STEAMY DESIRES: wet collections

Part

The party was already too loud by the time I arrived. Music thumped through the floorboards, someone’s cheap beer had been spilled across the kitchen counter, and the air smelled like sweat, perfume, and the sweet-sharp edge of vodka. I found Lila in the living room, laughing too hard at something Ethan had just said.

She was wearing the red top I had helped her pick out two weeks ago. It looked better on her than it ever would have on me. Ethan stood behind her with one arm loosely around her waist, the picture of the perfect boyfriend—tall, dark-haired, easy smile, the kind of guy who made other people look twice without even trying.

I stayed near the wall, nursing the same warm drink for almost an hour. Every time their mouths met in front of everyone, something small and ugly twisted under my ribs. I told myself it was just leftover loneliness, I told myself I was happy for her. I had been telling myself that for months.

By midnight Lila was properly drunk. Her words slurred together and she kept leaning heavily against Ethan’s side. He caught my eye over the top of her head and gave a small, resigned shrug.

“I’ll get her home,” he said. “You coming?”

The three of us left together. Rain had started while we were inside thin at first, then heavier, the kind that turns streets into dark mirrors. Lila fell asleep in the back seat before we even left the neighborhood, head tipped against the window, soft snores barely audible over the wipers.

Ethan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift. I watched the rain streak across the glass and tried not to notice how the wet fabric of his shirt clung to his shoulders.

When we reached my street he parked under the nearest streetlight and glanced at the back seat.

“She’s out cold. I’ll walk you up so you don’t slip.”

I should have said no, I should have thanked him from the car and run through the rain alone instead I nodded.

We climbed the short flight of steps to my apartment building in silence. The small concrete overhang barely kept the rain off us. Ethan’s shirt was soaked through, dark and tight across his chest. He reached past me for the key I was fumbling with, muttering something about not wanting me to fall.

His body crowded mine against the wall for a second that lasted too long. I felt the heat of him even through the wet clothes. When I looked up, his face was closer than it had any right to be neither of us moved.

His eyes dropped to my mouth. I felt the brush of his knuckles against my waist as he steadied himself or maybe he didn’t steady himself at all. The air between us turned thick and dangerous. For one impossible moment I was certain he was going to kiss me. My heart was hammering so hard I was sure he could hear it.

Then a car horn blared somewhere down the street. Ethan stepped back like he’d been burned. He muttered something about Lila waiting in the car, shoved my key into my hand, and was already halfway down the steps before I could speak.

I stood alone under the dripping overhang, rain misting against my cheeks, pulse still racing, already knowing that nothing between the three of us would feel the same after tonight. I barely slept.

The next morning Lila’s texts started before I had even made coffee.

“OMG Ethan was such an angel last night. Carried me all the way to the door. You’re the best for helping too. Brunch later?”

I forced out cheerful replies everything was fine. Of course everything was fine.

We met at the usual café at noon. Lila was bright-eyed and oblivious, already ordering for all three of us the way she always did.

Ethan sat across from me. Every time she looked down at her phone or turned to wave at someone, his gaze stayed on mine a beat too long. Under the table his knee bumped against my thigh and stayed there, solid and warm. The contact felt deliberate. I kept my hands wrapped around my cup so no one would see them tremble.

When Lila finally stood to use the bathroom, Ethan leaned forward. His voice was low enough that only I could hear it.

“About last night… we need to talk.”

I opened my mouth, but the bathroom door was already swinging open again.

Lila dropped back into her seat, smiling, completely unaware that the air at the table had turned electric. The rest of the hour felt like slow torture. Every laugh, every casual touch she gave him, scraped against the secret that was already living under my skin.

That evening I was still replaying his words when the knock came at my door.

I opened it without checking and Ethan stood in the hallway holding the denim jacket I had left in his car the night before. Rain had started again; tiny droplets clung to his hair and the shoulders of his coat.

“You forgot this,” he said.

I stepped aside to let him in. The second the door clicked shut behind him, the careful distance we had kept all day collapsed. He moved first.

One moment he was handing me the jacket; the next he had me pinned against the wall the same way he had in the rain, only this time there was no car horn, no sleeping girlfriend in the back seat, nothing to stop us.

His mouth crashed onto mine—rough, hungry, tasting faintly of the coffee we had shared hours earlier. I made a helpless sound against his lips and kissed him back just as hard.

His hands framed my face, then slid down to my waist, gripping hard enough to bruise. I could feel how hard he already was against my hip. We both knew exactly how wrong this was but neither of us stopped.