6

He doesn't call, which doesn't surprise me.

He texts instead. The text is simple, it's his address, a time, and a note about bringing my sketchbook. I don't know why I'm supposed to bring my sketchbook, but I do as he asks.

I dress casually, yet a bit like a slut with my clothes a little tighter than usual. What the hell, I figure I'll be alone with him, and I like showing off my chest and ass.

The more time I spend with Ethan, the more I'm convinced that he has to be somewhat socially awkward. His texts are more outgoing than he seems to be, and it makes me think that he might be sort of shy. Sexy, shy, and moody as hell.

I want him so bad I can barely stand it.

I drive to the address he's given me and stare up at the huge complex with disdain. He hasn't given me an apartment number. Is he really that big of an asshole that he'd make me drive completely across town to a fake address, just for the hell of it?

I decide to park and try, despite my misgivings that he is being a prick. I pull into the drive behind this fancy looking silver Tesla and park. Determined to somehow pay him back, I pull out my phone and decide that I'm going to search the whole complex for the hottest chick I can find, then take a picture of us together and tell him I nailed her, and thanks for the fake address.

I tug hard on the door, but it's locked. Of course it is. A ritzy complex like this is never unlocked for just anyone to get into. But when I search around, there isn't one of those buzz pads in sight, only a regular old doorbell which I slam my hand against rather forcefully. Perhaps they have a bellboy or something.

The door swings open, and instead of a lobby, there is this wide entrance that looks like it came straight out of MTV Cribs.

"Well, I’ll be damned," I mutter.

"Mister Jasper?" asks a short older lady with greying brunette hair I hadn't even noticed until I looked down.

"Jess, who's at the door?" I hear Ethan call.

Is this seriously his house?

Apparently it is. He comes around the corner, carrying a book and wearing a pair of fuck-me reading glasses that make me hard enough to cut glass. I immediately regret wearing my tight jeans. He glances down at his watch and mutters a curse word.

" Jess, let him in, it's Jasper." he says, waving his book at her. He shakes his head at me when she finally steps out of the way and shuts the door behind me. "Sorry, Jasper, she’s a little crazy. Why are you even still here, Jessica? Haven't you finished cleaning yet?"

"Aye," she spits at him. "Maybe I’d finish if you weren't such pig."

Ethan rolls his eyes at her and walks away, muttering about 'good help'. I don't know whether to be amused or feel bad.

As I start to follow behind Ethan, I say, "It was nice meeting you, Jessica."

She frowns at me then turns on her heel and stomps away, flipping her hair like she owns the place.

I'm astounded, and Ethan is very obviously smirking at me from over his shoulder. "She's rather dramatic, don't be too offended."

He flops down into a huge leather sofa which is surrounded by the most ornately designed room I've ever seen. It's ridiculous.

"Is this your house?" I ask.

"No. Not yet, anyway," Ethan answers. "It's the old man's 'summer house' and he doesn't use it anymore. It's in a good location, so I'm borrowing it. But I suppose when he croaks it'll be mine."

"Huh," is the best I can do for a response to that.

I can see a pool behind the house, God knows what else is back there. The room we're in now appears to be a study with a whole wall lined with bookshelves, which are filled with books. Everything in the room is either made of red oak or is framed in red oak. The bookcase, the fireplace, the lamps, the couch legs, the coffee table, the goddamn coasters. Someone was smoking red oak when they furnished this room.

Ethan is being very quiet while I survey my surroundings, which oddly draws my attention to him. He appears to be deeply engrossed in the ginormous book in his lap.

"I thought you were getting trashed tonight," I accuse.

Ethan doesn't look up from his book as he grabs his bottle of imported beer off of his red oak coaster. He waves it in my direction, as if to answer my question, then takes a swig. I want to ask him why his glasses aren't framed out of red oak, but I figure that will probably just piss him off.

"This is why I told you to bring your sketchbook," he mumbles, flipping a page.

"Oh, and here I thought you were interested in seeing my work," I mutter back, disgruntled that I actually thought he'd give a shit.

"I am," he says, "but not right this second. Here. See what you can do with this."

