11. Ethan
CHAPTER 11
Ethan
“Fucking stupid,” I mutter under my breath as I move around the kitchen putting away the leftovers and cleaning up the last of the dishes. Why would I ask her about pooping? Because I’m supposed to be her friend and nurse. While she slept, I googled everything I could about her procedure and what she could expect during recovery. Now it’s all I can think about.
Is she getting enough rest? Should I have made her stay in bed today while the pain and risk of tearing her incisions is the highest? What would she have done if I wasn’t here?
It’s what I’ve always been, the caretaker. With five younger sisters, I fell into the role naturally. Hell, I should count my father in my list of people I take care of. He’s always been immature and wild, often needing to be corralled by either my stepmom Ashley or me. Doing bedtime with him is a nightmare. He gets all the girls wound up, chasing them and tickling them while Mom and I calm them down after his antics. He’s a great father to them. And to me. But sometimes, it feels as though I raised him.
I can only imagine how wild he must have been before he met my stepmom. She seems to have tamed him, and having her and all us kids has given him a greater sense of purpose. But raising six children isn’t cheap, and he’s often at work, picking up extra jobs to help make ends meet.
Thankfully his impulsiveness skipped me. I can see it manifesting in a couple of my sisters, though. My parents will have their hands full with them now that I’ve moved out, but after Nonna died, I needed to get out of that house. Since Alyx and I work together, it made sense for us to share an apartment. Alyx and his younger sister Nyomi and his moms are like a second family to me. Where my house was loud and chaotic growing up, his family is chill and has always been welcoming. Mina always jokes that I’m her favorite stray.
It hits me how fortunate I am to have two amazing families that love and support me. Hell, the rest of the staff at Mangia Bene is like an extended family as well. The only person I’m not close to is my bio mom Monica. But Bridget? She only has three people in her life that she’s let in. Three people that she can count on—and now, when she needs someone the most, she doesn’t include them. I know she said they were busy, but I wonder if she even asked them. I wonder if she’s even told them she’s had surgery.
Soft footsteps pad down the hallway. Turning, I lock eyes with Bridget. Her brilliant blue eyes hold my gaze. She’s changed into a tiny little pajama set for bed. Fuck me, she’s not wearing a bra, and her nipples have puckered, the points pressing against the fabric of her shirt. Does she know how beautiful she is? Would she believe me if I told her?
She arches an eyebrow. “Eyes up here, big boy.”
“S-sorry,” I stutter. “Do you need anything, or are you headed for bed?”
“I forgot to take my pills with dinner, and getting changed for bed was more difficult than I thought it would be.” I can tell she’s trying to hide it, but I can see the pain she can’t mask in her face and notice how she’s pressing her hand against the right side of her abdomen.
“I could’ve helped you.” She rolls her eyes at me. “I would’ve been a gentleman. You’re recovering from surgery. I wouldn’t start something I couldn’t finish.” I give her a genuine smile. Nothing too flirty, but fuck if my cock doesn’t twitch in my pants at the thought of finishing her off.
“Right, well, I did it all by myself. I might need to take something for the pain now, but I’ll be fine. In fact, you probably don’t need to spend the night. Thank you for your help, but I’ve got it from here.”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?”
“You’re holding your side and wincing. Let me check your incisions to see if you did anything.”
“I know you think it’s fun to play nurse, but you aren’t actually a nurse. I can follow up with the doctor in the morning if there are any issues.”
I cross to her in three steps and drop to my knees, lifting up her shirt. “Wh-what are you doing?” she asks, her breath picking up.
“I’m looking to see if you popped a stitch, or if there’s any redness or swelling on your incision sites.” I gently peel back the tape holding her dressings in place and examine each of the small incisions on her abdomen. Goosebumps prickle her flesh everywhere my fingers graze. Once I’m satisfied that she hasn’t done any damage, I drop her shirt and stand. “Everything looks okay. I can tuck you in, but I’m staying here. I’ll crash on the couch.”
“I don’t need your help. You can head out. Thanks for everything.”
“I’m not leaving, sweetheart. I don’t scare that easily. Like I said, I’ve taken care of my sisters and Nonna, and believe it or not, a few of them put up a bigger fight than you,” I double down. She’s running away from me. Emotionally, at least. I wonder if it was the poop comment or the taking care of her. Or both.
“Fuck, you’re infuriating,” she yells.
“Can you stop being?—”
“What? Stop being what? A bitch?” she spits out.
“I’d never call you that,” I say, taking a step closer, hoping she sees the sincerity in my eyes.
“Then what were you going to say?”
“Difficult. Can you stop being so difficult and let me help you?” Her brows knit as her blue eyes stay locked on mine. “I told you, you don’t have to do this alone. Let me help.”
She heaves out a huge sigh and turns, heading back down the hallway. I grab her two pain pills and get her a glass of water, adding the ice cubes she used at dinner. When I reach the doorway to her bedroom, I pause briefly, taking in the sight of her. “You forgot these,” I start, stretching out my hand to her. She takes the medication and glass from my hands. I watch her throat bob as she takes a large pull of the cool liquid. Fuck me.
“Thanks.” Her mouth opens and closes as she looks at the glass of water. She looks like she wants to say something but can’t form the words.
“Is it okay? Did I not use the right ice? It’s what you asked for earlier.”
“It’s fine. It’s just… I like the big ice at bed. I normally use one of my insulated tumblers and put more ice than water in it. That way, it stays cold and there’s still ice in it in the morning.”
