The Temptation of Lila and Ethan (The Secret #3)(31)
Author: Jessica Sorensen

“What are you doing?” I ask, drinking my beer as I walk slowly behind her, watching her move through the field of tall grass and weeds. “You’re going to get us lost.”

She spins around and around, with her head tipped back, her dark hair blending with the night. “I’m having fun.” She spins again and then stops as I reach her. “How about you?” she asks, breathless.

I knock back the rest of the beer and then crush the cup, throwing it into the dirt. “What about me?”

She grins, walking toward me, swaying her hips. “Are you having fun?”

“I’m having a blast,” I say flatly, placing my hands on her hips.

She frowns. “Well, that sounds convincing.”

I sigh, letting my head fall forward so it’s pressed against hers. “Sorry, I’m just tired. And there are too many people over at the party for my taste.”

“You can be such a party pooper,” she says. “But only half the time. And then sometimes you’re totally into it.”

“I’m totally into it when I’m either drunk or stoned,” I admit. “But when I’m sober, it drives me crazy.”

She pauses, hooking her finger through my belt loop. “Sometimes I think you’re going to just pack up and leave and go wandering off on your own.”

I don’t answer right away, moving my forehead away from hers so I can look her in the eye. “I sometimes think about it. Just packing up and hitting the road.”

“Would you take me with you if you do?”

“Would you want to go with me?”

“Maybe… I don’t know.” She doesn’t look like she wants to. “Would you want me to go with you?”

“Maybe,” I say, but honestly I’m not sure. I really like her, more than any other girl out there, but there are times when I do think about leaving not just my life behind, but everyone in it.

“You’re such an ass,” she says. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t want to take me with you.”

“I never said that,” I tell her.

“But you didn’t completely deny it,” she retorts.

Silence grows around us and she holds on to me, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Okay, I take my ‘maybe’ back. I want to go with you but only so you can take me away from this place—my life.” Her voice is flat, saddened, devoid of any emotion. She gets this way sometimes when she’s talking about her life.

I kiss the top of her head. “What’s so bad about your life?”

“What’s so bad about yours?” she says, dodging the question like she always does whenever I try to dig deep into her psyche.

“Nothing, except that I don’t want it,” I reply, pulling her against my chest. “London, if you want me to take you with me then I will.”

“Okay, well, I’ll need notice before we go,” she jokes, the sadness leaving her voice. “And I’ll have to check my calendar. I’m really busy this summer.”

I pinch her ass hard and she squeals, backing away from me. She takes off running through the field and I chase after her, but somewhere along the line I lose track of her and the darkness swallows her whole.

“London,” I call out, but she doesn’t reply. I hear her laugh from somewhere, but I can’t figure out where. “London…”

Someone is shaking my shoulder and I’m snapped out of my dream. I feel hot, burning up, like I have a fever and my heart is racing erratically.

“You’re totally a lightweight,” Lila says when I open my eyes. I’m lying on my back, my head resting in her lap, my feet kicked up on the armrest.

I’m very aware how comfortable I am on the outside, but on the inside I’m a mess as memories of London float around in my head. Once again, I’m stuck somewhere between Lila and London and I don’t know how to get over London completely so I can just be just with Lila.

Lila hovers over me with a hurt look in her blue eyes, like she’s upset about something. “You passed out, like, ten minutes after it started.”

“I made it ten minutes?” I instantly crank up my humor, trying to shut down my thoughts of London as I blink up at Lila. “I should get a medal for that or something.”

She rolls her eyes and sits back on the couch so that I can sit up. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“No, it was terrible.” I stretch my arms above my head and yawn as I lower my feet to the floor.

She watches me with this strange look on her face, like she’s trying to unravel a puzzle. “Who’s… who’s London?”

My heart just about drops into my stomach as a shock pulsates through me. “What?”

“London.” She repeats, relaxing back in the sofa, with an intent look on her face. “You were muttering it in your sleep.” The corners of her lips quirk, but it looks forced. “At first I thought you were saying my name and I thought, ew, gross, he’s hav**g s*x dreams about me. But then I realized you were saying London and I’m starting to wonder if you have a secret girlfriend or something.”

“She’s no one,” I snap, not meaning for my voice to sound so clipped, but I’ve never talked to anyone about London because talking about her makes everything real. “So don’t worry about it.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t get all snippy with me. You know a lot about me—things I’d rather you not know—and I think it’s only fair that I know a few things about you.”

“You already know things about me,” I say, trying not to snap, because it’d be bad, both for her and me. “Now drop it.”

