Page 71 of Rare Blend
I simultaneously feel like I absolutely need to know the answers to all my nosy questions and like this is a side only a girlfriend or wife gets to see, and I’m getting a front-row seat.
While he does his thing in the bathroom, I turn on the TV, because I desperately need noise. If I hear him pee, I’ll spend an embarrassing amount of time thinking about his penis. There is something seriously wrong with me. I shouldn’t be thinking about Ethan’s penis.
He’s out a lot more quickly than I thought he would be. He goes back to his corner of the room, so I grab my own toiletry bag and pajamas and barricade myself in the bathroom. Halfwaythrough washing my face, it hits me that it’s still fairly early. How will we pass the time? And will there be food? I’m not hungry now, but I will be soon, and Ethan does not need to meet my hangry personality, because she’s a bitch and I do not claim her.
I do my skin care routine and change into my pajamas. They’re the most modest pair I brought, pink short shorts covered in little red cherries and a matching tight-fitted tank top. Normally, I wouldn’t wear a bra, but I am not about to go braless in front of this man. I may be able to hide my attraction to him pretty well, but my nipples would betray me instantly.
My hand lingers on the doorknob. I’m actually very nervous for him to see me like this. I’ve never been the type to be uncomfortable being seen without makeup or in my hideous baggy sweats. Hell, we met when I looked scrubbed out from the drive to Red Mountain. He’s seen me looking less than dressed up several times since we’ve met, so this shouldn’t feel weird. Yet it does. This is vulnerable. Taking a deep breath, I force myself to look unaffected and step through the door.
My gaze avoids even so much as looking in Ethan’s direction, even though I swear I can feel his eyes on me. When I sense him turn his head in the opposite direction, I sneak a peek at him, hiding my face with my mass of hair, and I swear his cheeks are tinted a light shade of pink.
Ethan clears his throat, slicing through the deafening silence between us. “Are you hungry at all? I was going to try to find something to hold us over until morning.”
His eyes hold mine, almost to the point that I feel like they’re unable to look anywhere else.
“Sure. Do you want me to come with you?”
The heat of his stare has me thanking the universe I kept my bra on.
“No, you’re already dressed for the night. Any food aversions I need to be aware of?”
“Olives. I hate them in all forms.”
He smiles and then nods before he starts the task of moving the chair and unlocking the door. “Put the chair back against the door after I leave.” He pulls out his phone. “Give me your number so I can text you before I come in, that way you know it’s me.”
A sudden bout of shyness hits me as we exchange numbers. I bite the inside of my cheek to distract from my rapid heart rate and the fluttering in my stomach, hoping he doesn’t notice the nervous energy coursing through me.
Ethan returns with tacos.
“I figured tacos were the safest bet. You seemed to like them last time.”
We share a look, and it makes my stomach somersault.
“Fair warning, though,” he continues. “It didn’t look like the most authentic place, so don’t come for me.”
He sets the bag on the table by the corner, and we work to unload the foil covered paper plates. The scents of seasoned meats and cilantro waft from the tacos.
“It smells good, so I’m sure they’re edible.”
Since the table is too small to eat at, we decide it makes the most sense to eat in our respective beds.
“Any TV requests?” I ask him.
I get the feeling Ethan isn’t much of a TV watcher. He shrugs while I scroll through the channels, confirming my suspicions. As I’m scrolling through like it’s 1995, since there’s no guide on this thing, I randomly land on a Spanish-speaking channelplaying a telenovela. I pause for a moment, trying to figure out if it’s one I recognize.
“My mom lives out of the country, so sometimes we’ll try to watch a show together to stay connected even though we’re so far apart. Usually, it’s a novela of some kind, but right now we’re not watching anything.”
I’m not sure why I decided to volunteer that information to him. I’m sure he has no interest in mine and my mom’s TV habits.
“You miss her?” he asks hesitantly, while chewing softly.
“All the time. Especially lately. She’s out there having the fun she missed out on.”
He’s stopped eating and is watching me, giving me time to continue.
“My mom had me at nineteen and my dad was twenty,” I explain. “I think they tried their best, but you know, babies raising a baby isn’t ideal.”
Ethan gives me a cautious expression, opening his mouth a few times before he decides to speak. “I have a question,” he starts.