I grab the sheet of paper from his hand and on it is a lion or dragon or some shit, and a hand, and some design thing along the bottom with the name 'Bennett', then there are some handwritten notes.

Make it less girly. More contemporary, not so medieval. If possible, get rid of the ribbon banner on the bottom and incorporate the name with the actual piece.

I had to assume it was Ethan's handwriting. I also had to assume that this was what the whole tattoo artist conversation-slash-fight we'd had was about. This was the favor he never asked for, his compliment. He wanted me to design his tattoo.

Oh, swoon.

We spent hours there, not even speaking. Ethan would sigh every once in a while, and I would look up to see him rolling his neck out and massaging his temples or clenching his jaw and rubbing his eyes under his glasses. He would silently get up and fetch us new drinks.

I didn't drink much; I was literally throwing everything I had into the design he wanted. It wasn't what I'd expected to do while I was here with Ethan, but it was fun, nonetheless. The design was different from what I was used to drawing and it was challenging, but I enjoyed it.

Ethan's book hits the floor with a startling thud. "Forget this. Give it to me," he says, eying my sketchpad.

I feel my eyebrows pull together as I possessively pull my book closer to my body. "It's not finished yet," I reply defensively. "You can't see it 'til it's finished."

"Don't care, just need to see something that isn't another explanation of applicable versus inapplicable evidence. Give it."

"Fine," I acquiesce, "but I'm sitting next to you, and you have to stop when I say stop."

"Christ," he mutters, rubbing at his jaw, "you sound like my first girlfriend." I glare at him, and he rolls his eyes at me. "Fine, come here."

Gingerly, I stand and walk over to him, taking the seat immediately to his left. He reaches for the sketchbook, brushing my thigh with his hand on accident when he takes hold of it. This causes me to inhale, which then leads to me breathing him in. I can smell the beer on him, which is frankly repulsive, but past that is a hint of chlorine and sun, which makes me believe he was in the pool at some point today. There is a lingering trace of his cologne, and then there is just him. He smells like a man, and I want to shove my nose into his neck and just inhale and lick, and repeat.

"What the hell is this?" he asks, drawing me back to the here and now.

I look down and see him twirling my sketchbook this way and that, staring down at an abstract piece I'd penciled a couple of weeks ago.

"I was bored," I say with a shrug.

"You artists are weird," he mutters, flipping the page. Of course, this causes me to bristle. I move to reach for my book, but he blocks my move. "Calm down, I didn't mean it in a bad way. You artists are also apparently really oversensitive," he says, looking me dead in the eye.

Seeing as we're sitting right next to each other on the couch, and he's looking at me and I'm looking at him, we're kind of in each other's face, which just tempts me to kiss him. He's right there, and I want to, so badly, but I know better.

I hope I know better.

I apparently don't know better because I start leaning into him.

Thank God, he doesn't notice because Jessica has especially good, or bad, timing.

"Where my money, asshole?" she demands.

Ethan groans and shoves my book into my lap. "I'll be right back," he tells me then leaves the room with a heated glare at Jessica.

She gives me the stink eye.

Being alone, or mostly alone, I'm able to collect my thoughts and ask myself what the hell I am thinking. That's exactly the problem though, I'm not thinking, I'm just reacting. He makes me hot and drives me crazy and pisses me off, and I don't know how to think around him. But I have to get my shit together. I have to go slow with him.

"He’s worth it, you know," Jessica whispers from across the room. I completely forgot she was even there.

"Excuse me?" I ask, looking up at her.

She looks just as angry as ever, though her voice is much softer now. "Ethan, he’s worth it. He’s certainly rude, but worth it. He likes you, maybe not in the same way, but he never brings anyone home, so he likes you."

"Um, thanks," I offer.

She growls, then snaps her arm out and grabs the cash from Ethan's hand before he is even around the corner.

Crazy, ninja Jedi, woman. But as crazy as she was, she gave me something to think about.

Did Ethan never bring anyone home? Really, never?

Sure, he could be abrasive, but besides that, he was the perfect catch. Rich, successful, extremely good looking, undoubtedly well-hung...