She considers this and then her expression darkens in a very un-Lila-like manner. “No, it’s bullshit.” She inches closer to me on the sofa. “You’ve gotten into my head so much over the last few weeks and it’s not fair that I don’t know a lot about you.”

“You know enough.” My voice is tight and packed with a warning for her to not go down this road.

“Apparently not, since I’ve never heard of this London, yet she seems to be important to you.”

“Lila, drop it,” I warn, sitting up and stretching my arms above my head. “You don’t want to go there.”

“Yes, I do.” I’m not sure why, but she seems like she’s looking for a fight.

Anger crashes through me, a ripple of fire, ready to burn anything in its path. I’m a very controlled person, except for that one time, right after I heard about London—the one time I lost it. The one time I turned into my father and shouted at everyone, broke stuff, showed my rage. “Shut the f**k up.” My voice is low, but the deep, heavy tone is worse than me yelling.

Her eyes water over, like she’s about to cry. “You shut the f**k up. I just asked you a God damn question.”

I take a few deep breaths, and then I stand up. “I’m going to my room.” As I walk toward the hall, she watches me, looking enraged, irritated, and the slightest bit hurt, just like how London looked the last time I saw her, the last time I walked away from her.

But I can’t bring myself to turn back to her. I’m too worked up over London, and the emotions surfacing inside me make me want to run out and find someone to fuck. But I can’t. God, I haven’t been able to since the incident on the strip, and honestly I’ve been pretty content about it until now.

My head is in such a weird place right now over the dream. I try not to think about London, but she always catches up with me, whether I’m awake or asleep. Plus, Rae won’t stop texting me, so that doesn’t help. Three to four times a day, every f**king day, she texts me or leaves me a voice mail. I’ve been screening her calls, refusing to answer until I’m certain about what I want to do.

I lock myself in my room and do the only other thing I can think of to try to clear my thoughts. I write.

I’m afraid. More than I want to admit. Fear has never been a feeling I have been comfortable with. I always adopted the artificial, subdued, and in-control demeanor, because I don’t think anyone needs to know what really lies inside me. Like the fact that I still feel torn apart, ripped in half, my soul split, because the only girl I thought I wanted to be with is an outer shell that still exists in every aspect down to the mole she has above her lip. That’s still there, along with her hazel eyes and the scar above her mouth. Her skin is still flawlessly smooth. Her looks still exist, but she doesn’t. The London I knew—the London of the past—is no more. She’s forgotten her life, and life for her now is only about the future. Everything else is lost to her.

But what I really worry about is if I do go and see her, I’ll finally have to let her go. Forever. And the scariest thing is I both do and don’t want to. I want to move on, maybe with Lila and yet I want to hold on to London because it’s easier than feeling everything that comes along with letting go. But deep down, I’m realizing that eventually I’m going to have to finally say good-bye.

Chapter Twelve

Lila

It’s been a little over a week since I brought up this London person and Ethan will still barely talk to me. He avoids me most of the time, but when we do cross paths, he keeps it very businesslike, as if we’re only roommates and nothing more. Whoever this mysterious London is she obviously means something to him. At first I thought it was just a secret girlfriend, with the way he whimpered out her name after he fell asleep on the couch. It hurt. A lot. I’d always been okay with him sleeping with women, or at least I could live with it. But a girlfriend? The idea was clawing at my skin like overly manicured nails.

When I started questioning him about it, though, the spark of anger and discomfort and pain in his eyes led me to believe she might have been someone he loved. But getting to the bottom of it seems nearly impossible when all he’ll say to me is hello. It’s annoying me a little, because he knows so much about me. But when I think about it, Ethan’s always been more of a listener than a talker, and he keeps a lot about himself to himself.

I got the job at Danny’s and I’m still figuring out if I like it or not. Honestly, it hasn’t been too bad, but then again, I haven’t gotten up on the bar and danced yet. Today is supposed to be the big day.

After I check out my reflection in the mirror for what seems like ages, I finally head out. Ethan is sitting on the couch, watching the news, although his glazed-over expression means he’s probably daydreaming about something other than the weather. He’s got no shirt on and a torn pair of cargo shorts. His hair is a mess and his eyes are red, like he’s high, but I know Ethan enough to know he’s not.

I collect my purse and a jacket off the table and his eyes wander over to me. Usually, he immediately disregards me, but tonight my outfit sets him off, which I expected.

“What the f**k are you wearing?” He sits up, giving me a dirty look as he takes in my tight white tank top that shows off my stomach, my br**sts, and the leopard-print bra I wear underneath. I have a pair of really short cutoffs on that reveal the bottom of my ass when I bend over, which one of the waitresses told me I’ll be doing a lot since the guys usually throw the tips onto the floor.