Page 64 of Ethan

“There’s part of me that wonders if tonight was too little, too late,” Hank said, shoving his still damp curls back from his forehead.

Ethan opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, Hank continued. “I know it probably is, and you know what? There’s a part of me that doesn’t fucking care. That’s almost decided it doesn’t even matter.”

“Of course it matters,” Ethan objected.

“I guess if I’m gonna go back to Syracuse again,” Hank said, sounding annoyingly resigned, “it’s not a bad thing to get one dinner out of it, first.”

Ethan couldn’t hold back his smile. “Yeah?”

Hank nudged him, like he wanted to touch, but couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to do it. Well, Ethan could come up withlots, and he’d be happy to share.

“You free tomorrow night?”

Ethan nodded.

“Okay. I’ll pick you up.” Hank said it in a determined voice, like he didn’t want there to be any confusion—either on his own part, or Ethan’s.

“Alright,” Ethan said. “Where are we going?”

“I got a place,” Hank said. “Asked Dom.”

“You asked our goalie a good place to take me to dinner?” Ethan wasn’t sure if he’d ever get sick of Hank surprising him.

“Dom’s a real foodie. He knows all the good spots in the city. Not the overpriced tourist traps, but the good shit.” Hank took a breath. “I don’t wanna just phone it in, not if I’m going—”

Ethan knew he was going to say,if I’m going back to Syracuse. If I only get one shot at this.

“Nope,” Ethan said cheerfully, interrupting and not letting him say it. Because he wasn’t going to dwell on it. Wasn’t going to let either of them do that, not like it was already decided. He was going to enjoy this, while it lasted. Especially after he’d wanted it for so fucking long.

Hank chuckled dryly. “Alright. Message received.”

“Good,” Ethan said, lifting his chin. And this time, he didn’t wait for Hank to touch him, or to touch him in a way that could’ve meant something else.

He tugged him right into a long, lingering hug, letting his hands sweep right across Hank’s broad, muscled shoulders.

“That was a fucking sick goal, if I didn’t already say it,” Ethan murmured.

“You did say it,” Hank pointed out, the edge of his voice warm and amused. But he didn’t let go, so Ethan didn’t let go either.

“Well, I meant it. I was happy you did it, and not just ’cause of last night,” Ethan confessed. “Just happy for you, Tuck.”

Hank sighed and pulled away, finally. Ethan told himself he wasn’t disappointed, but he was. Still, he had a whole date tomorrow. A dinner and maybe they’d even do something after, plenty of time to convince Hank that kissing was the best idea that either of them had had in awhile.

“Thanks. And not at all happy for yourself?” he added, the corner of his mouth quirking up, his expressing going all smirky.

Maybe that shouldn’t have done it so much for Ethan, but it did. A lot, actually.

“Well, maybe a little,” Ethan conceded.

Grinning, Hank nudged him with an elbow. Like he also wasn’t quite done touching yet.

“Two points,” Hank said dryly.

“The assist was pretty good,” Ethan agreed. The empty netter was less of a big deal, but he wasn’t going to turn up his nose at it, either. Points and goals would come; they always had, and getting worked up about them not materializing, like Charlie did, never made him score any faster.

“I wasn’t talking about your points,” Hank said, and yeah, Ethan had known that.

But he wasn’t about to make thisalleasy on Hank, even if that was his first instinct.