Boomerang (16 page)

Ethan

Q: Lights, camera, action—or do you prefer your fun in the dark?

M
ia stops, a shirt in one hand, a towel in the other, and locks eyes with me. The moment stretches out between us, as we both try to process the situation.

I’ve been wondering how she’d react when she came back.

My top theory was with humor, a laugh, a joke of some kind, but embarrassment wasn’t far behind.

The way she’s looking at me, though—eyes wide, pink lips relaxed into a pout—isn’t either. I’ve struck her speechless, which would be a massive turn-on if her mother wasn’t standing ten feet away from me.

Actually. It still is.

Pearl lowers her camera and smiles at Mia. “Ah, you’re back.”

“Um, Mom?” Mia squeaks. “What are you doing?”

“Taking advantage of an opportunity,” Pearl says. “I’d never have forgiven myself if he left this house and I didn’t get a shot of that chin. Come look.”

She messes with the back of the camera, and Mia moves to her, peering at the digital display that lights up.

Standing at the edge of the pool of yellow thrown by the spotlights, they’re mostly in darkness, but I can see Mia’s mouth curve into a smile as Pearl scrolls through pictures.

In the seconds of silence that follow, I give myself a little pep talk. I’m secure in my own skin. Never worried about what a girl thought of me shirtless before because I know I have a decent build. Better than decent, actually, thanks to soccer. So why am I sitting here right now wondering what Mia’s thinking?

“That one,” Mia says, her hand stopping Pearl’s. “That’s the shot.”

Pearl glances at me, then at Mia. “It’s a different side of him. Darker.”

And that clues me as to what they’re seeing.

When Mia left, Pearl asked if she could take my picture.

I said, “No thanks.”

She said, “Surely I can convince you.”

What followed was some hardcore bartering wherein I agreed to sit for a few pictures in exchange for Pearl answering my questions about Mia.

I had a goal in mind like always, so I worked my angle of questioning to Mia’s friends, waiting for the perfect moment to bring up her ex. I didn’t want to know about him as much as what he did to screw up being with Mia. That was when Pearl told me what a fuckwad the guy was, how he treated Mia, taking her for granted.

“Did he two-time her?” I’d asked.

“No,” Pearl said, between snaps. “It was worse than that.”
Snap, snap
. “He toyed with her.”
Snap, snap.
“He’d just disappear or lose interest sometimes, claiming some nonsense about needing to find himself.”
Snap, snap
. “Then he’d come back and get her hopes up again. That happened ’til he drained the hope right out of her, the little prick.”

I felt like tracking Kyle down and beating the shit out of him, and I’m guessing that translated as “Darker Ethan” in the photos.

“You should make some prints, Mom,” Mia says now.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Ethan?” Pearl asks, and I catch a hint of wryness in her voice.

“Not anymore. Are we done here?”

“Dinner!” Mia’s father’s voice carries down the hall.

“My dinner!” Pearl pushes her camera at Mia. “Put that away for me, will you?” Her flowy pants flap as she breezes from the studio.

When she’s gone, Mia sets the camera down on a table. “I feel like saying sorry won’t quite cut it.”

I shrug. “It’s no big deal. I had to draw the line at full frontal, but otherwise it was fun.”

“Prude.”

“Hey, who’s half naked here?”

“Sure, but have you looked around?”

“Actually, I can’t stop.” Pearl’s images were already hard to look away from, but now that I know it’s Mia in them, I can’t stop staring. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her right away, because the shape of her seems so familiar now.

We fall quiet for a moment, the spotlights buzzing loudly in the silence. They put off major heat, and I feel like I’m getting a sunburn. Thankfully the patio doors are open and it’s a cool night.

Mia stands beyond the reach of the lights, but I can feel her looking at me.

“Mia?”

“Yes?”

“Shirt?”

“Oh, right,” she says, looking down at her hand. She tosses the towel onto the table and comes over with the shirt.

“Here you go.” Finally, she looks up at me. “I’ll try to clean yours. Or replace it. With the other one I stole.”

Standing, I take her father’s shirt. “Thanks.” I can tell just by looking that it’s going to be too small. Not a surprise since I’m six-two, and Mr. Galliano is maybe five-nine. But what makes me hesitate isn’t the fit.

I don’t want clothes to be added to this scenario, I want them subtracted. I flash on an image of Mia’s peach dress puddled at her feet, and the way she’d look under these lights. Under
me
under these lights, and I wonder . . .

I stare into her eyes, searching for the vibe I felt from her during our text chat earlier, or when she walked into the studio, but it’s not there. There’s no invitation from her, and I don’t know if it’s because of me, or the job, or her fuckwad ex, and right now, it really doesn’t matter.

I need a solid green light, and I’m not getting it.

Adam’s laugh echoes from the kitchen, like the call to retreat.

Mia says, “I guess we should go.”

“Right.”

I yank on the shirt. Just as I suspected, the thing is like donning a second skin. That’s four sizes too small. Mia’s laughing before I start buttoning it.

“Can you even breathe?” she asks.

“Barely, but I don’t think I’ll be able to eat anything.”

“You’re just trying to avoid my mother’s cooking.”

“No way. Sulfuric acid is my favorite.” The higher buttons won’t even stay closed, so I give up and look at Mia. “I wish I had some chest hair to complete the look. Got any gold chains I could borrow?”

