My childhood friend, Ethan, was home from Stanford for the holidays when I overheard his mom trying to set me up with someone. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “You that bored, Mom?” His mother looked surprised. “What’s gotten into you?” Everyone knew the score. He was Stanford, I was state school. We were in different universes. He wasn’t interested in me. But what nobody knew was that this was year three of us not speaking after our… situation ended. I can still picture him leaning against the bathroom doorframe, a towel slung low on his hips, a smirk on his face as he said it: “Probably for the best we stop this. It was getting old, anyway.” 1. “Who’s mad?” Ethan’s voice was cool, detached. “Don’t waste your time. She’ll say no.” His mom raised an eyebrow. “You sound pretty sure of yourself.” Ethan didn’t answer. He just took his mom’s phone. He swiped through a few photos of the guy she’d picked out, a lazy grin playing on his lips. His mom knew that look. It was the easy arrogance of a guy who’d been the smartest, best-looking person in every room since kindergarten. The kind of guy who was always the center of attention. “Okay, so he’s not you,” his mom conceded. “But maybe he’s Lena’s type.” “Go ahead. Try.” His tone was completely indifferent, like he couldn’t care less. But he stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and waited. He waited for the full ten minutes it took for my reply to come through. [No thank you, Mrs. Hayes, I’m okay!] A flicker of an “I-told-you-so” expression crossed his face. He turned and walked out the door, putting the whole thing out of his mind. Which is why he never saw the second text I sent right after. [Besides, I’m getting engaged next week!] 2. The summer I was most in love with Ethan was, without a doubt, the lowest point of my life. It was the winter break of my sophomore year. We had a high school reunion coming up. I was packing my suitcase in my dorm room, trying desperately not to check my phone to see if Ethan had texted me back. He hadn't. Instead, a notification popped up. He’d added someone to our group chat. [Who’s this?] [Spill it, dude.] Our friends started joking around. Ethan’s reply was simple: [My girlfriend.] Those two words exploded in my head. I knew girls were always throwing themselves at Ethan, but he’d always acted so uninterested. Uninterested enough to give me a sliver of stupid hope. I tapped on his girlfriend’s profile picture. She was gorgeous. I sat in my dorm room, putting on a full face of makeup, then wiping it all off. No matter what I did, I looked wrong. By the time I got to the restaurant, everyone was already laughing and deep in conversation. The moment I walked in, the laughter died. Ethan happened to be standing up to pull out a chair for his girlfriend. He leaned in close as I passed, his brow furrowed. “Lena, what’s with the face?” he asked, his voice low. It was his normal, joking-with-a-friend tone. Exactly the same as always. The only thing different was me. My insecurity was a tidal wave, and I was drowning. The table erupted in laughter. I forced a smile, trying to play along. “What’s so funny?” His girlfriend pulled me out of the private room and into the restroom. She started gently wiping away my smudged foundation with a makeup wipe. “Ethan’s such a jerk sometimes. I’ll give him a piece of my mind for you later.” Her hands were soft and smelled like lotion. Her skin was perfect. She was so kind, even I couldn’t help but like her. How much more must he like her? That night, I trailed behind the group, watching Ethan hold her hand. They looked perfect together. Later, someone suggested going out for drinks. Ethan passed. His girlfriend slid into the driver’s seat of his BMW. I turned to go with the others, but Ethan grabbed the back of my jacket and nudged me into the back seat. “Don’t want you getting into trouble,” he said with a grin. “Your mom would kill me.” “Exactly,” his girlfriend added. “We’ll give you a ride back to campus.” Halfway there, she got a craving for late-night tacos. She turned to me. “Want to come?” Ethan caught my eye in the rearview mirror, his hand casually draped over the steering wheel. I read his expression perfectly. Don’t be a third wheel. “You guys go ahead,” I said. He dropped me off at my dorm first. Before I got out, I heard his girlfriend whisper, “Am I still coming over to your place tonight?” The cold LA night air swept into the car. Her voice was quiet, but the words scraped against my ears like sandpaper. His car sped off into the night. I just stood there on the curb, remembering a night back in high school when Ethan waited for me on his bike under the streetlight in front of my house. I’d thought to myself then, I wonder what it will feel like to ride in his car one day when he can drive. Now I knew. 3. I heard Ethan and that girlfriend