Page 47 of Ethan

Like Ethan could see right through him.

Every single thing he kept trying not to think about.

“Probably not,” Hank agreed. That was as far as he felt comfortable going.

“In less than a month, we’re all gonna be back in New York, and then you’ll see,” Ethan said, like it was already decided. Like whatever he wanted from Hank, Hank would hand over gratefully.

And maybe he would. Sometimes Hank got really tired of pretending that he didn’t want it, too.

But this was his fucking chance, too, his opportunity to finally make good on all his promise, on all those expectations—his and everyone else’s—and on the pact he’d made with himself at the end of last season that he’d be back and he’d be better and he’d be on the roster to start the season this time.

“Oh, will I?” Hank teased.

Ethan made a disgruntled face, scrunching up his handsome features, which was freaking adorable. Even harder to resist, maybe, than everything else.

“You will,” Ethan insisted. “It’s gonna be so good, all season, and then after, you’ll come to Michigan.”

“You planning my itinerary already?” Hank kinda hoped he was.

“Fuck yes I am,” Ethan said. He shifted in his bed, the camera dipping even lower, andugh, Hank couldn’t stop his own gaze from drifting to the newly exposed skin. All that tan, muscled skin. The sparse trail of golden-brown hair leading down to—

“Dude,” Ethan said, sounding delighted. “My eyes are up here.”

Oh God, oh God,oh God.

He’d been caught—probably not even for the first time, but Ethan had apparently decided to call him on it now. Or maybe the booze had made him so obvious that Ethan decided there was no point in plausible deniability.

“Stop freaking out,” Ethan said, laughing in a low, amused voice. “I’m flattered.”

Hank swallowed hard, sure he was bright fucking red, and no amount of dim light in his room was going to hide it. “Well, you know, um . . .”

“Oh, I know,” Ethan said, still chuckling.

Hank forced himself to act like this wasn’t a catastrophe, like it was just an everyday occurrence, to get called out by your friend for checking him out. “Maybe I’m just making sure that your bulk-up is going good.”

“Don’t worry, yours is going good too,” Ethan said knowingly, his own eyes drifting down Hank’s chest, and not even bothering to try to hide it anymore.

Ugh.

“I gotta ask though,” Ethan continued. “How much did you have to drink? ’Cause you seem like . . .” He didn’t saynot yourself, because he wouldn’t. But even Hank knew he was acting differently. Too many things too close to the surface.

“I’m not drunk,” Hank claimed, and he definitely wasn’t. But buzzing? For sure. Inhibitions way down? No question.

“Didn’t think you were. Just . . . pretty damn relaxed, I think?”

“Yeah,” Hank agreed, because that was pretty close to the truth. He was relaxed enough to not be worrying, for once. To keep all those things he’d shoved in theDo Not Openbox locked up nice and tight.

“You’re not gonna tell me, huh?”

“It’s just those guys make me nervous and weird, and so I drank more than I usually do,” Hank confessed. “Couple of shots. Some beers. I . . . it helped.”

“Aw. You’re cute. I like it.” He dropped his voice. “But then you’re cute kinda all the time.”

“Ethan,” Hank retorted, reflexively, but instead of the word coming out as a reprimand, it was all soft and shit. Endeared, probably. Maybe even fond.

“Sorry.” But Ethan didn’t sound sorry at all.

And Hank decided he kinda didn’t want him to be.