by Jolie Day
Tears pricked at my eyes, so I squeezed them shut and tipped my face up toward the roof of the car.
“No, it’s not about my family. It’s…”
Ethan reached out to rest a few fingers on my knee, the tiniest but most comforting of gestures. One sob escaped my body, and then another, until I was crying quietly while he rubbed a little circle on my leg.
“I lost my job.”
“What? What happened?”
I wiped my tears away with the sleeve of my shirt. Apparently, I wasn’t as cried out as I thought. “I messed up today. It was bad. It’s my own fault. I just… listen, Ethan, today has been the worst, and I don’t have any energy left to fight with you. And I really can’t handle an eviction notice right now.”
His hazel eyes filled with concern. “Fight? Eviction? Babe, you’re not making any sense. Why would either of those things happen?”
“You’re angry with me. I get it, we crossed boundaries, and it blew up in our faces, and I should’ve never started this.” I waved my hand between us. “I would understand if you didn’t want to live with me anymore after that… it’s your apartment—you make the rules.”
Ethan shook his head. “Oh, my God. Come here.”
He held out an arm and I slid over next to him, keeping my own arms strapped against my chest. Ethan pulled me into him, and I melted almost instantly, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder. His jacket smelled like city smog and cedary thyme and perfect contentment.
“No matter what happens between us, I would never turn you out on the street. I’ve known you forever, and I want nothing but the best for you, whether or not I’m involved. But don’t ever do this again.”
I got out my last few sniffles and began to dry my eyes, hopefully for the last time that night. Ethan’s hand felt good on my shoulder, and the weight of his arm around me was more reassuring than I could have imagined.
“I appreciate that.”
“And I’m not angry with you. I lost my temper last night, and I think we still have some things to sort through, but I’m not gunning for a fight. I’m just happy you’re safe.”
“Seriously?”
“I lost you once five years ago, when I was pigheaded enough to leave without saying goodbye. I don’t want that to happen again, especially not because you got murdered and didn’t come home to me after a fight.”
A smile touched my lips, despite everything. “That would make you look bad, wouldn’t it? Can’t have that.”
“Oh, I’d be mortified. I’d never live it down. Think about what the guys over on Wall Street would say. No one wants to do business with someone who got his girlfriend killed.”
I started a little at the word and gave Ethan a mischievous look. “Girlfriend?”
He responded by cupping the nape of my neck in his hand and leaning in for a long, deep kiss. I was hungry for him after only a day apart and wanted the comfort that only his touch could bring.
Ethan’s hand came up to caress my face and tangle in my hair, and within moments, we’d dissolved into a passionate scene in the back of the car. I knew the driver would be putting the car into park and coming around to open our door any minute, but I didn’t care. I needed this right now, Ethan’s touch hot against my skin, his tongue in my mouth, his hard cock inside me, and all the awful stress of the day melting away.
He pulled away for a moment to catch his breath. “Sorry about your job, though. I know how much the Met means to you.”
“It’s all right,” I said, voice raspy with desire. I tugged him back into a kiss by the knot of his tie.
“I can help you forget all about your bad day.” Ethan smiled against my mouth, then pulled me tighter into his body and gave my ass a playful squeeze. I hooked one knee over his lap and came to settle on top of him, sliding my arms around his neck and kissing him until I felt delirious. A solid make-out session, and the high possibility of mind-blowing, make-up sex after was enough to take my mind off what had happened. There would be enough worrying to do and numbers to crunch and job listings to search through tomorrow. Tonight, I was in Ethan Gladwell’s car, and he didn’t want anything else but me. The feeling was more intoxicating than any drug and strong enough to numb me to the hurt of Ricky’s secrets, the Met, last night’s fight—all of it.
I started grinding myself against Ethan’s growing hardness with teasing slowness and was just getting into an excellent rhythm when the car stopped, and the driver’s side door swung open.
