by Emma Hart
I snorted and dumped my purse on the floor by the door as I kicked off my shoes. “What are you watching?”
“Some documentary about the Patriots.”
“Did you get cable back?”
“No. You left your Netflix account logged in.”
I paused with my hand stuck in the fridge. Crap. All that changing the password shit was really screwing with me. “Aw, shit. I knew I’d forgotten to do something. You didn’t delete my profile, did you?”
“No. And stop shouting. Mr. Prickles is sleeping.” He swung his leg down from the back of the sofa and sat up, cradling the hedgehog.
This was way weirder than I’d ever imagined it being. “What did you do, then? I know you did something.”
Ethan got up and shrugged. “I didn’t do anything. Check if you don’t believe me.”
“I will.” I pushed the fridge door shut and stalked over to the sofa as he disappeared into his room. I hit the back button on the remote, and it took me back to the main Netflix screen. I checked the profiles, and he was right—he hadn’t messed with it.
I frowned.
This was unnerving. Why wouldn’t he? If it were me, I’d have changed the password and the email address just to be cruel.
Then again, we weren’t being cruel. We were being passive-aggressive assholes.
I scrolled through the options and paused at my list. There were three shows I hadn’t added, and a flick through proved more.
They were—
Oh, my God.
He’d added his shows to my list.
My recommendations were going to be all messed up.
“See? Told you I didn’t do anything.” Ethan grabbed a beer from the fridge and popped the cap with a hiss.
I turned to look at him. “You took over my account.”
He shrugged. “What else was I supposed to do? If I made another profile for me, you’d have deleted it again. I figured putting my shows on your profile was safe.”
“Do you know how long I’ve spent cultivating the perfect stream of recommendations on Netflix?”
“Judging by how pissed you are right now, way too long.”
I wasn’t going to argue with that. But still. That was the result of at least three years of procrastination and series binging. All that hard work of being one lazy bitch was now for nothing.
There was no justice in this world.
My day just got worse and worse.
“Whatever.” I threw the remote on the sofa and went to the fridge myself. He moved out of my way, and I pulled out a bottle of wine instead of the water I’d intended on getting before he’d goaded me into seeing the mess of my Netflix account.
I poured a glass and put the bottle back in the fridge. Ethan was already back on the sofa, and when I joined him, he was getting ready to resume the Patriots documentary.
“No,” I said firmly. “Absolutely not. I’ve had sports on all evening at work, and it was absolute hell. Give me the remote.”
He looked at my outstretched hand and choked back a laugh. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
“You’re on my Netflix account that I pay for.”
Ethan held up one finger and grabbed his wallet from the coffee table. He pulled a bill out of it and handed it to me. “There you go.”
I glanced at the five-dollar bill. “What?”
He dropped it on my lap. “There. Now I’ve paid for half of it.”
“Are you deliberately this annoying, or is it just a part of your general disposition?”
“It’s you,” he replied without looking at me. “You bring it out of me.”
I grunted, shoving the five dollars in the pocket of my jeans. I’d find it again in a few days and forget where it came from. Like a little surprise for myself.
“Surely there’s something we both want to watch,” I said after one minute of the most mind-numbing interview I’d ever watched. “Come on.”
“Nope.” He played with the remote, tossing it up and down. “Not really.”
“Ethan.”
“Ava.”
I clenched my jaw. “You are impossible.” I reached over to make a swipe for the remote. He was faster than me, though, and he threw his arm out, holding the remote as far away from me as I could.
A little growly noise escaped my throat, and I clambered off the sofa to get it. Fighting a laugh, he switched hands when I got close to it. Even though I was standing up, he still had the advantage because he was so much taller than me.
It sucked.
I leaned over to reach for it, but he moved, jerking to the side. I did the same, going for it again, but my foot slipped on the hard floor, and I fell forward.
And landed right on Ethan.
I shrieked. A big “oomph” left him as he dropped the remote and grabbed hold of me instead. His hands gripped my waist, stopping me from ramming my knee into his stomach.
Or his balls.
His fingers dug right into me. I was frozen in position, half-straddling him, with my hair forming a dark curtain between our faces. I couldn’t move because I did, I knew I’d have to look him in the eye, and I wasn’t sure I could do that right now.
If I did, there was every chance I’d do something I would most definitely regret.
Like kiss him.
God.
I had to move.
I cleared my throat and, with the help of his steady grip, pushed myself up to stand. My legs backed into the coffee table, and I stumbled again, this time sending both my wine glass and Ethan’s beer flying to the floor.
“Oh, shit!” I gasped, jumping over the huge wet mess and broken wine glass that’d shattered over the carpet.
“Jesus, Ava! Were you drinking on the job tonight?”
“Oh, fuck off.” I grabbed damp cloths from the sink and tossed them over to him.
He caught them easily and immediately dropped to his knees to get as much liquid as he could. I grabbed a bowl to squeeze them out in and handed it to him when I went to fetch some towels.
I ducked into the bathroom. There were three hooks, and Ethan’s towel was stretched across all three and my two were on the floor. I frowned, but I didn’t have time to think about that right now.
