Isn't She Lovely Read online

  “She says it’s clear we haven’t consummated.”

  She jolts a little, pushing herself up on her elbows. “Consummated?”

  “Well, I don’t think she necessarily means … you know,” I say, making a juvenile rutting gesture with the index finger of one hand and the O formed by my thumb and index finger on the other hand.

  She bats my hands away. “Did you tell her we’d only been together a month? I mean, is it weird if that hasn’t happened by now?”

  I tilt my head a little, thrown off by the genuine curiosity in her voice.

  “I was hoping you could tell me,” I say. “I’ve only had one serious relationship in my life, so not a lot to go on.” Not exactly the manliest of confessions, but there it is.

  She looks away. “Did you wait longer than a month? With Olivia?”

  “Well, I was fifteen when we started dating. If it was up to me, I don’t know that I could have waited a week. But she was kind of a good girl. So yeah, we waited longer than a month.”

  Stephanie turns to look at me, clearly expecting me to elaborate on the details.

  “No way,” I say, shaking my head. “Males are born with a protective instinct to never tell current mates about past mates.”

  “You learn that from Animal Planet?”

  “Reality TV,” I reply.

  She lies back down, and I stretch out beside her. We’re silent for a few minutes.

  “So what do we do?” she asks. “About Andrea, I mean.”

  I roll to my side, putting my weight on one elbow and resting my head on my hand as I look down at her. “Well, one thing’s for sure. We’re going to have to get familiar with each other’s touch.”

  “Define familiar.”

  “You’re jumpy whenever I touch you.” To prove my point, I reach out an index finger and trace it from her wrist to her elbow.

  She hisses as her arm jerks in response.

  “See?” I ask softly. “We may not be expected to have sealed the deal in a month, but we sure as hell have to have touched.”

  This time I place my entire palm on her arm, sliding up until I’m cupping her bicep. As far as touches go, it shouldn’t be personal. We’re not dealing with any sexy parts here. But it feels fucking sexy, especially since it puts the backs of my fingers just inches away from the side of her breast.

  I take a deep breath. Don’t get lost in the game, Price.

  “Well, this is nice,” she says sarcastically. “I’m sure your being comfortable with the flab on my upper arm will convince everyone that we’re practically consummating.”

  I laugh despite the fact that I seem to have a raging boner from her arm “flab.”

  “You’re a smart-ass,” I say.

  She grins up at me, and the gesture is too easy, too sassy. And suddenly I know exactly what Andrea means.

  Stephanie Kendrick doesn’t see me as a guy.

  She just sees me as her film partner. Hell, she probably sees me as her landlord.

  That won’t work.

  I roll toward her, plucking the sunglasses off her face so I can see her eyes. She lets out an irritated huff and pulls my glasses off as well, tossing them aside so that we’re staring into each other’s eyes.

  “You’re right,” I say huskily. “Me cupping your bicep won’t convince anyone. But I know what will.”

  Her blue eyes turn dark, and I hope it’s with arousal because being this close to her almost naked body is killing me.

  “If I know Andrea, she’s watching us right now,” I say gently, moving my hand slowly until I’m brushing a piece of hair off her forehead. “Think we can convince her that we’re at least close to consummating?”

  “Ethan—”

  My hand moves to her mouth, and I let the pad of my thumb catch on her bottom lip as those blue eyes go completely smoky.

  “It’ll be just like we practiced that night at David’s place,” I say before lowering my mouth to hers.

  Except, damn it, it’s nothing like that first kiss in her ex-boyfriend’s apartment. That had been an experiment. A test to see if two complete opposites could stomach a harmless little kiss. This time we know each other, and it’s not harmless.

  And even though it’s still an experiment, still part of the game, it’s better somehow. And it was pretty damn great before.

  Stephanie lets out a breathy little sigh before her little tongue comes out to lick my bottom lip, and suddenly it’s impossible to remember that this isn’t real or that Andrea is watching.

