“Is that Delilah behind you? You’re crushing her! Let her past!” Jeannie barks.
Ethan steps to the side but stays on the mat so as not to drip all over the floor and risk being yelled at again. I slip around him, fingertips dragging across his skin as it pebbles, and a small shiver causes the muscles under my fingers to quiver.
“Sorry,” I mumble and attempt to take the bin, fingers wrapped around the edge next to his.
“I got it,” he says quickly. “It’s heavy.”
“I can handle it.”
“No really, it’s fine.” His eyes are wide. They dart down and back up a couple of times, so I follow them, not understanding why he won’t let me take the bin. And then he lowers it enough so that I can see exactly what the issue is. And what an issue it is. Ethan has a hard-on tenting his wet, nearly transparent boxers, and all that damp fabric is clinging to the contours, giving me a very clear view of said issue.
I pry my eyes away—it’s a lot more challenging than I want it to be—and motion to what he’s hiding behind the bin. “What the hell is that about?” I hiss lowly.
His cheeks flush a little, but he’s still smirking, probably because my face is on fire. “You were just touching me, and your boobs were against my back,” he whispers.
He’s not looking me in the eye—instead his gaze is trained on the part of my body he’s just referenced. The cotton is wet from his back, drawing more attention there. I’m halfway to cupping them for protective measure, considering how my nipples are responding to his stare, when he raises his voice and asks, “Would you be able to grab me a towel, please?”
“Right, yes! Of course!” I’d do just about anything to get some space. I take the stairs two at a time and disappear down the hallway. The image of Ethan’s erection pushing against the wet fabric seems to have seared itself into the backs of my lids. I don’t remember him being that ample, but then it’s been almost a decade since I’ve seen Ethan’s hard-on, bare or covered with fabric. I shake my head as if it will erase the image like an Etch A Sketch. It doesn’t help at all. All of my sensitive places are begging for some kind of friction.
I take a few more deep breaths, grab a towel from the linen closet in the bathroom—it’s pink with a rose print—and head back downstairs, taking my time on the descent.
Ethan’s standing where I left him, still holding the grocery bin. I drop the towel on top and grab the handles along the side with what I hope is a placid, collected smile.
Ethan tips his chin, that infuriating smile I know so well making the dimple under his right eye pop as he relinquishes his shield and takes the towel. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” I step back as he shakes it out at crotch level, then laugh when I realize it’s a hand towel.
He lifts a brow. “Not sure this is going to do the job.”
“You can make it work.” I turn away and cross through to the kitchen, where Jeannie is slicing a loaf of fresh bread, very glad my own physical response to Ethan can remain hidden. Her eyes are rimmed with dark shadows, betraying too little sleep and too much stress, but her smile is real.
“Thank you for picking those things up. You always know just what I need. I’m so scattered these days.” I accept her embrace, absorbing the affection she gives so willingly. “Do not even think about traipsing through the house in that dripping suit!” Jeannie calls over my shoulder.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mom,” Ethan replies.
Jeannie releases me on a gasp. “Ethan Martin Kase!”
“I’ll hang it up once I’m changed!”
He appears in my peripheral vision; that tiny floral printed hand towel covers just the part that matters. He’s left the wet boxers on the mat by the door, so I catch a glimpse of his bare ass as he disappears down the stairs to the basement.
“That boy,” Jeannie says, but there’s a smile fighting for play on her lips.
“He probably would’ve done well in a nudist colony if the whole career in hockey hadn’t worked out.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that.”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before.” Although it wasn’t quite so defined back then.
Jeannie barks a laugh, and I cringe at how inappropriate that was.
“Anyway—” I turn my attention to the bin of groceries and start unpacking. “I picked up those chocolate and strawberry meal replacements so Martin can get the calories in like we talked about.”
“I appreciate that and I’m sure he will, too,” she murmurs.
“Everything okay?” I ask as she passes me the chopping board and berries so I can hull them and make a smoothie for Martin. He’s picky about smoothies and I seem to be the only one who can do them “the right way.”
“I don’t think he slept that well. He’s having an off morning.”
That means he’s in a mood. I’ve experienced Martin’s crankiness plenty of times over the years. This isn’t the same, though. Before the stroke he could find ways to manage the anger or frustration. He could take off in his boat and go fishing for hours, or tinker on his old Chevy in the garage, or work on one of his little projects. But now all he can do is stew inside his own mind, unable to verbalize his frustrations without succumbing to further irritation. It’s an unending cycle that will take work to break free of.
As we finish loading the blender, Ethan appears at the top of the staircase, hair still wild, shirt still missing, but wearing a pair of dry shorts, carrying a T-shirt and what I assume is his toiletry bag.
I glance at his fly. I wonder if he took care of his situation while he was in the basement.
“Ethan, put a shirt on!” Jeannie scolds.
“I have to shower.” He drops his T-shirt on the back of the couch, which has been moved to make it easier for Martin to get around. I think he’s parading around shirtless on purpose, because he keeps running his hand over his pecs like he’s feeling himself up, or trying to draw attention to his bare chest. Which he doesn’t need to do, because it draws enough attention without his assistance.
