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his face. “Yeah. There were no secrets
    between our mothers, you know.”
    I frowned. “She never mentioned it to me.” I felt hurt that my mother wouldn’t share
    this intriguing piece of gossip about Ethan, considering that she told me everything else
    about his life in great detail.
    The only reason I could explain for why she wouldn’t mention Ethan’s orientation was
    that she disapproved of it, which increased my apprehension about telling her the truth
    about my own proclivities.
    “There’s only one way to find out what they’ll say,” Ethan said, as if reading my mind.
    “I know, I know.”
    “You’re right, it’s none of my business,” Ethan said. “But it drives me crazy to hear
    them talk about you like you’re unsuccessful.” He stared at me hard. “You should be really
    proud of your writing, and they have a right to know how good you are.”
    I sat down on the bed as I pulled on socks. “I am proud of my writing. It’s just…it’s
    complicated.”
    40
    Astrid Amara
    Ethan still stared at me meaningfully, but the entire conversation made me feel like I
    needed to puke, and so I stood up, holding my arms out, and changed the subject. “How do I
    look?”
    Ethan grinned sleepily. “Really handsome.”
    “Flatterer,” I told him.
    “I think I remember you in this outfit,” Ethan mused.
    “No way. I was nowhere this fashionable back then.” I shuddered at the memory of my
    gothic phase.
    “You were cute as hell in high school,” Ethan said. “I had a crush on you.”
    “Oh yeah? Found a funny way of showing it, didn’t you? Calling me fag and pushing
    me into lockers.”
    “I didn’t know what I was feeling at the time.”
    “Oh yes you did. It was called aggression.” I slapped his leg, hidden under the blankets.
    “Get up.”
    “I will in a minute. Hand me my laptop, will you? Let’s see what’s going on out in the
    real world.”
    I handed him his computer from the floor. As he moved to grab it I saw a glimpse of his
    underwear and the tight fit of his undershirt, and felt a rush of arousal deep within me. I
    quickly turned away, laying out my sleeping bag once more in case the power remained out
    for the rest of the day.
    “Shit,” I heard him mumble. “No Internet. The network must be down.” He closed his
    laptop and fumbled on the bedside table for his cell phone. He frowned at this as well.
    “No signal?” I asked.
    “No.” A worry line creased his forehead.
    “I’m sure your dad is fine,” I told him.
    Holiday Outing
    41
    He looked surprised at my comment, and then smiled beautifully. “Actually, I’m not
    worried about him. He’s better off than we are at the moment, the hospice has a generator.”
    He ran his hand over his face. “I need to shave. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
    “Great, leave me to fight for my life by myself.”
    “I thought you wanted me to leave you alone,” Ethan said.
    “That was before my uncle made overtures to murder me.” I moved toward the door
    but Ethan reached out quickly and grabbed my hand. This time I didn’t pull away.
    “Stay for a minute,” he said.
    I looked down at his body, and the sheets, which were now noticeably tenting.
    I shook my head. “There are seven other people in this house right now.”
    “I can suck you off really quietly,” he said, his voice a low whisper.
    “Not while my mother is prowling around,” I whispered back.
    “She’s downstairs.”
    “Not going to happen.” Not that I wasn’t tempted. I could feel my own body perking up
    at the word “suck” with hearty enthusiasm.
    What the hell was I even thinking? This was insane. This was Ethan Rosenberg.
    Loathing. I abruptly pulled my hand from his. “Get dressed,” I ordered, and then marched
    downstairs before I changed my mind.
    The living room looked as though a cyclone had raged through it. Everything was
    upturned. Rachel yawned as she returned various items to the shelves.
    “No sign of the pushke?” I asked,