  I part her lips with my own, my free hand cupping around the back of her neck and holding her head still while I explore her lips, her teeth, her tongue.

  She opens her mouth wide, and I take what she offers, tilting my head and deepening the kiss until we’re breathing in the same air. Breathing in each other.

  She starts to roll toward me at the same time I lean toward her, and now I’m covering her, feeling her hard nipples against my bare chest through the thin fabric of her bikini top. Her skin’s so warm, and I don’t know if it’s from the sun or because of me, and I hope to God it’s the latter, because I don’t give a shit who’s watching—I’m dying for this girl.

  I want to touch her everywhere, but I don’t trust myself, so I satisfy my fingers’ need to feel her by putting my hands on either side of her waist, letting them idly stroke along her rib cage, moving from bikini top to bikini bottom, but always reversing direction when my fingers touch fabric, never letting myself go over the fabric. And certainly not under. That would be the end of me.

  Stephanie’s arms are around my neck, keeping my mouth glued to hers, and I have absolutely no objections. I feel her shift before my brain registers her movement, and I almost groan as I realize she’s spread her legs slightly, allowing me to rest in the cradle of her thighs. There’s no possible chance of hiding my erection now, and from the way she tilts her hips up to mine, I don’t think she minds.

  “Yo! Ethan!”

  I hear the voice vaguely, but since it’s not Stephanie’s, I don’t care, and my arm finds its way around the small of her back as I jerk her closer because I can’t get close enough.

  “Ethan!”

  This time I register Stephanie’s palms pushing against my shoulders, and I pull back slightly, ready to kill whoever’s interrupting the hottest fucking kiss of my life.

  My eyes find Stephanie’s, and she looks as completely lost as I feel.

  “What are you kids trying to do, outburn the sun?”

  I tear my gaze away from Stephanie, looking up to see Andrea standing on the driver’s seat, grinning down at us.

  “Really, Andi?” I ask in irritation.

  And then I remember that this whole thing is for her benefit in the first place, and I shake my head to clear it.

  “Brian and I are starving,” she says. “Let’s head back to the house for something to eat.”

  I want to tell her to piss off, but Stephanie’s squirming under me, and not in the aroused way of before, but in a panicked little get-off-me squirm, and I drop my head briefly in resignation before rolling off her. I move quickly into a sitting position, resting my forearms over my knees as I face away from Andrea. I pretend I’m taking in the setting sun, but really I need a second for the lower half of my body to be fit for company.

  Stephanie is fixing the swimsuit that’s become twisted in our kiss, and she ignores me completely as she climbs to her feet and makes her way back toward Andrea. She’s chattering animatedly about what we should have for dinner, and her voice doesn’t have even a trace of the sexual frustration that has me feeling like punching something.

  I hear the start of the motor, and I reluctantly get up, being careful to keep Stephanie’s towel in front of my crotch as I rejoin the rest of the group.

  Brian and Andrea don’t say a word about the fact that Stephanie and I were about two minutes away from screwing on their boat, and I can only hope that it’s because they’re convinced we’re just like any other new-ish coupl
e who can’t keep their hands off each other.

  Except Stephanie and I aren’t a couple. Not really.

  And yet I have absolutely no interest in keeping my hands off her.

  I drop into one of the free seats in the back of the boat as the realization hits me like a ton of bricks: I’m totally hot for Stephanie Kendrick.

  As though sensing my thoughts, she pivots in the chair in front of me to face me. Her sunglasses are back on, and I’m annoyed that I can’t see her eyes. To see if that stormy heat is still there.

  She gives me a little smile before reaching out to give my knee a pat. The gesture is as chaste as it gets.

  “I think we did it,” she says quietly. Triumphantly.

  My mind goes blank for a second. Did what?

  “They totally bought it,” she continues as she pulls her long hair into a messy knot. “Plus this is a great potential scene for the screenplay.”

