Page 44 of American Love Story

He gave an exasperated sigh as he peeled his back off the wall and moved toward me, one hand raised, palm up, as if to stop me from talking.

Resigned to the fact that I had fucked this up, feeling like there was a hole in my chest, I handed him the food.

“Have a good night, Easton.”

I was about to turn around and walk down to my apartment when he grabbed my wrist with his other hand.

“Oh no, no, no.” When I turned to look at him, those green eyes were blazing, but there was just a little bit of humor in his voice. “No, Professor Denis, you’re not leaving now. I was going to say that it sounded like a conversation you’d rather have inside my place.”

The relief at those words was enough to make me lightheaded, and when I looked at him, a much smaller but no less heartening version of the smile I’d been desperate to see was firmly in place.

“Come on.” He ushered me in and I didn’t give him a chance to change his mind, quickly stepping into his penthouse. I pointed at the glass of wine on the coffee table next to a mountain of papers.

“You were working.”

He waved at the pile of papers dismissively. “I was supposed to be working, but I was sulking instead,” he said matter-of-factly as he took the food to the kitchen.

I never again wanted to be the reason for Easton to feel unimportant. Because even if I wasn’t ready to say that out loud, with every passing day, he was becoming almost essential for me. If I’d been brave enough, I’d tell him exactly that. Instead I walked over to where he’d been pulling takeout containers out of the bag.

I came to where he was, just inches away. We were so close I felt his heat, I wanted to wrap my arms around him, envelop him with my body, but I knew there was more I needed to say. I whispered into the space between us. “I’m sorry,” I said as I ran my thumb over his lips. They were perfect, red and fleshy.

Easton swallowed hard and I could almost see his pulse racing. There it was again, that pull. In so many ways I felt like with Easton and I, words sometimes were unnecessary. I bent my head and he lifted up to meet me. He clasped both hands behind my neck and kissed me like his life depended on it. I was ready to forget about dinner…talking. When it came to Easton, moderation and control just did not apply.

He shook his head and pulled back just as I was making my way down his neck.

“No.” He just had to say it once, and I stepped back, wondering what had happened.

When I saw him, with his bruised lips and mussed hair, I had to fist my hands to keep from grabbing him again.

His chest was heaving, but when he spoke, his tone brooked no argument. “Nope. We are not doing this again.”

He waved a finger between us. “This is our problem, as soon as we’re together, we end up fucking.” He held up a hand, those whiskey and moss eyes thunderous. “We’re going to act like whatever is happening here is worth working on. We clearly can’t stay away from each other, so let’s start acting like we mean it.” The exasperation in his voice—there was something else. Easton was done letting me run the show and seeing him calling the shots was fucking sexy. “We’re talking about important things happening in our lives right now and trying to understand each other. You say you want my friendship, then that means actually getting to know me. This hot and cold shit ends now.”

He looked mad salty and I wanted to wreck him. This Easton was somehow even more irresistible. There wasno coming backfrom this. That was completely clear. Surprisingly, I was totally fine with it.

I felt my body relaxing and the intensity of the evening, of the whole weekend, started to diffuse a little. I smiled at him then. “All right, Counselor, so you’re feeling some type of way. I hear that,” I said as I grabbed the big tubs of broth. “Why don’t I warm up this food for us.” I waved a hand around his kitchen. “I think I can figure out where to find stuff. You go relax and we can talk while we eat.”

He looked genuinely bemused by my sudden surge of domesticity, but he didn’t argue, just nodded and went back to the couch. I fussed around the kitchen for a few minutes while he put away his papers and sipped from his wineglass.

When I walked out of the kitchen with two steaming bowls of soup, he got up to help me. “Here, I’ll get spoons and chopsticks. I also have a bottle of Sriracha around here. Let’s eat in the living room.”

He came back with all the stuff we needed and a glass of wine for me. After a moment, we both sat down, holding our bowls, alternating between bites and slurps. The soup was flavorful and fragrant, and delicious, and as soon as I tasted it, I remembered I hadn’t eaten since my post-workout breakfast early this morning. We both ate in silence for a couple of minutes before Easton spoke. “Thank you for this. All I’ve eaten all day were a few canapés, and until now had not realized I was starving.”

I angled my head, confused. “I thought you were eating with your mentee.”

He frowned at that and went in for another mouthful of noodles. He shook his head as he chewed. “I had to cancel. It was my grandpa’s birthday today and my mother had a luncheon thing, so I went there this afternoon.”

From the way he spoke about his parents, I knew Easton wasn’t exactly close to them, but he did seem to see a lot of hisfamily. There always seemed to be an event he had to make an appearance at.

“How was the party?”

He lifted a shoulder with a resigned expression on his face. “My mother’s parties are always flawless and a little boring.” He gave me a lopsided smile, but it wasn’t totally unhappy. “My dad’s an ass and not really interested in any of us, but my mom tries to at least get the family together. It was good to see my grandpa and my sister, too.” I realized it was maybe the most he’d said about himself or his family that didn’t include some self-deprecating comment and I wondered if part of all that was about me.

“You almost never talk about your family. Is it because you think that I’m not interested?”

He widened his eyes like he was thinking about it for the first time. “Honestly? My family in some ways feel parallel to my life. I’m in town working this job and that is sort of foreign to them, even to my grandpa, who’s so supportive. It’s almost like my real life is one thing and I dip into this other world I belong to, too.” He looked closely at me for a moment, a vulnerability there that I was loathe to betray, and as if he was reading my mind, said, “You are always firmly in the ‘real’ part of my life, Professor Denis.”

Before I even had a chance to react, he flashed me another one of those smiles and totally changed the subject. “Did you talk to Ari today?” he asked, brows furrowed, obviously worried about the answer. I found that I wanted to tell him everything Ari and I had talked about, the things I’d been thinking about, but I needed more time to figure myself out.