, of course, because he’s wonderful, but the fear lingers, even as he traces his finger down my arm.

  He watches me closely and says, “How are you doing?”

  His concern nearly makes me melt into my pillow. “I’m okay. Good, actually. Having someone here who knows what happened… it’s a weight off my chest. Thank you.”

  “I’m happy to lend you my ear anytime,” he says. “And, you know. Other parts, too, if you want them.”

  I snort-laugh and grab one of my throw pillows to bop him on the head. He takes it from me and retaliates, and soon we’re twisted together, laughing and kissing. Once we’ve calmed down, he rests his cheek against the bare skin of my chest and sighs.

  “Thank you for talking to me,” he says. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

  I run my fingers through his hair. “It was eating me alive.”

  The sunlight is going yellow, and the thought of having our moment crashed by an inevitable wave of Audrey bums me out. I don’t want him to go, but I don’t want him to have to do an awkward walk of shame past my roommate, either.

  I very reluctantly nudge him and say, “I wish we could do this all day, but Audrey will be awake soon and it’d be in both our best interest to avoid her onslaught of questions and squeeing.”

  He groans. “I take your point. I’m on first shift at the café, anyway. They’re trying out this new brunch thing with duck egg toast and the whole shebang.”

  I giggle. “You said shebang.”

  Another brief pillow fight later, he’s pulling on his jeans and I’m slipping a jersey tank top over my head. I start twisting my hair into a bun, but he puts his hand over mine and plants a kiss on the crown of my head.

  “I like it when you wear it all loose,” he says. “It’s sexy.”

  “I’m a lot of things, but I don’t think sexy’s one of them,” I scoff.

  He turns me around until I’m looking up at him. “You’re wrong,” he says.

  I’m not sure I believe him, but I let my hair fall loose over my shoulders anyway. Then I stand on tiptoe to press another kiss to his mouth, enjoying the thrill it sends down to my toes and back again.

  I say, “I’m going to call you later. Make sure you pick up, okay?”

  “Of course I will. I’m off at three,” he says.

  Carefully, we creak my door open and tiptoe down the hall until we reach the common room. I let out a breath when it’s mercifully empty – Audrey’s not laying in wait to pounce on us.

  We creep around the breakfast bar to the foyer and I blush as I notice our coats are neatly hung on the hooks by the door. Audrey definitely knows Ezra stayed, not to mention that we didn’t bother hanging our jackets. I sheepishly hand his coat to him. He drapes it over his arm and appears unfazed, which either means he doesn’t remember that it was on the floor or doesn’t care. If I had to guess, I’d wager on the latter.

  I crack the front door and Ezra slips out, turning to give me one last kiss and a grin before he heads off into the morning.

  “Remember me fondly when she asks for all the sordid details,” he says.

  I laugh and kick out at him playfully. “Get out of here. I’ll call you later.”

  Right as I
turn the deadbolt on the front door, I hear a loud groan behind me and nearly jump out of my skin. I whirl around to find Audrey, dressed in these adorably childlike pajamas her mom got her for Christmas with coffee mugs printed all over it.

  “I can’t believe I missed him,” she whines. “I was going to make you both waffles.”

  I roll my eyes. “Who are you, my mother?”

  She smirks at me. “No mother would be as proud as I am this morning.”

  Before I can stop her, she grabs my wrist and drags me to a seat at the bar.

  “You’re getting an after-sex waffle and you’re going to tell me all about last night,” she says, happily pawing through our cupboards for her waffle iron.

  I groan in embarrassment and sink my head down onto my folded arms. “Do we have to do a play-by-play?”

  “Absolutely,” she says. Then she turns around, whisk in hand, and adds, “You did get laid last night, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” I mumble into my arms.

  “Fantastic. Leave nothing out.”

  As she pulls out all the ingredients for waffles and begins to stir the batter, I oblige her with a fairly streamlined version of events, leaving out the part where I broke down and spilled my life history.

  She tuts at me while she whisks. “You’re going to make a girl beg for the juicy bits, aren’t you? Give me details or no whipped cream on your waffle.”

  “Rude,” I say, leaning my chin on my hand. “What about you, huh? Anything happen with Duke last night?”

  “A make-out and a little under the shirt action doesn’t hold a candle to a full-fledged home run,” she says. The batter sizzles against the waffle iron and she presses it closed.

  My mouth falls open. “You guys made out? Was it over the bra or under?”

  “Ah, ah.” She pulls a sealed bag of coffee out of the freezer and dumps beans in her grinder. “Don’t change the subject.” She presses down and the beans protest loudly as they’re pulverized.