  She might as well have tossed cold water on my balls. Apparently I’m the only one who wants to finish what we started.

  But I can’t be mad at her for keeping her head on straight. I was the one who messed up. I broke the cardinal rule in this little game we’re playing: I went and forgot that it is a game.

  A mistake I have no intention of repeating.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Stephanie

  Ethan is grumpy.

  And I tell him so as he unlocks the door to our apartment after a long weekend of boating, fake flirting, and drinking a little too much local wine from some of the fabulous Finger Lakes wineries.

  Ethan drops the cooler and his duffel bag in the entryway and turns to give me a look.

  “Of course I’m grumpy, Kendrick. I spent two nights sleeping on the floor.”

  “I gave you a pillow and a blanket!” I call after his retreating back. “And it’s not like you warned me that your friends would expect us to share a bedroom.”

  “They think we’re a twentysomething couple that’s shacking up, Stephanie. Of course they expected that we’d want to share a bedroom.”

  And not just a bedroom. A bed. A really big bed that I had all to myself both nights.

  Honestly, I intended to suggest that we share the bed. Platonically, of course. It was king-sized, and a few strategically placed pillows between us could have kept the whole thing very PG.

  But then that kiss happened that first afternoon on the boat. And there was no way in freaking hell that I trusted myself to share a bed with Ethan Price and keep my hands to myself.

  Which is weird. I’ve never really gotten that hot-and-heavy urge with guys. I mean, sure, when I was fifteen and first with Caleb there was the usual awkward groping and necking. I wasn’t easy or anything, but it wasn’t all that long before I let Caleb get to second base.

  Then I came home on that gorgeous April afternoon, and my parents were waiting for me with the news.

  Cancer.

  From then on, I had no interest in getting to any base. I certainly wasn’t thinking about losing my virginity.

  Then that night with Caleb happened, and it was all I could think about because the choice had been taken from me. And the one person I might have told—the one person I wanted to tell—was dead. My virginity and my mother gone on the same night.

  If my dad knew the whole story, maybe he wouldn’t wonder why I went from a peppy little cheerleader to a despondent college student in the span of a few months.

  Still, my crappy history can’t explain why after four years of not having even the slightest interest in sex, it’s becoming all I can think about with Ethan. I tried to fake interest with David and a handful of guys before that, but I always chickened out at the last minute.

  Because of that, I almost can’t blame David for hooking up with Leah. I mean, he’s still an ass, but the guy didn’t make it a secret that he wanted sex. And he wasn’t getting it from me.

  So what gives? I didn’t want to go all the way with my real boyfriend, but I’m lusting after my fake one?

  But then, David never kissed like Ethan kisses. Nobody kisses like Ethan kisses. Perhaps if they did, things would be different. Perhaps if past boyfriends kissed like Ethan Price, my sexual experience wouldn’t be limited to a single night I can’t even remember.

  Don’t go there, Stephanie.

  I drop my bag onto my bed and contemplate taking one of the bubble baths that I seem to be getting addicted to, but I can’t get my mind off Ethan’s crankiness on the car ride home. I thought I’d come to know all of the different Ethans, but this quiet version is unfamiliar. And kind of unnerving.

  I wander into the kitchen and find him making a turkey sandwich. He cuts it in half and holds out one of the triangles to me, but I shake my head.

  “You don’t have to share your food,” I say with a little smile. “You have a couple days off from being a boyfriend before your cousin’s wedding.”

  He meets my eyes and takes a big bite of the section he just held out to me. “Great. Guess that means you can stop with the accidental touches for a few days too.”

  I blink a little at him, surprised by the edge in his voice. “What are you talking about?”

  He chews and swallows, never taking his eyes off me. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. For the past two days you couldn’t even pass by me to go take a piss without touching my arm. Couldn’t scoot by me in the kitchen without your boobs brushing against my back.”