I scrambled out of Ethan’s lap and back to my own side of the seat, straightening my wild hair just in time. The driver opened the door for us and did his best not to smile, even though the general state Ethan was in, and the high color in my cheeks probably (definitely) gave us both away.
“You two enjoy your evening,” he said as Ethan exited the car with me in tow, one arm hooked around mine. We normally kept PDA to a minimum in the lobby of the apartment complex to limit the amount of gossip we were likely to spark among the tenants and staff, but Ethan didn’t seem to care at all about them tonight. Tonight, I felt like I was the only person who existed in his world. He could hardly take his eyes off me, and, damn the knowing look the concierge shot us out of the corner of his eye. I had to restrain myself from giggling like a teenage girl on prom night.
As soon as the doors dinged shut behind us in the elevator, Ethan pressed my back against the wall and kissed me fervently. His knees parted my legs, creating an opening for his body to fill, and he nipped and sucked on my neck while he raised my hands above my head in a tight grip.
“You missed the best part when you left last night,” he growled as I arched my body into him.
“What’s that?” I breathed.
He caught my earlobe between his lips as the elevator lurched to a stop. “The part where I make up for it by fucking you harder than you’ve ever been fucked before.”
Giving a kitten-ish growl and thinking that he would fuck me right here in the elevator, I reached out to pull him into a tangled embrace despite the fact we’d arrived at our floor. But Ethan had more self-control than I did and managed to make it all the way down the hallway, and to his front door, before he started feeling me up again. His broad hands roamed hungrily over my breasts, nipples taut through the thin fabric of my shirt. I shuddered and kissed his collar bones, thrusting my hand into the pocket of his slacks. I stroked him through the fabric once or twice before locating his key card and fumbling with it against the door. A light flashed, the door beeped, and we both tumbled into the apartment like high schoolers in heat gunning for the back seat of a Chevy.
“Couch.” Ethan all but ordered, whipping off his tailored blazer.
His blue shirt fit him like a glove underneath, and I could see the well-defined muscles of his abdomen moving behind the fabric. I kicked off my shoes and seated myself on the edge of that same couch where we’d found ourselves naked and tangled up so many nights before. When Ethan approached me, I went straight for his fly, unzipping his pants deftly while gazing up at him from the couch.
“You drive me insane sometimes,” I said. “And, you and I have a hell of a lot to discuss tomorrow morning. But for right now?” I took him into my mouth, and I could feel as a shudder ran all the way through him by the jerk of his body.
Ethan sank his fingers into my hair and breathed in deeply. “Fuck. Maya,” he groaned.
He didn’t have much else to say but those two words for the next few minutes as I pumped him with my hand and ran my tongue along his shaft. I was overcome with that same heady, burning up feeling that had overwhelmed me the night we’d kissed in the kitchen. Pleasuring him caused an insurmountable desire to course through my body, sending me spiraling into an infinite feedback loop of lust.
I needed him so badly, I could hardly stand it. All of him.
Ethan tightened his fingers in my hair, and I could tell from the way his breath hitched that he was close to release. I smoothed my hands up his chest, releasing him from my mouth.
>
“Couch,” I repeated and couldn’t help but grin, all but tugging him down next to me. Within seconds, he was on his back, eyes swimming with desire, lips red from biting them. His hard length stood erect and waiting for me, and he stroked himself a few times while he watched me strip off my jeans and panties. I snatched a condom from one of the junk drawers in the kitchen (we had gotten into the habit of leaving one in every room of the house, after trying to fuck on the bathroom sink and having to spend ten—very unsexy—minutes looking everywhere for one) and tossed it to him.
Moments later, he grabbed my hips and turned me around in front of him, and I was gasping my pleasure as he pressed me down and sank his large cock all the way inside of me. We fit together perfectly, just like we always had.
