Tempting (Inked Hearts 1)

But I love music. I love it in my ears. I love when I can feel the bass in my bones. I love letting it wash over me.

I close my eyes. Then there's wind rushing into the car. The windows are down. And Ethan is singing along with the song.

I peel my eyes open to look at him. He's smiling, half his attention on the road, the other half on the words. He's an amazing singer. Not as good as Mal but amazing nonetheless.

He nudges me. "Don't make me do this alone."

That's too much like old times.

I shake my head. "I'm sure you're used to doing it alone by now."

He laughs and my heart skips a beat. But that's not right. I wasn't trying to make him laugh. I was trying to push him away.

I let myself get lost in the music for the rest of the ride.

I fight a shiver as I step out of the car. It's not that it's cold—we're enough into morning that the sun is shining over the pavement. It's more the death glare from the woman standing in front of the grocery store.

"Here." Ethan slides his leather jacket around my shoulders.

He smiles that trademarked Ethan Strong smile. I can't tell if it's real or if it's his newfound player bullshit.

It doesn't matter. I'm not letting it get to my head either way.

For a second, his arm is around my waist. Then he pulls it away and looks at it like it betrayed him.

I slide my hands into the pockets of the leather jacket so I won't give into the impulse to touch him. Ethan looks too yummy to resist. His tight t-shirt hugs his shoulders just so. His snug jeans are low around his narrow waist.

I pull the jacket tighter. Usually, I'm happy to throw out my resting bitch face and be done with it, but I feel out of sorts next to him.

Ethan opens the door for me. The moment I step inside the coffee shop, I run into a wave of memories. We spent a hundred afternoons here, me studying, him working on polishing a track. I can hear his laugh in my ears, feel his arms around my chest, taste his lips on mine.

He always tasted good.

I bet he tastes good now.

I bet every inch of him tastes good.

Shit. This isn't an appropriate direction for my thoughts. I check my phone for something to do. There's a handful of spam and a text from Athena, my roommate/best friend, checking in.

I reply that I'm fine but that isn't feeling accurate at the moment.

I wait in line with Ethan, my eyes on the brown-and-cream menu board. When it's our turn, I order an unsweetened matcha latte with almond milk. Ethan orders an iced coffee.

"With almond milk." He turns to me. "So you can have a taste."

"It's yours."

"When did that ever stop you?"

Never. But what's he doing hanging out on memory lane?

He turns back to the barista. "Better make that a large."

"I would never." I fold my arms over my chest in protest.

"If you insist." He shrugs and hands over his credit card.

Damn, I shouldn't let him pay, but I'm not sure how close I am to my credit limit. Between my scholarship and loans, I have tuition covered, but New York City is expensive. My job tutoring math undergrads isn't exactly a full-time gig. Even with the money I have saved from my paid summer internship, I'm always scrimping in order to come up with rent.