Page 72 of Rare Blend
His face twists, and I can tell he’s worried he’s going to upset me, so I give him a nod to continue.
“Why don’t you have the same last name as your dad?”
I breathe a smile, relieved it’s an easy question. “It’s really not that controversial. My parents weren’t married yet when I was born, and my mom thought I should have her name, I guess. And then weirdly enough, when they got married, she took his last name, and I was the only Castilla, until she changed her name after the divorce. I’ve thought about changing it, but it feels too late now. Plus, I’ll probably take my future husband’s last name.”
I turn my focus back on trying to find something to watch, but I feel Ethan’s stare stay on me a few beats longer.
I stop on another novela, pausing to see if it’s one I’ve watched before.
He points to the TV. “Is this one any good?”
I shrug. “I’m not sure, but we can give it a try. Is the Spanish going to be too fast for you? Even though you somehow secretly know Spanish fluently.”
“It’s not really a secret. You assumed I didn’t know it. My mom wanted us all to know a second language, so we all speak something else besides English. I picked Spanish because I knew I was going to work for the winery in some capacity and a lot of the workers speak Spanish. It made sense. Plus, now that I’m the boss, I can communicate easily and I feel like they respect me more because I try.”
A teasing smirk crosses my lips as I look at him. “You think they respect you, but really it’s because they have to wait until you leave the room to talk shit about you, because they know you’ll understand.”
He gives me a sad little pout. “Probably.”
We start watching the novela, and even though we missed the first ten minutes, and it’s clearly not the first episode, we’re quickly sucked in.
“Do you think she knows that he’s secretly her father and she’s acting like she doesn’t know?” Ethan asks. He’s so engrossed in the show it’s actually cute. It’s like the time Hillary and I introduced Archie toLove Is Blind. He still pretends he hates that show but will actively watch every episode and then need to discuss it afterward.
“There is no way she knows. I think she’s suspicious about him in general. He’s not a good guy. Obviously, she’s not going to trust him.”
The show must be airing a marathon. We get two more episodes in, but when the next episode is about to start, my eyes feel heavy with sleep.
“We should get to bed. We’ll leave first thing in the morning so you can make it to your interview.”
I yawn, slinking under the scratchy sheets. “Sounds good.”
Ethan shuts off the TV but leaves the lamp between us on while he uses the bathroom.
A heavy weight sits on my chest, making it hard to breathe as I wait for him to finish his nighttime routine. The intimacy I felt earlier returns in full force. It’s more intense now that we’ve shared food and bonded over a TV show and I’ve been lying around in my indecent pajamas for most of the evening.
Ethan emerges from the bathroom in low-slung flannel bottoms and a white T-shirt. I watch as he walks from the bathroom to his bed, lightly tugging on the collar of his shirt.
“Sleep however you usually sleep. No need to keep on a shirt or something if it’s uncomfortable.” I blurt it out before my brain can stop me. I immediately want to swallow back all the words. My cheeks are surely bright red, and I’m hoping the glow from the lamp masks it.
Ethan merely nods and then starts lifting the hem of his T-shirt. I should look away. I should look anywhere else than at the man in front of me, playing into my strip tease fantasy. The higher the shirt lifts, the more I feel like I’m in a free fall. His toned stomach comes into view. It’s not the kind of body that spends hours in the gym, more like the kind that takes an active role in the labor of his vineyards. Sturdy and solid, dusted in neatly trimmed dark hair. My hands itch to touch him, to run along every groove, trace every line, and feel that prickly hair scrape across my fingertips. When his shirt is fully off, he turns and folds it, returning it to his suitcase, completely unaware that I’m drooling like a dog, practically panting. My skin feels overheated and restless, like I could combust at any moment. And I just may with the ache building between my thighs.
“Are you done checking me out?”
I jackknife in bed, sitting up. “I was not checking you out.”Deny, deny, deny.
“Liar.” I can practically feel his smirk. He wrestles in the bed and then turns to switch off the lamp, cloaking us in darkness.
“Goodnight, Marisa.”
“Goodnight, Ethan.”
CHAPTER 28
Ethan
I BELIEVE IN YOU
If it was possible to die from blue balls, I would be a dead man.
