Chapter 14
Ethan
Ethan practically bounced on his heels as he knocked on Mark’s door, the familiar weight of Ranger’s leash in his grip. His first actual day off in over a month, no side jobs, no errands, just a solid afternoon of watching football, eating food and drinking, and actually relaxing. He couldn’t remember the last time he did that.
The door swung open, and there stood Mark, dressed in a green and yellow Oregon Ducks tank top, basketball shorts hanging low on his hips. The man looked good. Broad shoulders, strong arms, hairy chest, legs that had clearly spent years running or lifting or something because damn—Ethan caught himself staring a little too long before snapping his attention back to Mark’s face.
Mark’s gaze immediately dropped to Ethan’s jersey, and his expression soured.
“Oh, hell no,” Mark groaned.
Ethan smirked, tugging at the fabric of his purple Washington Huskies jersey. “What? You expected me to wear that ?” He gestured toward Mark’s Ducks gear like it personally offended him.
Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. “This was a mistake. You can’t be in my house wearing that .”
Ethan let out a laugh. “Relax, old man. It’s just a game.”
Mark rolled his eyes but then looked down at the large Belgian Malinois sitting at Ethan’s side. “So, this is the infamous Ranger?”
Ranger, ever the professional, sat stoically at Ethan’s side, eyes locked onto Mark. Watching. Studying.
“Yep,” Ethan said, patting Ranger’s side. “He’s a good boy. Go on, Ranger, say hi.”
Ranger did not move.
Mark narrowed his eyes. “He’s staring at me.”
Ethan shrugged. “He does that.”
Mark took a slow step back. “It’s kind of intimidating.”
Ethan grinned. “He’s reading your soul.”
Mark’s expression was blank. “I don’t like it.”
Ethan chuckled, stepping inside and unhooking Ranger’s leash. “He’ll relax. Just let him get used to the house.” He looked around, inhaling deeply. “Damn, something smells good .”
Mark smirked. “Figured I’d cook instead of ordering out.”
Ethan looked impressed. “What’s on the menu?”
Mark gave him a pointed look. “Food.”
Ethan rolled his eyes. “Fine, be mysterious.”
They moved into the family room, and Ethan’s jaw nearly hit the floor. He had seen the massive TV mounted on the wall before, but it was never on. With the pre-game show on, the TV colors were so vibrant.
Mark also set up a folding table with wings, nachos, dips, and ribs buffet-style. The food looked mouthwateringly delicious, and the smell of it was amazing.
“Holy shit, this is incredible.” he blurted out, gaping at the sheer size of the screen and the amount of food.
Mark smirked. “Perks of a home theater system and my passion for cooking. I didn’t know what you liked, so I made it an assortment.
Ethan gave a slow whistle. “I suddenly regret all my life choices. I should’ve become a lawyer.”
Mark snorted. “Stay in your lane buddy.”
Ethan flopped down onto the oversized sectional, stretching out, arms behind his head. “Oh, man. This is perfect .”
Mark chuckled as he sat down, setting a beer in front of Ethan. “Good. Now shut up, and let’s watch the damn Beaver’s lose.”
Ethan’s excitement bubbled over as the game started, but he caught himself, pulling back. “Sorry if I’m a little too into this. It’s just… my dad was never into college football. NFL, sure. But this? This was never really our thing. I usually just watch alone or at a bar if I’m lucky enough to have time off.”
Mark frowned, a thoughtful look passing over his face. “You don’t have to apologize. It’s good to see someone enjoy something.” There was something protective in his tone, something that made Ethan’s chest feel a little lighter.
Ranger, however, was still not relaxed. The dog stayed close to Ethan, body tense, eyes fixed on Mark like he was waiting for something.
“Okay, seriously,” Mark muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “Does he ever blink?”
Ethan held back a laugh, running a hand through Ranger’s fur. “He’s fine, just on alert. New space, new person. He’s making sure I’m good.”
Mark scoffed. “And what, exactly, does he think I’m going to do? Steal your beer?”
Ethan grinned. “You do seem the type.”
Mark smirked, shaking his head, but Ethan caught the way his shoulders relaxed just a bit.
As the game played on, the tension in the house slowly eased. They argued over plays, talked shit about the refs, and Ethan found himself settling into the easy rhythm of it.
Ethan reached for a wing, dragging it through the homemade ranch dressing Mark had put out with a lazy swipe. The first bite sent his taste buds into overdrive, the perfect blend of heat and flavor hitting just right.
“Damn,” he muttered around the mouthful. “Okay, this? This is insane. ”
Mark, sitting back with his plate, shrugged. “It’s just food.”
Ethan pointed at him with a drumstick. “This is not just food. This is elite-level, high-class, five-star cooking. Are you secretly a chef?”
Mark rolled his eyes. “It’s wings, Ethan.”
“No, it’s art. ” Ethan reached for a second before finishing the first, piling more onto his plate. “And this dip? What’s in this? Crack? It’s gotta be crack.”
Mark smirked. “Sour cream, buttermilk, some herbs—”
“Nope. It’s crack.” Ethan chewed thoughtfully. “Y’know, I was expecting pizza rolls or something frozen that you threw in the oven. But here you are, feeding me like a king. ”
Mark shook his head, taking a sip of his beer. “If I knew you would get this dramatic, I would’ve just bought chips.”
Ethan grinned. “No, no, this is good. Let’s keep this dynamic.” He tapped his plate. “You make me gourmet meals, and I’ll show up and eat them. Teamwork.”
Mark snorted. “Yeah, that sounds fair.”
They settled into the meal, watching the game, their commentary growing louder with every ref call.
“What? What?! Are they blind?!” Ethan yelled at the screen as an apparent pass interference went uncalled.
Mark groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “That’s criminal. They should lose their jobs. I swear, the NCAA hires refs straight out of clown college.”
“Clown College is offended by that statement,” Ethan said, throwing a nacho into his mouth.
The Ducks were leading at halftime, and Ethan leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. “Alright, I’m calling it. We got this in the bag.”
Mark arched a brow. “You do remember last year. The Ducks had a lead at halftime and then choked so hard I thought they needed the Heimlich.”
Ethan groaned. “Don’t remind me.” He pushed himself up. “Gonna hit the bathroom real quick.”
Mark nodded, grabbing another wing as Ethan turned toward the hallway.
Ethan snapped his fingers at Ranger. “Stay.”
Mark tensed slightly as Ranger’s ears perked, but the dog didn’t move from his spot near the coffee table.
Ethan smirked. “Relax. He’s just holding my seat. And guarding my beer.” He pointed a warning finger at Mark. “So don’t touch it.”
Mark scoffed. “Like I need your second-hand, backwash-ridden IPA.”
Ethan grinned. “That’s right. Respect the boundaries, Jensen.”
Mark just shook his head, muttering under his breath as Ethan disappeared down the hall.
As he washed his hands, Ethan caught his own reflection in the mirror, shaking his head at himself. He’d been looking forward to this game since Mark texted, but the best part wasn’t the score or even the food—it was this .
The company. The easy banter. The way Mark was slowly, unconsciously, letting down his walls.
And for the first time in a long while, Ethan felt like he wasn’t just watching the game—
It was about belonging.