Whatever the reason, I was glad he was unattached, but I wanted to get the bottom of this.

"Another beer?" he asks, holding out a fresh bottle to me.

"No, thanks. Hey Ethan, I have a question."

"What?" he inquires, dropping back down beside me, stretching his legs out on the coffee table and his arms back onto the back of the couch.

"Who's your daddy?"

He visibly stiffens. Despite my attempt at being nonchalant, it still is apparently a touchy subject. He withdraws his arms from the back of the couch. One hand automatically goes to his hair, twisting and pulling on it, while the other reaches for his beer, which he downs in just a few gulps.

"My dad is Ed Bennett Senior, why the hell else do you suppose I'd get stuck with this ridiculous family name?" I know the question is defensive and rhetorical, so I wait for him to continue. I can tell he is forcing himself to be calm, but I don't regret asking the question of him. "My mom is Elizabeth Masen, former personal maid to Irina Bennett, Ed's wife. Which makes me Ethan Bennett Junior, the bastard son of a maid and a billionaire lawyer, and a fuck up extraordinaire."

"It's pretty common knowledge by now," he continues. "Ed tried to pay off my mom for a while, but as I got older, it apparently became harder to hide. I obviously look a shitload like my mom, but I guess people started seeing a resemblance, not to mention the fact that my mom is vengeful and named me after the bastard. William, my brother who is old enough to be my father, is Ed's only son because Irina has trouble carrying to term. So yeah, once he couldn't keep it a secret anymore, daddy dearest embraced me like some miracle."

"Whatever, I shouldn't exactly bitch since I'm living the dream now." He grabs the beer I declined and cracks that one open, draining it too quickly for my liking.

I feel bad, but I try not to pity him. It's a truly messed up situation, there is no denying that. Ethan obviously loathes his father, and I don't blame him.

"So, did you want to be a lawyer?" I ask hesitantly. Somehow, I doubt he did.

He turns to look at me, which is unnerving, because I can't trust myself to look back at him again.

"You know, no one has ever asked me that before. In the beginning, I was completely against it, but mostly because I didn't have a choice. Ed basically just said, 'You're enrolled, don't screw up.' What was I supposed to do? I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but he was putting me through college, and he bought me the Aston. I could have anything I wanted, so I went with it."

"What about now?" I press.

"Now? I don't know. It's hard, it's not what I really wanted, but it's better than nothing, I guess."

"You don't sound very happy," I hedge.

His defensiveness immediately comes back. "What are you, my shrink?"

I sigh and stand up. "No, I thought you wanted to talk but whatever, no one is forcing you. Are you going to give me a tour of this mansion, otherwise I'm leaving?"

"Christ, you're a nosy bastard," he mumbles, then heaves himself up off the couch. I watch closely as he totters a few steps. "Shit," he mutters as he steadies himself. "How many beers did I drink?"

"I don't honestly know, Ethan, but in the last twenty minutes you've chugged two, so at least three in the last hour."

"Oh," he says, then nods and loses his balance.

I grab his arm and shake my head. "Where is your bedroom? You need to lay down. I'll let myself out."

"Bathroom," he gasps, then throws his hand over his mouth.

"Fuck," I hiss, trying to guide him while he leads the way, since I have no idea where the bathroom is.

We manage to make it to the bathroom okay, but once I see it, I think I may throw up. It's all white, from floors to ceiling. Whoever built this house had some serious compulsion issues.

"Just look around, I don't give a shit," he wheezes, then slams the door in my face.

I had one of two options. I could either hover around the door and listen to Ethan puke his guts up, or I could do as he invited me to and take a look around.

By the time I hear him have his first go at it, I make my decision. I go for the stairs first. Up one flight, and then another.

The third floor consists of one wide, bare open room. One whole wall is made up of windows, they face the south and overlook some of the best Seattle scenery I've ever seen. Scenery I've never seen before, I never even knew it existed. But the window wall only holds my attention for so long. There are many much more personal effects littered around the room, and he was right, I am snoopy.

