Page 85 of Fractured Ice

I look down.

Ethan is asleep with his cheek against my inner thigh, his hair a complete disaster, one arm thrown across my legs, his face inches from a place I have very recent and vivid memories of him being. His expression in sleep is different than his awake one, it's quieter, the ease he carries around stripped down to something more unguarded. He looks younger and also somehow more like himself, if that makes any sense, which it doesn't, which is part of the problem.

My face is hot.

I press both hands to my cheeks and stare at the ceiling, taking a careful accounting of my situation.

I'm in Ethan Walker's bed. Again. Except this time I know exactly how I got here and the knowing is not making things simpler. I remember the party and the dress and the dance floor and his hands. I remember what came after and specifically what he did for the better part of four or five hours, and the sounds I was making… his voice telling me I was incredible while I was coming apart… my face gets hotter and I have to close my eyes.

I need to leave.

I need to leave very quietly and very efficiently and without waking him up, and then I need to find my⁠—

I scan the floor. I scan the bed. I check under the blanket. My panties are not visible from any angle I can currently access, and I do not have time to conduct a full search without waking Ethan, and I make a decision that I will think about later and immediately locate my dress, which is at the foot of the bed, and my shoes.

Getting out from under his head takes significant care. He shifts once and I freeze and hold everything completely still. Then he settles back and I finish extracting myself. I stand up and look back at him and he's still asleep, his face now turned into the sheets where my leg was, and I stare at him for one second too long before I make myself turn away and find my shoes.

The hallway. The stairs. I'm mostly fine until I hit the bottom step and walk into the kitchen. Knox and Noah are sitting at the table with cereal and coffee and they both look up at the exact same moment.

The silence is about three seconds long.

They exchange a look. The kind of look that covers everything and says nothing and communicates volumes.

"Morning," Knox says, with tremendous neutrality.

"Morning," I say, with equal neutrality.

Noah looks at his cereal.

I locate the front door with my eyes and cover the distance between myself and it without making any additional eye contact, then I'm outside and the morning air is cold on my face. I have no idea what I'm doing.

Emma is at the kitchen counter when I get home, both hands around a mug, still in pajamas, reading something on her phone with the relaxed attention of someone who has nowhere to be. She looks up when I come in. She takes in my dress and my shoes and the general state of my face, and she sets her phone down.

"Sit," she says, and turns to get another mug without waiting for a response.

I sit on the barstool and put my head in my hands.

She sets the coffee in front of me. She pours herself a second cup. She sits on the stool beside me and wraps both hands around her mug and waits.

"Ethan," I say.

"I figured," she says.

"I ended up in his room and—" I stop. "Nothing I said I wouldn't do. But also." I gesture vaguely at myself.

Emma nods. She doesn't rush me.

"He's been around my entire life," I say. "My whole life. Since we were children. And he has always, always had a girl on his arm. I have watched him be charming with women for fifteen years. I know how he operates. I've seen it from twenty feet away at every family event and school thing and party since I was old enough to understand what I was looking at."

"Okay," Emma says.

"So this whole thing, the project, the kissing booth, last night—" I wrap both hands around my mug. "What if that's just what he does? What if I'm just the current one? We're in close proximity for months because of the assignment, and I'm the one standing in front of him, so he turns all his attention on me because that's what he does."

"That's possible," Emma says.

"Thank you."

"I didn't say it was likely. I said it was possible." She takes a sip. "What else?"