Chapter 41 You Are Too Small
I stared at the popcorn ceiling of my Westwood apartment, tracing the random patterns with my eyes as afternoon sunlight filtered through the half-drawn blinds.
Just a year ago, life had been so much simpler. Emma, Grace, and I crammed into our triple dorm room, surviving on ramen and free campus events. My biggest worries had been maintaining my GPA and stretching my scholarship money through the semester. Now I juggled two entirely separate lives: college sophomore by day, girlfriend to one of Los Angeles' most powerful men by night.
I'd never actually moved out of the dorm. Ethan had insisted on paying my housing fees, saying it gave me somewhere to rest between classes. But we both knew the truth—he wanted me to maintain my friendships, to preserve some semblance of normalcy in my life. It was one of those small kindnesses that made it harder to stay angry with him.
Still, his controlling behavior earlier today had been too much. I closed my eyes, remembering how I'd hung up on him. I hadn't meant to cancel our plans entirely—I'd just needed to make a point.
My phone buzzed with a text from Emma: Still meeting us at Bruin Pub at 7?
I sighed, typing back: Wouldn't miss it. See you there.
---
The Bruin Pub pulsed with music and chatter, fairy lights strung across the ceiling casting a warm glow over the crowd of students. Emma waved from a corner booth where she sat practically in her boyfriend's lap. Grace was already there too, her arm linked through her boyfriend's.
"The ghost appears!" Emma called as I approached, sliding into the booth across from them. "We were betting on whether you'd actually show."
"Why wouldn't I?" I asked, accepting the juice Grace pushed toward me.
"Because your mysterious older boyfriend keeps you on a pretty short leash," Grace said, then immediately covered her mouth. "Sorry, that came out wrong."
I forced a laugh. "He's just busy. Works a lot."
"So how old is he again?" Emma pressed, leaning forward. "You've been dating for what, three months now? And we still haven't met him."
"He's in his twenties," I answered vaguely, taking a long sip of juice. It wasn't technically a lie—twenty-eight still qualified as "twenties."
---
By ten o'clock, rain was falling steadily outside the pub windows—unusual for Los Angeles in early fall. Students huddled under the awning, planning their escapes through the downpour.
"We're heading back to my boyfriend's apartment," Emma announced, slipping me her spare umbrella. "It's just a few blocks away. You're welcome to crash if you don't want to trek back to Westwood."
"I'll be fine," I said.
Grace frowned, glancing at the rain. "At least let Mark walk you part way. His dorm is in your direction."
"Yeah, we can share the umbrella," Mark, Grace's boyfriend's roommate, offered.
"That's—"
"Come on," Mark insisted, taking the umbrella from my hands. "You don't want me to get soaked going back alone, do you?"
---
As we approached the campus gates, my heart nearly stopped. Across the street, a black Maybach idled at the curb, its windows tinted but lowered just enough that I could see Ethan's profile illuminated by the soft glow of his phone.
"You know what?" I said abruptly, stepping away from Mark. "I just remembered I need to grab something from the coffee shop. You go ahead."
Mark looked confused. "I can wait—"
"No, no, it's fine. I might be a while. Thanks for walking me this far." I was already backing away, forcing a bright smile.
After Mark reluctantly continued on, I waited until he was out of sight before dashing across the street through the rain.
I yanked open the passenger door and slid inside. "Hi."
The interior was freezing—and not just from the air conditioning. Ethan didn't look at me, his profile carved from stone as raindrops tracked down the windows.
"This situation," he finally said, his voice low and controlled, "does not happen again. End of discussion."
"What, having dinner with friends?" I tried to keep my voice light, but it trembled slightly.
"Being alone with another man after dark." He turned to face me then, eyes flashing in the dim light. "Even for five minutes."
"It suddenly rained, and I don't—"
"If you need an escort after dark, you call me. If you're going to be out past ten, you call me. If you need anything at all, you call me. Not some college boy who looks at you like you're his next meal."
I felt a flash of indignation. "That's not fair. He was just being nice."
"Nice." Ethan's laugh held no humor. "Men aren't nice to beautiful women without expecting something in return."
"Not everyone thinks like you," I shot back, immediately regretting my words when his expression darkened.
"No, they don't," he agreed quietly. "Because they don't have what I have to protect."
Something in his tone made my anger falter. I reached across the console, placing my hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I should have called you when it started raining. Next time, I will."
He studied my face for a long moment before covering my hand with his. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. I leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, feeling his breath catch.
"Take me home?" I whispered against his skin.
"Which home?" he asked, his voice rough.
"Yours," I replied. "Ours."
---
At Oakwood Estate, Ethan carried me from the car straight upstairs, not bothering to turn on lights as we moved through the darkened house. In the master bathroom, steam rose from the massive tub he'd apparently had Walter prepare before leaving to collect me.
As Ethan lowered me into the warm water, I sighed with relief, watching him strip off his rain-dampened clothes. He slid in behind me, pulling me back against his chest, his hands skimming over my skin underwater.
"Why do you like the bathroom so much?" I asked, leaning my head back against his shoulder. "We're always in here."
His lips brushed my ear. "Because you're too small."
"I'm not that small," I protested, thinking he meant my height. "Five-four is average for women."
"I wasn't talking about your height," he murmured, his hand sliding between my thighs to illustrate his point. "The water helps."
"Ethan!" I gasped, feeling my face flame hot enough to rival the bathwater. "You're terrible." I splashed water at him, trying to hide my embarrassment.
His laugh rumbled against my back as he caught my wrist, pulling me closer. "Terrible, maybe," he agreed, lips trailing down my neck. "But you're still here."