I rejoined him in the living room where he was muttering to himself with his finger in his mouth. “Are you okay?”
“Cut my finger,” he murmured around it. He pulled it away to look, and it immediately started bleeding.
“Oh, my God. If you get that on my sofa, I’m gonna kill you.”
“Thanks.” He put it back in his mouth.
“Come here.” I tossed two towels on the sofa and kept the third—his, the darkest one.
Ethan got up and walked around the coffee table, completely avoiding the mess on the floor. “It’s not that bad,” he said, pulling it from his mouth again.
More blood.
I shoved the towel at him. “Put pressure on it, and I’ll bandage it. If it doesn’t slow down, I’ll take you to the emergency room.”
He put the towel on the island counter and pressed his finger right into it. “I know you want to win this little battle, but this is an extreme way of doing it.”
“You’re not worth the wine I wasted,” I snapped back. “It was an accident, and you know it.”
“I know. But you owe me a towel.”
I rolled my eyes and set the first aid kit next to his hand. “You know there’s a thing called a washing machine, right?”
“Yeah, but bloodstains.”
“It’s hardly a white towel, you drama queen.” I got the rubbing alcohol and bandages out of the kit and soaked a cotton pad in the alcohol. “Give me your finger.”
He did as I said and flipped his hand so I could access the cut. It was bigger than I’d thought, but it didn’t look like it needed stitches. Hopefully, it was one of those weird cuts that looked ten times worse than it was.
Gently, I pressed the cotton pad against the cut. A hiss escaped him, and his entire body we
nt taut.
“Sorry,” I whispered, wincing a little.
“Get on with it.” His voice was a low grumble, and I spared a glance up at his face. His skin was a little paler than usual, and he had his eyes screwed tightly shut.
Maybe the emergency room wasn’t a bad idea…
I dabbed it a few more times with the alcohol pad, then quickly put another on top of it. I waited for a second, but the blood didn’t come through.
“Hold that there,” I instructed Ethan so I could get the tape. I got it and secured the pad to his finger, then stepped back and looked over my handiwork. “Not bad.”
Actually, it looked a little bit like a ten-year-old wrapping the paw of a stuffed bear, but if it worked, it worked.
“Well,” Ethan said, admiring his finger. “It’s not going to win any nursing awards anytime soon.”
“Normal people say ‘thank you.’”
“Normal people don’t throw themselves around like a clown for a TV remote.”
“Watch out,” I said, rolling the dirty towel into a ball. “Or you’ll have a cut a lot bigger than that one to worry about.”
His lips tugged to one side. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I returned his smile, albeit slightly shyly.
He stepped around the corner of the island and reached out, wrapping one arm around my shoulders. He pulled me against his body and hugged me tightly, and I swear all my nerve endings came alive in that second.
His fingers were wrapped around my arm, and my front was pressed right against his. Taking a deep breath, I could smell coconut and papaya from where he’d obviously stolen my shampoo, but there was a lingering scent of motor oil, too.
This was the first time we’d ever been this close. In fact, it was the first time he’d ever hugged me, and a part of me hated that he was doing it right now.
Because my heart was pounding. And there was no way he couldn’t feel it against his chest.
“All right. Get off, or I’m going to think you like me.” I extracted myself from his arms and ducked my head so he wouldn’t see the blush I knew was already warming my cheeks.
The last thing he needed to know was that I was the one with some weirdo feelings.
I busied myself putting the first aid kit away under the sink. “I’ll get the broken glass, and you do the liquid.”
“Yeah, I’m not touching that glass.”
I went back over and carefully picked up all the glass, thankfully without slicing my own fingers open. Ethan worked to get up as much water as possible, and I grabbed a dustpan and brush to clean it up. It was too late to vacuum, and I didn’t think my downstairs neighbor would appreciate the interruption.
He was a grumpy old bastard as it was.
I swept the whole area. If I’d missed any, it was going to really suck.
“So, what have we learned here tonight?” Ethan asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“Don’t hide the remote from the short girl,” I shot back.
He shook his head. “No. The remote control is sacred in a man’s hand.”
“You know what else is sacred? Your balls. The remote could cost you money if it doesn’t stop bleeding. Don’t let your attitude cost you your balls.”
“Feisty.” He grinned, folding his arms over his chest. “Is that an after-effect of the adrenaline?”
“What adrenaline?”
“The adrenaline from when I hugged you and your heart beat so hard it was practically punching me in the chest?”
I swallowed hard and jerked my chin into the air. “It was the blood.”
“Yeah, all right.” His eyes flashed with something indiscernible, and I held his gaze for a moment before I pulled away and grabbed my purse from where I’d dumped it on the floor.
“I’m gonna go to bed,” I said, holding my purse in close to me. “Night.”
He followed me with his gaze when I walked past him, and he didn’t say a word until I was about to shut my door. “Night, Ava.”
CHAPTER TEN – AVA
Free The Nipples
Mornings were not my thing.
Especially not mornings that featured Ethan Hawkins.
