Page 60 of Rare Blend
“Hey, have you seen Elyse?”
I turn to face the woman I’ve had my eyes glued to the entire evening. Her brow is furrowed, looking confused, and it’s cute as hell.
I like her. More than I should. More than I should allow myself to. Up until recently, I was convinced it was simply a physical attraction. But with the relief I feel just being in her presence, the way she changed the beat of my anxious, overactive heart, I know it’s more than that. And the worst part of it all is that it’s been so long since I’ve felt anything close to this. It’s just my luck that it’s for someone who doesn’t live here. She’s only temporary, and it would do me some good to remind myself of that every time I see her. She’s temporary.
“Ethan? Did you hear me? I can’t find Elyse,” Marisa repeats, louder.
I would rather not explain the entire situation. At least not now. “She got a little out of hand, so Gavin took her to cool off.”
“That’s kind of strange,” she says.
Marisa, noticing Laura and Travis, flashes them a sweet, sunshine smile. “Hi, I’m Marisa,” she says, tapping on her chest, slightly leaning and yelling over to them so they can hear her over the music.
“I’m Laura, and this is my fiancé, Travis.” She encircles him, blatantly setting her left hand on Travis’s stomach to show off her gaudy ring. Laura’s eyes dart between us. “Ethan, I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”
“Oh— No— I…”
Marisa slides her hand through the crook of my arm and clasps on to me, pushing her body in closer, her breasts rubbing up against my arm.
I nearly groan at the contact.
What is she doing?
Marisa is more than a foot shorter than me. She shouldn’t fit at my side as well as she does, yet I can’t help but notice how perfectly snug she feels, like a missing puzzle piece effortlessly slotting into place.
Glancing down at her, I catch her eye, and there’s pure mischief dancing behind those molten chocolates. I have a feeling she knows exactly who Laura and Travis are.
“It’s still new,” Marisa dreamily says to Laura. “We’re still in that can’t-keep-our-hands-off-each-other stage.”
I will my face to not burn. If we’re going to get caught in this lie, it’s going to happen now, because Laura knows I’m not the most affectionate. At least I never was with her.
Laura’s eyes pinch, landing directly where Marisa has her hands wrapped around my arm. Normally, I would overthinkthis, cipher through various options and hope to land on one that appears the most natural, but there isn’t time for that. I need to make a quick move that doesn’t look robotic to shut down any doubts Laura may have about the legitimacy of this very illegitimate relationship. I’m sure I’ll be paying for this when the gossip spreads around town.
It will be worth it just to touch her. Even if it’s only once.
Marisa angles her head and rests her chin on my chest, and as if we’ve done it a million times, I tuck a stray strand of her long hair behind her ear, indulging myself more than anyone else by letting my hand graze her jaw and travel down her neck before slipping my fingers around the silky, dark, curled tendrils. In the time since I arrived, it’s taken on a more messy, disheveled appearance. It’s the way I imagine her hair would look after she’s been thoroughly fucked. I fight the desire to wrap the thick strands around my knuckles and instead smooth it out for her, untangling the knots with gentle slowness. I think she moans, but I can’t be too sure if I imagined it or if it was the music messing with my head. Her eye lids slant, turning hooded, and I feel her chest rising and falling much quicker than it was just a moment ago. It’s not a big show of affection, but it’s intimate. It’s the way I would touch her in public if she were mine.
Our gazes latch. If things were different—ifIwas different—I would take advantage of the opportunity and kiss her right here and now. But I’m still me, so I don’t.
I finish smoothing one final piece around her temple. “There,” I say quietly.
Her eyes are soft and almost sad as they stare into mine. It’s as if she’s in disbelief that I fixed her hair—or maybe I’m reading the situation wrong, and she’s weirded out.
She swallows harshly and takes in a lung full of air. “Thanks.” Her tone is low and hushed, just for me to hear.
“Should we go sit down?” I ask her, saving us both from continuing this charade.
She nods, her chin still resting on my chest, eyes looking dazed, likely from one too many drinks.
“Nice seeing you guys,” I say, not bothering to even look at them as I spin Marisa around, pressing my front to her back and keeping her in my arms as we move together.
God, she feels good. And she smells good, like sweet, warm vanilla. I would’ve stayed planted in front of Laura and Travis the rest of the night if it meant I could touch Marisa this way. But even that small bit was too much. Marisa is someone I would drown in if I let myself. It’s better if I keep swimming.
Once we’re out of sight, Marisa walks out of my embrace, and I immediately miss the feel of her, but the moment has passed and we’re back to reality.
She turns to face me, her face bright with laughter. “Oh, my God! Did you see the look on her face? She wanted to murder me.”
“How did you know?” She had to have known. Someone must’ve told her, or else she wouldn’t have started that little display.