She shakes her head, smiling. “You can’t go to dinner flashing all that cleavage. Come here, I’ll button it.”

As soon as she touches my shirt, my hands frame her face, and I bend close, only inches separating us.

Mia doesn’t tense or flinch in surprise, and I have this feeling she knew what I’d do when even I didn’t.

We stay there, just breathing the same air for a few seconds, making a little pocket of shadow in the brightness that surrounds us.

This has to be our secret, or we could lose everything.

No one can know.

Neither of us says a word but the pact is right there, between us.

Then Mia’s fingers close around my collar, tugging me closer, and I can’t wait anymore.

I brush her lips with mine. This isn’t our first kiss, but it sure as hell feels that way, and it seems important, somehow, to be tender with her.

That doesn’t last long. I want more of her right away, and my tongue slides into her mouth. She tastes cool and sweet, like chilled grapes. When I feel her respond, kissing me back like she wants more, I wrap my arms around her, fitting her against me, and give it to her.

Mia draws back slightly after a moment, dashing kisses along the corner of my mouth. I take the opportunity to steal a glance at her from this close—she has the hottest body I’ve ever seen. I smooth my hand along her ribs, finding the curve of her breast. She sighs and presses closer, and the sound almost makes me lose my mind.

I need more. I hoist her up and turn, settling her on the barstool as I kiss her. Her knees are in my way, so I nudge her legs apart, pushing her dress up her thighs. Then I settle between her hips.

“You feel incredible, Mia,” I say.

But the truth is she feels fucking perfect.

Chapter 21

Mia

Q: Do you like surprises?

I
grip Ethan’s taut biceps and ease my thighs further apart, pulling him against me. I can’t get enough of his strong arm bracing the small of my back or his perfect fingers moving over my nipple, skimming the length of my body—familiar and new at the same time. I want more of his lips, soft and searching, and his delicious wine-warm tongue plunging against my own. We are locked in this world between the studio’s shadows and the bright, all-seeing lights, and it feels like a dream, like a moment that already belongs to memory.

My hands wind into his hair, and I pull him closer still, wrapping my legs around him and crossing my ankles, trapping him. I feel him, all of him—his broad, solid chest, the heat pulsing between us, and the hard length of him against my lower belly, undeniable, insistent, and sending shockwaves through my core.

“Jesus, Mia,” Ethan breathes against my lips.

I press against him, my lips and tongue needing to be everywhere—on his lips, on the hollow of his chin, on his jaw, his throat, where I graze my teeth against the heartbeat throbbing there.

My lips stay there, exploring, while my hand slides down, down . . .

“Mia,” my dad calls. His heavy footsteps thump in the hallway.

Ethan and I leap away from each other, and I’m off the stool and halfway to the door, my heart a furious piston, by the time my father appears.

“Dinner, honey,” he says, and lightly bumps into one of the walls. He really
has
gotten into the booze. “Didn’t you hear us?”

“Oh, sorry, no,” I say, resisting the urge to smooth my clothes or my hair, which I know must be a crazed snarl. “Ethan and I were . . . um, talking. We’ll be right there.”

“I did what I could,” he whispers. “But it’s time to face the music.”

“What?” Panic washes over me. Are we busted? How long have we been gone?

“Added some spices. Threw in some chicken and veggies.” He shrugs. “Best I could do.”

“Oh, right!” I exhale with enough force to blow out a candle. “Dinner. Right.”

“Come on. It’s getting cold. Or congealing.” He executes a sloppy pivot to return to the dining room.

I breathe and peek back into the studio. Ethan leans against my mother’s worktable, legs crossed, grinning in this way that’s smug and charming and brazen and makes me basically want to burn the house down around us so we never have to leave this room.

“Dinner,” I say. Though I want to grab his hand and slip out through the French doors into the coolness of the night.

“I heard.”

“You coming?”

“In a minute,” he smirks, glancing down at himself. “I’ve got a . . . umm . . . a
situation
to take care of here.”

I follow his gaze. Yep. Definitely a situation.

“I’ll leave you to it,” I tell him. But because I can’t resist, I steal over and throw myself on him again, give him one last full-on kiss and pour myself against the length of him. The situation becomes a full-on
incident
, and I dart away, laughing.

“You suck,” Ethan calls after me.

I carry my idiot smile down the hall with me, thankful for the murmur of conversation and the strains of Béla Fleck that tell me that the evening is winging by comfortably without us.

I can’t get the image of Ethan in my mom’s photographs out of my mind. True, they portray a darker Ethan. Brooding, with that same intensity in his face that reminds me of the morning—less than a week ago—that I woke up in his bed. I want to know what moved through his thoughts in that moment.

My whole body feels light, untethered. Like I’m drunk or stoned. I slip into a chair across from Adam, who has gathered himself and sits with his usual air of crisp self-possession.

“Did you already do away with the competition?” he asks, grinning.

“Yes.” I smooth my napkin over my lap. “He’s been completely immobilized.”

My mother waylays Ethan as he comes down the hall, and the next thing I know, he’s staggering over with a serving dish large enough to hold a massive turkey. He sets it down and sits on the other side of the table, next to Nana. I’m afraid to look at him because I know I’ll give myself away. But I do, and his eyes flick up to meet mine before focusing on his plate. A sexy half-smile plays across his lips, and I know he’s entertaining the same thoughts.