Page 40 of Release Me
My eyes are closed and when I open them, Ethan is watching me, his eyes dark and his lips swollen. I’ve never seen him look so uncontrolled, so reckless, and I wonder if he regrets kissing me.
“Vodka soda and a water,” the bartender says, setting the drinks down in front of us and interrupting this moment between Ethan and me, and that’s probably a good thing.
“Thank you,” I say, my head still spinning from that kiss. I swallow hard, picking up my glass of water and taking a drink. The cold water does nothing to quell the fire that seems to be raging hot between my legs.
Ethan shifts away from me, his knee sliding out from between my thighs and I want to tell him to put it back, that I was getting off on the idea of having his body so close to mine.
“Not drinking?” he says, and I swear I catch a hint of breathlessness in his voice, a desperation that isn’t usually there.
“I just need some water for now. I’m starving and drinking on an empty stomach could prove disastrous,” I joke, but wondering if I could use it as an excuse to throw myself at Ethan, maybe even knock on his hotel room door at three a.m.
“I hope you ordered something to eat,” Ethan shames, a possessiveness to his words.
“Settle down,” I say, patting him on the thigh. “I have a couple of appetizers coming.” And just as I say this, the bartender sets the burrata down in front of us and without waiting, I dive in.
“You are definitely hungry,” Ethan says, laughing a little as I stuff my face with a crostini and some burrata, topping it off with some arugula and honey.
“You have no idea,” I mumble, my mouth full, my stomach thanking me for finally putting something other than alcohol in it.
I push the plate toward him, encouraging him to have some before I inhale it all, just as the crabcakes get delivered too.
“Anything else coming?” Ethan asks, and I want to respond with something along the lines of it being me coming given how worked up I was after that kiss. But Ethan has made no mention of the kiss and I need to keep telling myself that he was playing along to help me get rid of that guy.
“Nope, this is it. Enjoy.”
We eat in content silence for a few minutes, taking the edge off our hunger. I imagine Ethan was equally as hungry since neither one of us stopped to eat before beginning the afternoon at the conference.
“I figured you’d still have a place in Seattle,” I now say, breaking the silence and trying to keep my mind off all the dirty things that have been flashing through my mind.
“I do,” Ethan admits, and I turn to look at him, narrowing my eyes.
“What do you mean? Why are you staying at the hotel then?”
“I didn’t want you to stay here alone and I thought it might be weird if I…” He trails off, shrugging, like he doesn’t want to finish his thought.
“What would be weird?”
“Inviting you to stay in my condo in Seattle. I thought you would be more comfortable at a hotel. I am your boss and staying at my house…” And again, with the unfinished thought.
“It wouldn’t be weird, Ethan, and I thought we established that spending time with you is not any different than it would be if I were hanging out with Delaney or Alex,” I say, lying through my teeth. It’s totally fucking different. I don’t want to have sex with Delaney or Alex.
Now it’s him taking his lip between his teeth as if he’s processing what I’ve just said, not adding anything more to the conversation. It isn’t weird spending time with him, and I don’t look at him as my superior. He might own Badger Creek, but he’s the first guy I’ve been around that I’m not worried is only spending time with me because of my family’s money. With Ethan, it feels like more, it feels like there’s something here, dancing between us, just waiting for one of us to admit it.
“I like spending time with you, Zoey,” he now admits, smiling a little, his cheeks flushing pink.
“You can stop being weird about it. I like hanging out with you too. How else would we meet people if we didn’t meet someone at work?” I now ask, prefacing the question to him, because I know he’s devoted to his job just like I am.
“At a bar in a hotel,” he teases, tipping his head in the direction of the sour-faced guy who is currently drinking away his bruised ego a few seats down.
“Stop it. That guy was a slimy douche,” I say, tilting my head to the side as I wrinkle up my nose in disgust. “Would you pick up a girl in a hotel bar?” I ask him, genuinely curious about how he meets women. Looking like Ethan with his dirty blonde hair, chiseled jaw, and striking blue eyes, I imagine it would be easy for him. And even though I’ve never seen him shirtless, it’s obvious he has a body to die for. His shirts fit like they were tailor-made for his muscled frame and the guy wears a suit like a model in a magazine. I can’t imagine he has a hard time finding someone to date him and then when they find out he’s rich, I would think he can’t get rid of them.
“Probably not,” he replies. “You’re right though. It’s easy to meet someone at work since I spend most of my time there.”
I swallow hard, waiting for him to say it, desperate to hear him say that he wants more with me. That meeting me at work was a good thing.
But he falls silent, and I can’t bring myself to be the one to push it. What if I’m misreading this? What if I fuck it up and lose my job because I thought Ethan was interested in me? Why is this so fucking complicated?
It shouldn’t matter that I work for him. Like I’ve told myself a million times, and like I just told Ethan, we spend most of our time at work. Falling for a coworker is a totally normal thing.