We were so worked up by the time the main event finally began, that we fell immediately into a quick, effective rhythm, Ethan’s fingers digging into my ass as I bounced back against him, seeking my orgasm. As soon as I pulled away, he pulled me right back, rocking his hips behind me in a way that made me quiver with desire. One of his hands slid to my stomach to push my shirt up over my breasts while the other caressed my clit. My head fell back as sheer bliss washed over me in larger and larger waves until, finally, I came, toes curling as a little cry escaped my lips.
Ethan picked up his pace, continuing to drive into me as I rode out my orgasm. Every thrust of his hips sent a mind-blowing shock of sensation through my body until I was panting something incoherent about how it was going to happen again. Another orgasm rippled through me, so powerful that I thought I might cry, moments before Ethan finished inside me, his back arched as far as it could with my pussy still clenched around his cock.
Afterward, he turned me around and laid me on top of him. He made sure my shirt was still up over my breasts, so we were lying naked chest to chest, my knees hooked around him, my ear pressed to his slowing heartbeat. Nothing that had happened in the last twenty-four hours mattered, not when we were lying together like this with him enjoying caressing my skin softly in the afterglow, not when I knew he wasn’t angry with me, and he was willing to talk out whatever differences we may have. In that quiet moment, I became very aware of something I’d known in the back of my mind for a few weeks now but didn’t really want to admit to myself.
I never wanted to leave. I never wanted this “thing” that was going on between me and Ethan, the sex, and the waking up next to each other, the dinner dates, and the chats about plans for the day over coffee to stop. I didn’t want to do any of those things with anyone other than Ethan, and if my paranoid concern about him going out and finding someone else on the night we’d been apart had been any indication, I didn’t want him to want that, either.
Was this more than an arrangement of lust and convenience between two old friends? Had I really fallen in love with Ethan Gladwell?
“Babe.” I could feel the rumble in his chest when he spoke.
“Mmm?”
“Glad you’re safe.”
I inhaled deeply. A ball of strange emotions was knotting up in my throat. Maybe it was just the drop in endorphins after such vigorous sex that had me feeling particularly sensitive, but there was something so earnest in the way he said that.
“Ethan, I…”
To my great annoyance, my phone started to vibrate. I buried my face in Ethan’s chest. Nope. Not now. The outside world didn’t exist until I said it did, and I was still happy to pretend that there was nothing outside of this apartment that required my time or attention.
“You should get that,” Ethan said.
“They can leave a message.”
He nudged me. “Come on, grumpy, it could be important.”
I heaved a sigh and began to search around on the floor with my free hand without moving from my spot on top of Ethan. After fumbling with my jeans for a minute, I managed to retrieve the phone one-handed. When I saw the caller ID, my stomach dropped. It was one of the offices at the Metropolitan but calling with an extension I didn’t recognize. Had my supervisor gone to her boss with complaints about me? Was someone in human resources calling me to ban me from the Met for life, or tell me I was going to be legally prosecuted for impersonating a tour guide?
“Hello?” I said, trying to sound professional and not dick-drunk, whatever that may sound like.
“Hello, may I speak to Maya St. James?”
“This is she.” My heart was pounding. Ethan’s tattooed hand came up to rest on my head, instinctively protective.
“Hello, I’m calling from the human resources department at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. I understand that you led an impromptu tour today during your shift in the Petrie Court Café, without any prior formal training.”
Black spots swam in front of my vision. Oh, God, this was it, the end of my career in art. My name on a no-fly list in every major museum and auction house in the country.
“I… yes, that is correct.”
There was a pause on the other end, the shuffling of some papers, and I started drafting my Last Will and Testament in my head. Then, the man on the other end spoke again.
“As I understand it, you did an excellent job, Miss St. James.”
It took a moment for his words to make an impact. “I… wait, what?”
“When we realized that we had an unsupervised tour group wandering around, we were, of course, concerned. But a number of the patrons in your group stopped by the front desk to let us know how knowledgeable and enthusiastic you were about the art. They wanted to know if you were available to lead another tour in a different wing of the museum, so they could make sure they caught you the next time they were in town.”