  Immediately I feel my face flame. “I was just playing the part. You said Andrea thought we were jumpy when we touched. I was just trying to make it real. Like we touched each other all the time.”

  “Except we don’t.”

  I throw my hands up. “Of course we don’t, Ethan! When there’s nobody around, we can barely stand each other.”

  His head tilts back a little. “Really?”

  No, not really.

  “Well, I mean … I guess we’ve become friends of a sort,” I hedge.

  God, when did this all of a sudden become so complicated?

  Oh, right. Probably when we made out on the bow of Andrea’s boat.

  But that was all for show. So what’s with his bad mood?

  “Hey, Ethan,” I say, watching as he finishes his sandwich as though I’m not there.

  “What’s up?”

  I smile sweetly. “When are you going to tell me what crawled up your butt?”

  The question catches him off guard, as though he’s never had to explain a foul mood to anybody before. Hell, he probably hasn’t. He’s had no siblings to answer to, and his parents, while perhaps overly interested in his love life, don’t seem the least bit interested in what makes Ethan tick.

  Maybe Olivia was, but the girl cheated on him, so somehow I’m thinking she probably wasn’t exactly all that invested in what Ethan was thinking or feeling.

  I soften a little at the thought. Looking at it that way, it’s sad, actually. Maybe someone who’s had everything material handed to him doesn’t have the first clue about how to ask for something that money can’t buy. Maybe he doesn’t even know what he wants.

  Although if that’s the case, I’m hardly the one to teach him. I quit wanting things a long time ago, much less asking for them.

  “I already told you,” he says sulkily. “I’m just tired.”

  I shrug. “Got it. So take a nap already. This bad-tempered Ethan is ruining the feng shui of our apartment.”

  “My apartment.”

  I lift an eyebrow. “I just spent an entire weekend faking being in love with you, and I have to do it all over again next weekend. Until we’re done, it’s our apartment.”

  Something flashes across his face then, and all of a sudden the apartment, which was huge by Manhattan standards, feels stiflingly small.

  I don’t know why I threw out the L word, I really don’t. We’ve never talked about it before, and honestly it’s not even necessary considering that we’re telling people that our relationship is only a month old. There’s no reason we have to
pretend to be in love; we just have to pretend to be moving in that direction.

  So why did I say it?

  “Do you want to go to a movie?” I blurt out.

  “A movie?”

  “Yeah. You know, overpriced tickets, sticky floors, fake-butter popcorn … a movie.”

  He tilts his head. “Are you going to make me go to one of those snooty theaters where they only play highbrow shit?”

  “And listen to you whine the entire time? No way. I’ll save those outings for my fellow film students. You can pick.”

  “How magnanimous of you.”

  I give him a toothy grin. “Reward for sleeping on the floor.”

  He crosses his arms across his chest and studies me. “Fine. How about …”

  I carefully hide my wince at the blow-’em-up blockbuster he names. That sort of bigbudget CGI monstrosity is my personal nightmare. But having a couple of hours to sit by Ethan without having to pretend? It sounds nice. Really nice.

  I want to get back to the easy companionship we had before the trip. Before that kiss. Because now I don’t just have to play pretend when other people are around. I also have to put on a show when we’re alone. And in some ways, the act when it’s just the two of us is that much harder.

  Who knew that pretending you’re not falling for someone would be so much more difficult than pretending you are?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ethan

  Stephanie and I are back to normal.

  And by normal, I mean we’re treating each other as asexual roommates who bicker over who gets to choose the channel and whether we get chicken or tofu on our pad thai takeout, and we have yet to agree on the minimum distance to a destination that justifies when we can get a cab.

  The kiss on the boat? Forgotten.

  Those sleepless nights up at the Finger Lakes where we listened to each other toss and turn and want? Forgotten.

  That day in the kitchen when I almost stupidly proposed a friends-with-benefits scenario and she saved me by suggesting a movie? Also forgotten—mostly.