broke up after a couple of weeks. I’d stopped talking to him by then. I was too busy studying, burying myself in the chem lab, writing papers—too busy trying to become someone other than that pathetic girl from the reunion. Years passed. The night before my grad school advisor defended her dissertation, she dragged me out to a bar in West Hollywood. “See that guy over there?” one of the girls at our table whispered. “The ridiculously hot one?” “I hear he’s some kind of tech mogul. His starting salary was like, seven figures.” I glanced over at the table next to ours. There was Ethan, surrounded by a crowd of beautiful people, looking bored and effortlessly cool. “I’m gonna go for it. Try to get his number,” a girl from our group announced, standing up and heading over. She came back ten minutes later, defeated. “No luck, huh?” “He’s famous for being impossible. It was the same way back in college.” I got up to use the restroom. When I came out, Ethan was waiting for me, blocking the doorway. He was wearing a black turtleneck that made his shoulders look even broader, his neck long and pale. He had my coat draped over his arm. “Did I do something to piss you off?” he asked. “No.” “Then why’d you block my number?” His dark eyes were locked on mine, and it was infuriatingly effective. “Give me my coat.” He shifted his body, blocking me again. “Nope.” We were standing in the alley behind the bar. A rare, cold drizzle started to fall. “Is that guy at your table your boyfriend?” he asked, his voice low. “This his idea of a good time? Bringing you to a dive bar?” I just stared at him. He let out a short, cold laugh. “Look, I don’t care. Just some friendly advice—be careful who you date. He doesn’t exactly look like a great guy.” I looked straight at his handsome, judgmental face. And in that moment, I understood. Some addictions you can’t just quit. You have to burn them out of your system. You have to get what you want, just once, to finally be free. “Are you angry?” I asked, my voice even. He scoffed. “Why would I be angry—” “Ethan, do you want to come home with me?” He froze. He looked at me like he couldn’t compute the words. “If not, that’s fine. I’m sure someone else here would.” I turned to leave. His fingers wrapped around my wrist. And on that cold, wet November night, our secret, nameless relationship began. I had just wanted to know one thing. What did that arrogant, untouchable face look like when it was lost in pleasure? It looked like that. Even in bed, he was a tease, always in control, always playing games. He’d whisper, his voice laced with mischief, “Would someone else really have been okay?” No. I’d turn my head away, trying not to let him see the tears in my eyes. One month bled into the next. It was an addiction for both of us. A sickness. There were moments when I was so far gone, I actually thought he might like me, too. So one night, as he stood behind me, his large hand running through my wet hair while he held the hairdryer, he asked, “Do you like me?” And I couldn’t stop myself. The words just came out. “I think we should stop this—” I was going to say, and be together for real. But before I could finish, he let go of my hair. The roar of the hairdryer stopped, and the only sound in the steamy bathroom was the dripping of the faucet. He stared at me in the mirror for a long time. Then he leaned against the doorframe, a small, cold smile on his face. “Probably for the best we stop this. It was getting old, anyway.” He paused. “You know this isn’t even a breakup, right? We were never really anything.” My damp hair clung to my back, a strange mix of hot and cold. That was the moment I truly decided to walk away. I’d spent so many years feeling small and ordinary next to him. I was done letting him make me feel that way. 4. [Besides, I’m getting engaged next week!] Ethan, who never saw that text, was at his best friend’s baby shower. He knew I was coming. We hadn’t seen each other in three years. He saw my name on the place card next to his and pulled out the chair without a second thought. Someone at the table was gossiping. “Did you guys hear Caleb Song is getting engaged?” “No way. The media was practically convinced he was gay because he’s been single for so long. How’d he pull that off so fast?” “Met her through a setup, apparently.” Ethan’s brow twitched. He was a little sensitive to that topic today. Someone else asked, “What’s his fiancée like?” “Kinda like Lena, actually.” Ethan’s gaze shifted from the doorway to the person who’d just spoken. “So that’s his type,” the friend mused, then turned to Ethan with a grin. “Hey, didn’t you try to set Lena up with him once?” Ethan maintained his air of indifference, but a cool breeze from the open window rustled his hair, revealing the hard glint in his eyes. “I did,” Ethan said. “She wasn’t interested.” Caleb Song was intense, brooding, the