There is a lounge area, mainly made up of blankets and pillows, no mattress or anything, just blankets on the floor. Tossed here and there are several well-loved books and I pick up each one, checking the titles. There is music paper everywhere. Blanks sheets, sheets with a few lines of notes, and pages upon pages of scattered notes. Which leads me to the piano.

It starts to bother me that I'm alone up here with all of his things. It appears that this is his space and I feel bad for invading it, so I descend the stairs. I quickly give myself a preview of the second level and smirk when I find his bedroom. I don't go inside, I want to save that for another time, perhaps when things are more intimate between us. I do give it a once over from the door though.

His bed is donning black linens and looks severely unkempt and from what I can see of his closet, it looks much the same. There appears to be several black items in there and clothes scattered all over the floor. There are CDs cases randomly sitting open around the room and a decent sound system in the corner.

I flip the light back off and move on, slowly making my way downstairs and finishing my tour. Everything on the lowest level is perfectly in order, including the kitchen, which looks untouched. The house is more extravagant than I imagined, complete with a theater and an office fit for a tech geek. I exit the back of the house and snort at what the backyard holds.

There is a swimming pool, a spa, and an honest to God waterslide, as well as a pool house that I don't even bother going into. There is probably a full screen TV in there and surround sound.

I kick off my socks and roll up my pants, taking a seat on the edge of the pool and shoving my feet into the water.

A sigh escapes my parted lips and I'm tempted to strip and jump in, Ethan be damned. He'll probably be in the can the rest of the evening anyway.

"The waterslide was my touch," he says gruffly, making me jump. I hadn't even heard him come out. He groans as he slides down into a lounge chair and his face pinches up in a grimace.

"Feeling, okay?" I ask quietly, swirling my feet in the warm water.

"Not so much. You'd think by now I'd learn not to drink so much of that shit on an empty stomach.

"You should go eat something, so you don't get alcohol poisoning," I say halfheartedly.

As I expected, he just laughs at me, though it's quiet and more of a groan.

I give up and stand. "Would you kill me if I jumped in your pool butt ass naked?" I ask him. The water is just too tempting, I want in.

"Not right now, no, but I'll kick your ass tomorrow if you do it."

"Awesome," I reply with a grin, though he can't see me because his eyes are closed. I know that is about as golden as a 'yes', coming from his lips.

I'm not too terribly shy and chances are, he won't really be looking anyway, plus it's kind of dark out, so I just strip it all off right there on the patio.

"Don't piss in my pool or I will kill you," he mutters.

"No promises," I reply jokingly.

I jump into the pool and sigh to myself as the water envelopes me. I just swim for a while, enjoying the feel of the warmth. Swimming naked is so much better than anything else, the water cupping your genitals feels so much nicer than those meshy things they put in swim trunks. From the distant end of the pool, Ethan's voice carries to me. I swim across the pool to him and ask him to repeat himself.

"Would you mind coming back tomorrow to swim? I feel like shit, and I want to go to sleep."

"Are you going to make me wear trunks tomorrow?"

I swear I can see his eyes roll from behind his eyelids. "If you don't bring trunks, you aren't getting back in my pool."

I sigh and mutter, "Fine."

I don't bother with the ladder or stairs, instead I lift myself over the edge right where I am in front of Ethan. I'm surprised to find he is actually looking at me when I look up, and I flush. He doesn't really seem interested, but he's looking, and it makes me a little hot. I have to cup my sergeant and generals in my hand to hide the fact that he is making me hard with his stare alone.

"Towel?" I ask smoothly.

"Pool house," he replies, casually closing his eyes and leaning his head back into the lounge.

I grab my discarded clothing off the patio and escape into the pool house, which I find does in fact have a big TV in it. Ethan's pool house has better furnishings than my house does. I find the towels and dry off quickly, leaving the towel in a hamper next to the sink.

After redressing, I find Ethan looking rather queasy. For Ethan's sake, I don't stick around, and I let him know I'm going to text him in the morning to make sure he's alright. He tries to make fun of me for being a girl, but it comes off rather weak and pitiful.

I can't keep him off my mind the entire drive home.