the hook-up. {ethma}

chapter 12

emma chamberlain

I'M LATE MEETING Olivia and George for lunch. Call it reluctance to face the firing squad. I'm under no illusion that they won't figure out I've had sex with Ethan. I'm horrible at hiding things, and Olivia is already suspicious of my sudden disappearance at the party the other night.

Part of me wants to talk about it. Not about Ethan precisely, because the idea of him discussing details with his friends makes me cringe, and I refuse to be a hypocrite. But I need to process this insanity that's got a hold of me. I cannot believe I had sex with him again. And in the library of all places. Anyone might have seen. The irony that I'm afraid to be seen with him yet let him fuck me in a public space, twice now, isn't lost on me.

Without warning, I think of him kneeling in front of me, his head buried between my legs. My cheeks burn and dark heat licks up the back of my thighs as I walk into the fifties style diner that sits just outside of campus. Good God, I want to turn around, find Ethan Dolan, and do it again. I know now that it isn't the thrill of possible discovery that makes sex with him better than anything I've experienced. It is him, the way I react to his body, his touch, his voice. And that scares the hell out of me.

I like you. A lot.

Damn it. If only he was someone else. Something else. A regular guy. A nobody like me. But he's not and never will be. When I think of the public scrutiny he, and anyone he's with, endures, I want to hide away, run for the hills.

I take a deep breath instead and tell myself to chill. It's over. It's done.

Olivia and George already occupy a booth. As George is facing my way, he spots me first and raises a brow in reproach.

"Sorry," I say as I slide in next to Olivia. "I lost track of time."

"We ordered you a vanilla milkshake, and fries are on the way," says George. "But you choose the rest."

Six feet to Olivia's five foot three, George towers over her, but they share similar features, their European heritage showing in their ocean eyes framed by thick lashes, Vanilla-swirled skin, and glossy brunette hair.

The waitress comes with our drinks and fries, her gaze lingering on George. "You know what you want?"

"Always," he answers with cheeky confidence that makes the waitress blush, and Olivia and I roll our eyes. Not that I can fault the waitress's taste. George is incredibly good looking. And while I appreciate that on an aesthetic level, I've never felt a glimmer of sexual attraction to him. Which is a good thing, as I'd rather have his friendship than a brief physical release.

We order our burgers and, once alone, Olivia turns in her seat to study me. "So...you gonna tell us where you got that exceptionally large hickey decorating your neck?"

Shit. As if her notice has activated it, a spot where my neck curves to meet my collarbone, starts to throb. Memories assault me, of Ethan's mouth there, his tongue sliding over my skin just before he sucked hard. I don't want to know how bad it looks.

George's eyes glint as he leans forward. "That's a beauty. Who's the guy? Or is it a girl? God," he puts a hand over his heart, "please say it's a girl."

I toss my napkin at his head.

"It's Ethan Dolan," Olivia says. "Isn't it?"

Cringing, I occupy my mouth by drawing a deep pull of milkshake.

"Get the fuck out," cries George with a laugh. "Seriously, 'Liv, stop playing."

The icy glass in my hand lands on the table with a thud. "Why is that so hilarious?" I blurt out. "Am I such a cow that the idea of me being with Ethan Dolan is laughable?"