Page 29 of Ethan

yeah, I got the bruise to prove it, Hank sent back.

sick, lemme see

Hank had been pretty careful to not start exchanging any kind of photos with Ethan that could be interpreted as having anything other than a friends vibe.

No selfies. No photos of his face or his body at all. Just stupid shit, really. A cool pattern in the foam of his latte one morning, or the enormous pile of luggage they’d had to empty out of one of the buses, when it had broken down before they’d even gotten going one day.

Friendly shit, only.

Sending Ethan a picture of his bruise, high up on his side, even though it was technically gnarly and hardly sexy, felt dangerous.

its gross dude

But instead of agreeing that yeah, why would he ever want to see one of Hank’s bruises, Ethan sent one of his own.

His chest and stomach still had the remnants of his summer tan, the ridges of his abs clearly visible and making Hank’s pulse accelerate and the lump in his throat big enough he had to swallow it back down.

Also visible was a pretty ugly bruise—purple and blue and sickly yellow around the edges—high up on his right side, blooming right over his ribs.

I can pay to play, Ethan texted next.

Shit, shit,shit.

What was Hank supposed to do but reciprocate?It’s not your fault, it’s his,Hank told himself, but that argument wasn’t all that convincing, especially when he twisted his body, groaning a little in the back of his throat at the pain, positioning the camera in what he hoped was the most G-rated version of the picture.

But when he looked at it, his shorts riding low, his abs visible, a sliver of a nipple in the upper left corner, Hank was pretty sure he hadn’t gotten there.

Sure, the bruise was there and itwasawful, as promised, but that wasn’t all there was.

He could crop everything else out, but Ethan would know.

It was that thought that pushed Hank to just send it, reckless and stupid.

“What are you doing?”

It took Hank a moment to realize that Bo’s meditations had actually stopped, and he looked over to see him with one of his earbuds out, looking at Hank likeHankwas the strange one.

Well, Hank had fucking news for him.

“Uh, nothing?” Hank said, hating how guilty he sounded. He wasn’t doing anything wrong. He wasallowedto be friends with Ethan Barnes.

Bo’s eyebrow went up. “Dude, you’re taking shirtless selfies. You gotta tell me who you’re sending them to. Girls on Raya?”

“You’re not rich enough to be on Raya,” Hank pointed out dryly. “And neither am I.”

“I know, it’s such bullshit,” Bo said. “But seriously, who did you send it to?”

Despite the very loud meditations and the general weirdness of Bo, Hank actually liked the guy. They were friends, of a sort. As good of friends as Hank typically made, anyway.

Ethan Barnes notwithstanding.

Hank wasn’t going to think about how he’d been playing with Bo for almost a season and a half at this point, and he’d known Ethan Barnes forthree days. And then there was all the texting, but that didn’t count, did it?

“Maybe I’m just recording my injuries for posterity,” Hank retorted defensively.

“Yeah, posterity is the same person you’re texting too. All the goddamn time.”

“Hey.”