complete opposite of Ethan’s polished charm. “Freshman year of college. I had him give her a ride home, trying to be a good wingman.” Ethan’s voice was light, casual. “She complained to me later that he was too intimidating.” Just then, the host of the party, Ethan’s best friend and one of the few people who knew about our history, walked over. He gave Ethan a knowing look. “Ever hear the expression ‘can’t see the forest for the trees,’ man?” Ethan looked confused. His friend just grinned and turned to the gossiping group. “Yeah, they say it was a setup, but truth is, Caleb’s been crushing on her for years. The girl was just stuck on someone else. Guess he finally saw his opening.” The table buzzed with surprise. “You’re kidding. A guy like him had to steal someone’s girl?” “Whose girl did he steal?” The friend didn’t answer. He just clapped Ethan on the shoulder. “Hey, did Caleb invite you to the engagement party?” “No.” “That’s weird. You guys are tight.” His friend’s grin widened. “Wanna see a picture of his fiancée?” He pulled out his phone and shoved it in Ethan’s face. Just as Ethan was about to look, someone by the door called out, “Lena, you made it!” His head snapped up, his eyes instantly finding me. I was wearing a simple cream-colored knit dress. His friend slowly lowered the phone, a sly look on his face. “Pretty, right? I never realized back in school what a knockout body Lena has.” Ethan’s gaze lingered on me for a second before he looked away. He knew. The first time we were together, on that rainy November night, I was wearing a dress just like this one. When I like something, I stick with it for a long time. I’m loyal like that. But he didn’t know that people aren’t clothes. Once you hit a wall enough times, you learn to find a different path. I pulled out the empty chair next to him and sat down. The familiar scent of his cologne was in the air, but he didn’t speak to me. Our hands didn't even brush. He was popular, and a steady stream of people came by to toast him. “So when are you two getting married?” a drunk classmate slurred, draping an arm over Ethan and pointing between us. “Dude, what are you talking about?” Someone pulled him away. “Oh, oh, that’s Lena,” he mumbled. “My bad. Thought she was your girlfriend. You guys are dressed in black and white… looks like your wedding or something.” Ethan just smiled, a charming, deflective smile that made him look unfairly handsome, and downed the glass of champagne the guy had offered. It was the first time I’d seen him genuinely smile all night. 5. The party wound down. The designated driver, Ethan’s best friend, offered me a ride home. I opened the back door of the car and froze. Ethan was sitting there. A drunk Ethan was a quiet Ethan. He just stared, his dark eyes intense and unsettling. “He’s totally wasted. Mind if we drop him off on the way?” his friend asked. I got in and sat down, leaving a careful space between us. The drive back to the city was long. I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes, the slight bumps in the road making my head tap gently against the glass. I didn’t care. In the reflection, I could see Ethan’s face. He was staring at the empty space between us, his expression unreadable. When we got to my building, Ethan insisted on walking me up. “You don’t have to.” “If something happens to you, we’re both responsible,” he said, his tone clipped and cold. He didn’t sound drunk at all. In the elevator, he leaned against the wall, the alcohol supposedly hitting him. He loosened his tie. “That guy my mom found for you seemed decent. Why’d you say no?” He tilted his chin down, his eyes searching mine. “Not good enough for you?” He paused. “So what’s your type?” He was pushing, prodding, enjoying this. “My type?” I met his gaze in the polished steel of the elevator doors. “Not you. Not anymore.” “So the opposite of me? A guy like Caleb Song?” I saw a flicker in his eyes. He said, “Too late. He’s getting engaged.” Ethan seemed to be warming up to this game. “Hey, Lena. Since you’re in the market anyway… what do you say we give it a try?” He leaned down, trying to look directly into my eyes. “This is what you’ve been waiting for me to say all along, isn’t it?” “No.” I looked up at him, my voice steady and clear. “The day we stopped… whatever that was, I told you I was done. I’m not going to like you anymore.” “Is that so?” He straightened up, stuffing one hand in his pocket with a lazy smile. “Good.” His tone shifted, becoming mock-sincere. “Just don’t marry some random guy just to get over me.” He was such a bastard, always saying the most cutting things with a veneer of concern. “More than anyone, I want you to find someone you love and get married,” he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “I’ll be the first to congratulate you.”
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