Ethan by Rian Kelley

but said, “Your opinion of me is a little over the top.” Her cheeks were beautifully flushed. “I’m completely lacking in risqué moments.”
    “Me neither.”
    “You have a bucket list going?”
    “That’s not on it.”
    She nodded and turned back to the water. “One more wave?” she posed.
    He nodded. “And then dinner.”
    He watched her mood shift, a somber cast enter her eyes. He knew where she was going—they always talked “shop” over their evening meal, delved into his screenplay-slash-life.
    “I’d like to ask you something, Ethan.”
    “Anything.” That was one of their rules of fair play.
    “What do you fear the most about your past?” She turned toward him and the last rays of the sun ignited her eyes. She was breathtaking and Ethan could have stayed with the moment much longer, lulled by the gentle rocking of each wave, falling deeper into her eyes. But reality was a bitch and it kept intruding on his present. There was no evading it and the urgency to have it settled picked up its strumming tempo in his blood. “About your marriage, in particular?” she pressed.
    He cleared the emotion from his throat and confided, “That I pushed Tina in front of that train.”

 
     
    Chapter Eight    
    Shae tossed Ethan the key and he locked both boards into place on the roof of her Q5. They’d decided to keep her car in its rare find—a public space in the sandy beach lot that gave equal access to the w ater and to the strip of boutiques, art galleries and restaurants along State Street. He knew of a “shack,” as he called it, that made fish tacos that cherried the competition. She’d laughed at his use of surfer lingo and pictured Ethan, seventeen years old, tall and tanned, his hair longer and streaked by the sun.  If they’d attended high school together she knew she would have had it bad for him.
    Ethan rounded the back of the car and she held out her hand for the key, but he had other ideas. He stood close and pulled on the front pocket of her cut-offs until he could slide the remote inside.
    “That way I’ll know where to find it.”
    “Afraid I’ll leave without you?”
    “Not a chance,” he returned. He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers. “ We’ll go together,” he promised, his voice thick with passion.
    He took her hand and began walking and Shae was assaulted by a number of emotions.
    Arousal for sure. She’d been on “go” almost from the moment she’d walked into Ethan’s house. Their kiss on the water had primed her. Her skin had become so sensitive to touch getting out of her sandy swimsuit was a must. She’d changed in the back seat of the car, behind the tinted windows, while Ethan kept watch.
    She was attracted to Ethan and it was intense. She was a big girl and knew exactly where it would lead. And she wanted that. She didn’t doubt that their coming together would be a fleeting thing—everything in Hollywood was. And, besides, she was leaving.
    But there was more going on and this gave her pause. She liked holding hands with Ethan. It created a warmth that spread up her arm and settled in her chest. It was a commentary—announcing that they were a couple. Co uples belonged to each other, it was a defining characteristic. And that wasn’t them. No matter how much she wanted such a connection, she needed to remember that she and Ethan weren’t building anything more than a professional relationship. Fringe benefits were the norm in their world.
    So she kept her hand in his, was lured by the warmth, but not fooled by it.
    She gazed at him in the dusk. His five o-clock shadow was thick, his hair already dry. He’d pulled on a t-shirt but left his trunks on. They skirted the powdered edge of the road quietly, and she noticed that the tense set of his face had eased some. Intensity simmered below his surface, she could feel its gentle vibe, but Ethan was relaxed. He’d claimed surfing as his form of mediation and she totally got