Page 42 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
He startles slightly, fingers twitching, and then he flips the page with a snap. “That wasn’t meant for… It’s nothing.”
“Wait.” I reach out, catching his hand before he can move away. His skin is warm, his pulse erratic. My heart stumbles. “Was that me?”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “I didn’t mean for you to see it.”
“Please let me see it again,” I insist softly.
He hesitates, and I can practically see the battle raging inside him. I know what I’m asking is something vulnerable for him. Something that requires trust, and I hold my breath as I wait for him to respond.
Finally, he exhales and opens the book again.
I gaze down at the image in awe.
This Maya looks peaceful. Like she belongs to herself.
My throat tightens.
“It’s beautiful,” I whisper, fingers brushing the edge of the page.
“You were sitting by the window,” he says quietly, his voice rougher now. “The light caught your face, and I just…” He shakes his head, not finishing the sentence. “I couldn’t not draw you.”
I glance up at him. “You made me look like art.”
He holds my gaze, and something in his eyes shifts. Deepens.
“Youareart,” he says, his voice low and intense.
The air between us stretches and thickens. I can feel the heat rise up in my chest to my neck, spreading across my cheeks.
Everything around us—Danielle, the scattered ribbons and half-finished arrangements, the hum of voices in the hallway—fades into a low, indistinct hum.
I don’t even realize I’m leaning in until he mirrors the movement.
His hand moves across the sketchbook, fingers curling over mine. His eyes flick to my lips and then back up—hesitating, asking,waiting.
My heart beats once.
Twice.
Then, barely above a whisper: “Ethan…”
His name is barely off my lips before he closes the distance.
Our mouths meet in a kiss that’s careful and slow at first, but then his hand finds my cheek, his thumb brushing the edge of my jaw, and I melt. The kiss deepens, turns hungry, and suddenly it’s like the room around us doesn’t exist anymore.
There’s just him. The warmth of his body leaning into mine. The sketchbook sliding from our laps to the floor in a quiet thud.
I thread my fingers into his hair, tugging gently, and he groans—low and rough against my lips. The sound sends a shiver down my spine. He tastes like spearmint and something darker, something uniquelyEthan, and I want more. I wantallof it.
He pulls me into his lap, his hands finding my hips, gripping me tight. I straddle him instinctively, knees bracketing his thighs, and the sudden press of our bodies has both of us gasping.
His lips break away from mine only to trail down the column of my throat, each kiss leaving fire in its wake.
“Maya…” he murmurs, right against my skin. My name sounds different in his voice—almost like a prayer.
His hands slide beneath the hem of my shirt, palms skimming along my ribs. It’s not rushed. It’s not careless.
“You drive me crazy,” he says between kisses, voice rough and breathless. “I’ve tried to be quiet about it. I’ve tried to wait, but you’re everywhere.”