Once the smoothie is made and it’s passed Martin’s taste test, I glance at the clock. “I should probably head to work.” It’s only a little past seven thirty and my shift doesn’t start until nine, but I don’t think hanging around with a shirtless Ethan is particularly smart.
“Do you have time for a coffee?” Ethan leans on the counter, the muscles in his arms flexing deliciously.
“I just finished brewing a fresh pot. Why don’t you grab a cup? I was about to make some scrambled eggs and toast. Have you had breakfast?” Jeannie says.
They’re both looking at me with hopeful expectation. I suppose I can’t avoid Ethan forever. At the very least, we can clear the air and put the demons of the past to rest.
“I can stay for coffee.”
Ethan’s smile melts my icy heart the tiniest bit.
He pours us both a coffee and hands me a steaming cup. “Wanna sit on the porch?”
“Okay. Sure.” We used to sit on that swing, long after his parents had gone to bed some nights, and watch the stars.
I nab his shirt from the back of the couch and follow him outside. I toss it at him as he holds the door open for me. “Put this on.”
He grins but doesn’t comment. I take a seat on the porch swing and watch every muscle in his torso flex as he draws the shirt over his head and covers his cut chest and rock-solid abs. He collects the empty beer bottles scattered on the porch floor and sets them on the railing before taking the spot beside me.
I motion to the row of empties. “Who’d you get sauced with last night?”
“Me and Ty had a couple of beers.”
I raise a brow. “That looks like more than a couple.”
“I kept going after he left.”
I glance at him. Beyond the morning scruff and his disheveled appearance, he looks tired. “Everything okay?”
“Just a lot on my mind these days.”
I nod as if I understand, and I guess in s
ome ways I do, because it’s been the same for me.
“Martin’s already making great progress. He’s too stubborn to let this get him.”
He nods. “Yeah. It’s not just that, though.” He reaches over and runs his finger along the edge of one of the photo albums sitting on the table beside him. I recognize them as ones from high school. I’ve looked at them countless times over the years.
“You’re worried about the new season?” I know that’s not what he’s referring to, although I’m sure it’s one of the things on his mind.
“Maybe a little.”
“Is it hard, getting used to a new team?” I don’t know anything about this part of his life anymore.
He nods. “Yeah. I want to mesh with them, perform well, show the coach he made a good call on the trade, but with my Dad, it’s a lot of pressure, most of it brought on by me. Being home is challenging for a lot of reasons. But it’ll be what it’ll be, I guess.” He shifts so he’s facing me. “That’s not really what I meant, though.”
My chest feels suddenly tight, and panic sets in. I fight the urge to get up and run. The inches separating us seem to disappear and the tightness in my chest moves up to my throat. “Oh?”
“I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I’ve been sent home.”
“Ethan—” Always with the superstitions. They ruled him when we were teens, sometimes to the point of obsession. Back then I’d either laugh it off or find it endearing, apart from the putrid lucky socks, anyway.
“Just hear me out for a second. I know I made a lot of mistakes when it came to you, and I can’t take back the hurt I’ve caused, or change the past, and I definitely don’t expect things to be anything like they were, but maybe we can start by being friends again.”
A light breeze has picked up, causing the surface of the lake to ripple gently. “Friends?” I don’t like the sharp sting of the word, a fresh blade across my already aching heart.
“It’s a place to start, isn’t it? If you want to.” He runs his fingers over a knot in the wood a few inches from my leg. “I mean, I get it if maybe you don’t, but it’s been a long time. We have all this history. You were such a huge part of my life, and you’re still very much part of this family. I didn’t realize how much I was missing this until I came back, you know? I don’t want to force my way into your life, but maybe when you’re ready, I can apologize and we can talk about what happened between us. You could maybe give me a chance to try to earn your forgiveness. Then we could move forward from there.”
“I don’t—”
His smile is sad, pleading. “Please don’t say no, Lilah. Just think about it. I know I hurt you, but it was complicated. I was going to come back for you. I wanted to come back for you.”
He says it so quietly I’m not sure if I heard him correctly. “What? Come back for me when?”
Ethan rubs the back of his neck, eyes fixed on the lake in the distance. “After my first season in LA, Minnesota wanted me. I was going to take the deal. I knew you were in Minneapolis for college. I thought maybe I could find a way to fix things, but then I found out you were engaged, so I stayed in LA instead.”
I feel like I’ve been backhanded in the face.
“I don’t know what to say.” And I really don’t. What would my life be like now if he had come back? If I had never dated Avery right after high school and accepted his proposal in my first year of college? Would I have broken off my engagement for Ethan? Would it have mattered? We’ll never know, because we never traveled that path. And it doesn’t change anything now.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.” He lifts a hand, fingertips sweeping under my eye.
I startle at the contact and the realization that a tear has slipped free. I look away. “You broke my heart.”
“I know, and there’s nothing I’ve ever regretted more. I just want a chance to have you back in my life in whatever way you’ll allow me.”
I remain silent for long seconds, absorbing this new truth, unsure how I feel about it. Just when I thought I was getting used to having him around again, he turns everything upside down.
