Broken Juliet by Leisa Rayven Page A

imagine the look on his face when he sees this sex kitten underwear.
    Shit. If he sees this underwear. If , not when .
    I sit on the bed and drop my head in my hands.
    Maybe I should cancel. I’m not ready for this.
    I take some deep breaths and look at the clock. Tristan, my Zen-master roommate and life coach, will be home soon. He’ll know what to do. What I should wear.
    My phone buzzes with a message from him.
    < Hot yoga student asked me out for a drink. Home later, if at all. There’s a new bottle of Shiraz in the kitchen. Use it wisely.>
    I text him back.
    
    He replies with a smiley face and what looks like a giant schlong emoticon.
    Where the hell did he even get that?
    Damn him.
    To be fair, he doesn’t know I’m going to Ethan’s place for dinner. If he did, he’d probably cover me in barbed wire, strap a chastity belt on me, and then insist on coming with me to protect my vagina chakra, if there is such a thing.
    I sigh and take off my pretty underwear and replace it with my most boring white cotton thong and bra. Then I put on comfortable jeans and a plain T-shirt, pull my hair back into a ponytail, and take my makeup back to just mascara and lip gloss.
    Done.
    No pressure.
    Just dinner.
    And him.
    Nothing more.
     
     
    I’ve barely knocked when the door opens, and he’s there.
    Oh God, he is so there.
    Freshly shaven, navy shirt, dark jeans, no shoes.
    I think I gape. I can’t be sure.
    He’s staring at me, too, dragging his gaze slowly over my body before settling on my face.
    “Hi.” He looks nervous. For some reason, that makes me feel a little better.
    “Hi.”
    He doesn’t move.
    “You look … I just…” He blinks. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
    How does he not understand that statements like that make me want to murder my resolution to take it slow with him and bury it where no one will find it?
    “Uh … thanks. You look good, too.” Really good.
    He ignores my compliment as he continues to stare.
    “Uh … Ethan?”
    He shakes his head and remembers his manners. “Shit, sorry. Come in.”
    “Thanks.”
    He steps back and lets me enter. A rush of goose bumps crawls over my skin as I pass. The hallway smells like him, and I automatically take a deep breath.
    I haven’t seen his New York place yet, so I drink in every detail.
    His apartment is compact but stylish. More grown-up than his Westchester digs. More refined.
    “Elissa decorated,” he says.
    I nod. “It’s nice. It’s just you here?”
    “Yeah. Ever since I got back from Europe. Elissa is living in the East Village like the bohemian she is. I miss having her around, but it was time, you know? Can’t live with my baby sister forever.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    We lapse into silence as I wander around and check out his knickknacks and photos. I run my fingers along the spines of his book collection as I try to get to know him again.
    I can feel him watching me. Waiting for my approval. It’s kind of strange.
    I stop when I spy a familiar title. “Kristin Linklater— Freeing the Natural Voice .”
    I turn to him, and he laughs. “Every time someone mentioned the title of this book in class, Jack Avery would fart.” He laughs harder.
    “Is that why you keep it on your shelf?”
    He shrugs. “What can I say? Avery was a dick, but the boy was funny. Plus, Linklater really knew what she was talking about.”
    I shake my head. “You have all our old textbooks here.”
    “They’ve been useful over the years. They were also … reminders … of our time at drama school.”
    “I burned all of mine.”
    I say it before I register how he’ll feel about it. Judging by his expression, it doesn’t make him happy. I hadn’t meant that to be a reflection on him, but I guess it is. I purged those books just like I purged everything that reminded me of him.
    He drops his head. “I’m sorry.”
    “Don’t be. Everything I needed from those books I learned by heart.”
    He