Especially not mornings that followed a night where I’d not only smashed a glass he’d cut his hand on, but he’d called me out for my stupid little heart beating crazy fast.
I was mad at myself. Mad because I had no control over my feelings. I should have gotten over this by this point in my life. I’d had relationships and I’d had real feelings for all those guys, especially Butler.
Sure, it had been toxic at times where it was so on-off, but I had loved him.
I think.
My feelings for him had made sense, at least. The ones for Ethan didn’t. They never had, and I genuinely couldn’t give an explanation for why I felt the way I did about him.
I didn’t want to feel this way. I wanted to reach inside and tear them out, throw them away, stamp on them, whatever.
I just wanted to make it stop. At any cost. I really didn’t care how that happened, in all honesty.
The problem was that I didn’t know how to make it happen. I’d literally tried everything, and it really wasn’t true that getting under someone else will make you get over someone.
It was a crock of shit.
I flipped my head over and pulled my dark hair into a topknot. It was a total mess, but I wasn’t going anywhere until I had to go to work tonight. God only knew that yesterday’s run was enough for this week.
I slipped my glasses onto my face and yawned. Getting up from the side of the bed where I’d been sitting while I woke up, I adjusted my tank top and let go of another yawn that was so intense I almost walked into the wall.
See?
Not a morning person.
At all.
I scratched my hip and stumbled into the kitchen. It was stupidly bright in here, which meant Ethan was up and already at work. Honestly, he worked eight ‘til four, so I would be worried if he was still here.
Another yawn forced its way out of me. Jesus Christ on a cracker, what was wrong with me this morning?
I wriggled my finger in my ear then shivered. Ugh. I hit the button on the coffee machine and washed my hands while it warmed up, then made my coffee.
Mm. Awake juice.
The best kind of juice. Unless it was grape juice. With alcohol in it.
Wine, okay.
Wine.
I took a big sip of hot coffee. A bang sounded from somewhere in the apartment, and I froze, hands cupped around the mug.
There were three options.
There was a ghost.
The hedgehog was loose.
Or Ethan was here.
Last I knew, there wasn’t a ghost. Not since Reagan’s old neighbor who claimed to be Wiccan came and smudged the entire building for… Well, nobody knew, but since her old building had burned down, we gave the woman a pass.
Even though she’d invaded my bedroom with her stinky, burning hay bale.
The second option was that Ethan was here, but I already knew he was at work. He was the only one of us who opened the curtains before the awake juice had been finished.
The sun was a bright little thing.
I was not a fan.
The only other possible option was that the hedgehog was loose.
That was problematic, to say the least. Not knowing would drive me crazy, but what would I do if I opened Ethan’s bedroom door, and it ran out? I didn’t know how to touch it. Or what to do with it. Or if it would bite.
Oh, God, what if it bit me? Did hedgehogs carry rabies? Any other weird diseases I didn’t know about?
Who the fuck had a hedgehog as a pet?
I had to know. I had to know if the spiky little prick had broken free.
I put my coffee down and steeled myself. That’s right. I, Ava Parker, was going to be brave. Braless, in a white tank top and pink panties with a coconut print and yesterday’s mascara on my eyelashes.
Yes.
That was how women should go into battle.
Men would be too distracted by our braless boobs to shoot us. Win-win.
I shook my head to refocus myself and got on with it. Noises were still coming from Ethan’s room—shuffling noises that closely resembled what I imagined a fugitive hedgehog would sound like while trying to find a hideout.
So I did what any sane person would do.
I opened the door.
Right on a very naked Ethan, standing in the middle of the room, rifling through his dresser.
I screamed.
He yelled.
I screamed some more.
It was really, really ineffective at solving the problem at hand.
I slammed the door shut and ran out into the kitchen. My heart was beating like a drum, and the mild panic I felt at seeing his bare ass had my hands shaking with adrenaline.
Oh. My. God.
Why hadn’t I knocked?
“What the hell are you doing?” Ethan asked, running out into the kitchen in his boxers. “Ava!”
“I thought you were at work!” I blurted out. Like that explained everything. Jesus.
“Do you regularly go into my room when I’m not here?”
“No! I heard a bang and some noises and I thought the hedgehog was free.”
He opened his mouth to say something but stopped himself. He rubbed his fingertips against his temple for a moment and blew out a long breath. “And what exactly did you intend to do if he was free? You can’t even look at him, let alone touch him to put him back in his cage.”
I shuffled side to side. “Maybe scoop him up in a pan and drop him back in?”
“Scoop him up in—fucking hell. You haven’t had your coffee yet, have you?”
“Why am I at fault here? Why aren’t you at work? Why are you naked in your bedroom in the middle of the day?”
“It’s not the middle of the day,” he replied, approaching the island and leaning against it. “I was naked because I was changing my underwear, and that requires the removal of clothing. I’m not at work because someone broke a glass last night and cut my finger open, and my boss doesn’t want me bleeding in someone’s engine today. And to answer your last question, you’re at fault because you stormed into my bedroom.”
That was tough logic to argue.