I felt like crying. No, I was going to cry, it was just going to happen. Tears of shock and joy slid silently down my face and onto Ethan’s skin as the museum official praised me. Me! Knowledgeable and enthusiastic. I looked up at Ethan, trying to explain the situation with my eyes, but the look of pure delight on his face told me the phone speakers were loud enough to be overheard at close proximity.
“It was suggested by one of my colleagues that we find some way to formally discipline you for breaking protocol, but, I, and a few others, thought it may be a better idea to give you an opportunity to do your rogue guide work legitimately. Have you ever considered becoming a tour guide at the Met?”
I felt like my heart had grown wings and was fluttering up my throat toward freedom. “Yes. Often, actually, almost every day.” I sounded desperate, but the man on the other end only chuckled.
“I had a suspicion. I’d like to invite you to apply to our guide training program. It’s rigorous, but you seem like a natural fit. If you have any sort of academic interests in the arts of formal educational background, there may be an opportunity for you to come on as a research assistant in the future, though I warn you, those positions are highly competitive.”
“I’m always up for a challenge.”
“Happy to hear it. Come by the guide office next Monday, and we’ll get your name in the applicant file.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Excellent. Goodnight, Miss St. James.”
As the call ended, I saw the text I had missed from my boss when I’d been “distracted” with Ethan, the one who’d informed me in no uncertain terms that I was fired. But I couldn’t be bothered to care. I had a guide interview. I maybe even had a shot at a research position. And later on, maybe a management position. The hardest part was to get a foot in the door, and I’d succeeded! Just as I’d hoped. I couldn’t believe it.
Ethan slid his arms around me. “Did I hear that right? Did you skip work to lead a tour?”
“I’m not really sure what came over me but… yes.”
Ethan laughed and kissed me. “You’re a funny girl. I’m so proud of you.”
I beamed up at him, but then my smile wavered. “Now I just have to impress the hiring committee and not flunk tour guide training.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re gonna do great. But for now, I
think we need something to eat. Should I order in?”
I gave him a coy shrug. “Actually, I was thinking we could go out if you want. You pick the place?”
Ethan looked pleased. “All right. Upscale Italian it is. I’ll call and reserve us a table.”
Later that night, after we shared an excellent meal at a restaurant, one I would have never been able to work up the courage to set foot in before that night, I woke up in Ethan’s bed. He was still sleeping soundly beside me, but something, maybe the wine I’d had at dinner, maybe the excitement about the new challenges next week would bring, kept me from a restful sleep.
I silently slipped out of bed and pulled Ethan’s white bathrobe on to cover my naked body. Then I walked downstairs to make a cup of tea and to find a nice book to lull me back to sleep.
I’d already read most of my own, so I browsed the modest shelf Ethan kept stocked near the fireplace. He mostly owned business books and coffee-table travel guides, and a couple of dog-eared classics.
One in particular caught my eye, The Great Gatsby. By the looks of it, the same edition we’d all been assigned to read in grade school. I chuckled to myself as I pulled the book off the shelf. I had no idea anyone actually enjoyed reading The Great Gatsby, but in Ethan’s case, an affinity for a story about a self-made wealthy man with grandiose taste didn’t seem so out of place.
There was something. A yellowed slip of paper stuck out from between the dog-eared pages, and I opened it, expecting a hall pass or some algebra notes.
Instead, my own name stared back at me, written in a simple, clean style. Ethan’s handwriting. I recognized it from the little notes he left stuck to the fridge for me when he was going to be out of town.
The paper was creased from being folded in quarters a hundred times over, and it was covered in scuffs and pencil smears.
Hey Babe,
I’m sorry I have to leave without saying goodbye. Damn. I don’t mean to hurt you. I think you’re smart and wonderful, and I’m sure life has amazing things in store for you. Maybe we’ll see each other again someday, when things aren’t so complicated. I’d like that.