“I promised myself I wasn’t going to push myself on you, and here I am doing it anyway,” he says.
“We can try out the friends thing.”
“Yeah?” His tentative smile is a ray of sunshine after a thunderstorm.
I need to lighten this mood, alleviate the tension between us and give myself time to process. “On one condition.”
“Sure. Okay. You name it.”
“You can’t parade around shirtless in front of me.”
His smile becomes more of a smirk. “Too overwhelming?”
I laugh. “Stow the ego, Kase.”
His lips flatten, but his eyes still glint with humor. “Okay. A shirt must be worn at all times. Anything else?”
“Not that I can think of, but I’ll update conditions as they come to me.”
“’Kay.” He stretches his arm across the back of the swing, fingers skimming my shoulder.
I feel a slight tug on my hair and wonder how good I’m going to be at this “friends” deal. I fear I have too many memories wrapped up in this man, and long-dormant feelings are waking up with his return to my world, especially on the heels of this unexpected revelation.
“Can I give you my number?” he asks quietly.
“What?”
“So we can chat and stuff while I’m in Chicago?” He chews on the inside of his lip.
It’s a nervous habit that he clearly hasn’t lost. I instinctively pinch his bottom lip between two fingers and tug it free from his teeth, something I used to do all the time.
His eyes flare, and I snatch my hand away. “I don’t know why I did that. Sorry.”
His reflexes are far superior to mine, and he latches on to my wrist. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
I give my head a little shake, trying not to get too caught up in the feel of his skin on mine. This morning has been intense. “Has your number changed?”
“Huh?” His attention is focused on where his fingers wrap around my wrist, thumb smoothing along the pulse point.
“Do you still have the same phone number?” At his blank stare, I prompt. “From high school?”
“Oh yeah. It’s the same. Is yours?”
I nod.
He roots around in his shorts pocket and retrieves his phone. Keying in his password, he scrolls and then types, looking up as my own phone chimes in my pocket.
I don’t know how to feel about the fact that we’ve been a text message away from each other all these years. It never dawned on me how easy it could’ve been.
“Just because I left doesn’t mean I ever forgot you, Lilah.”
My head says I can try to be friends with this man, but my heart isn’t so sure it’s that simple.
Chapter Six
Favors
Lilah
Hey, what’s up? Are you back in town? Is everything okay with Martin?” It’s Monday evening and I’m in the locker room at work. Ethan took full advantage of our new “friends” status by texting me constantly over the weekend while he was in Chicago. He also sent flowers to his parents’ house, not just for Jeannie, but for me as well, which was unexpected but sweet.
Since I’m alone, I put the call on speaker so I can change out of my scrubs and into the pair of jeans and the T-shirt hanging in my locker.
“I walked in the door half an hour ago. Dad’s fine. Annoyed that he has to use a walker and that he’s not ready to run a marathon this week, but fine otherwise. And Mom is asking if you’re coming by in the morning to make him a smoothie since apparently hers still aren’t good enough.”
I laugh. “There’s no magic in mine. I just press a button.”
“Your fingers were always magic.”
I cough at that.
“Sorry, that was…Did I catch you at a bad time? Do you have a minute?”
“It’s not a bad time, and sure, I have a minute.”
&
nbsp; “Okay. Good.”
I wait for more, but there’s silence as I shimmy into my jeans. “Ethan?”
“Yeah.”
“Is there something you need?”
“What’re you doing right now?”
“Um…leaving work. Why?” I pull the zipper up.
“Are you changing?”
“Huh?”
“Are you wearing jeans?”
“What? How—”
“I knew I heard a zipper.” And here I thought he was trying to censor himself.
I quickly pull my shirt over my head, as if he can see me in my bra. I stuff the scrubs in my bag and slam my locker shut, take the phone off speaker and bring it back to my ear. “Did you call to talk about zippers?”
“No, but now I’m wishing I’d come to see you in person.”
“Um, yeah. There’s no way I’d be getting changed in front of you. Friends don’t get naked in front of each other.”
“Untrue. You used to run around naked in my backyard all the time.”
“I was six and I was wearing bathing suit bottoms.”
“I think you were seven, actually. Is partial nudity an acceptable compromise? I’m more than happy for you to run around topless in front of me if you want.”
“I’m going to hang up on you.”
“No! Wait. Sorry. I wanted to talk to you about coffee. About getting coffee. With me. Or whatever kind of beverage you’d like to consume with me. What’s your work schedule like? Do you have a free night this week?”
I don’t expect the question, so I flounder. “I’ll need to check my schedule.” That’s a lie. I typically work the same hours every week, and in a few weeks, I’ll have class on Mondays and Wednesdays in addition to yoga, which I already have on Tuesdays. But the flirty conversation and the coffee feel like more than I’m ready for, especially given how much I seem to like the idea.
“I can wait.”
“Can I get back to you about it?”
“It’s just coffee with a friend, Lilah.”
“I know.”
“Am I pushing you too much?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know. You just caught me off guard.”
“What’re you doing tonight?”
The Good Luck Charm Page 5