“That’s kind of brilliant, actually. So, when you said you didn’t know what kind of ice you liked, you lied. You just didn’t want to weird me out with your ice fetish, huh?”
“It’s not a fetish . Different types of ice have different purposes. And I like different types of ice depending on the situation. It’s not a big deal. I just didn’t want to be a pain.”
“I want to know everything about you, sweetheart,” I say, tipping her chin up so she’s looking at me. “You’re not a pain. Why do you think I brought so many ice trays? I wanted to give you options.”
Her gaze drops as her lashes flutter. “I appreciate everything you did for me today. You’re a good person. A good friend.”
“Well, fuck, if that’s not what every guy wants to hear from a beautiful woman,” I tease. “I’ll try to be your friend if that’s what you want.” I lean down and press a kiss to the top of her head. “Can I snag a pillow and blanket for the couch before I go?”
“Yeah, they’re in the closet, next to the en suite.”
After I grab what I need from her closet, I head to the living room. I use the half bathroom to do my bedtime routine. Right as I finish brushing my teeth, I hear Bridget curse from her bedroom.
“Shit!”
“Everything okay in there?” I call out, pausing at the door before entering.
“Yeah, I just forgot to wash my face.”
I push the door open to see her struggling to sit up in her bed. “You really shouldn’t be doing that right after surgery. Here, let me help,” I offer as I slide a hand under her legs and back and lift her, carrying her toward the en suite.
“Put me down,” she protests. “I don’t need to be carried.”
I set her down on the counter in the bathroom and stand in between her open thighs.
“What are you doing?” she asks, a slight blush creeping across her chest.
“I’m going to help you wash your face. What do you start with?” She stares at me, a look of defiance in her fiery eyes, the pupils dilated so much that the rings of blue in her irises are barely visible. “I mean, I could guess and start digging around in here.” I point to a basket full of neatly organized products.
After several seconds enduring her death glare, she surprises me when she relents. “Fucking A,” she mutters. “I don’t normally let people see me with no makeup on.”
“I’ve already seen you without it, and you had surgery today. Are you telling me you wore it during that?”
“I didn’t, but I put some on earlier after you left. I’m not comfortable going bare.”
“Are you forgetting that I saw every inch of you bare and dripping wet in your shower a couple of weeks ago?”
She covers her face as she speaks through her hands. “Grab a washcloth from the linen closet over there,” she says as I grab two. “And everything else I need is in that basket over there.” She gestures to the basket on the countertop with eight different vials and bottles of varying concoctions, none of which look familiar to me.
“First, I start with the moisturizing cleanser. If you hand it to me, I can do it.”
“Nuh-uh. I don’t want you bending and twisting. Let me do this for you.” I squeeze a dollop of cleanser into my hand.
“That’s too much!” she says as I spread the cleanser onto her face.
“Not a problem.” I wipe the excess off her before dabbing it on my cheeks.
She laughs as she takes over, rubbing the product into her skin. “You missed some spots,” she chuckles as she reaches up to my face, working the soap into a lather. Her fingers light a spark everywhere they land, and I lean into her touch. “Soak the cloth in some warm water to wipe it off.”
Before I can wipe her face, she grabs the cloth from my hand and cleans off her face. I look into the mirror behind her and do the same.
“Next is the hydrating face wash.”
“Didn’t we already clean our faces?”
“Double cleansing is where it’s at, though. You can probably skip this step since you’re still young.”
“So are you,” I say back immediately, flashing her a heated look. It’s important that she stops seeing me as just my age, just a number. With a little more force than I intend, I pump the face wash into my hand. She reaches out to stop me, and the feeling of her skin on mine soothes the anger I feel. Rubbing the liquid between my hands, I massage it into her face, using what’s left to wash mine. If she’s going to use it, so will I.
I rinse out her washcloth, and she wipes the face wash off as I repeat her actions. Taking her washcloth, I rinse them out again, ready for her instruction.
“After we double cleanse, we apply toner,” she explains as I reach for the next bottle in the basket.
I squeeze some into her hand, and instead of applying it to her face, she reaches up and smooths it over my cheeks. “Are you blushing?” she teases me while rubbing it in.
“Am I? I can’t help it if your touch lights me up inside.” I smile back at her. With full dimple. And now she’s blushing. I rub the toner into my hands and work it into her skin, repeating the actions she took on my face. “And now we wash it off?” I ask, reaching for the cloth.
“Nope. Now we apply moisturizer, and we leave that on too.”
Replacing the used items back in the basket, I reach for the moisturizer and open the lid.
“You probably could skip this or use only a little if you have oily skin. I tend to have dry skin, so this is an important step for me,” she explains as she dips her fingers into the tub and scoops out the cream. My skin isn’t super oily, so I take a little and apply it to the parts of my face that I think might need it.
We are several steps in, and she’s already looking more relaxed.
“Next, I apply SPF.”
I look at her confused. “You do that before going to bed? Isn’t that to protect you from the sun?”
“Yeah, but it’s something I’ve always done. My mom did it, and so do I. I dunno, it’s just part of my routine,” she murmurs, dropping her chin to her chest.
“Then we’ll do it if it’s part of your routine.” I grab the SPF and hand it to her. She squeezes some on her hand and reaches up to rub it into my skin. I close my eyes at her touch and think non-arousing thoughts to quell the boner tightening my pants.
After she finishes my face, she applies the SPF to hers. “I don’t use a lot, but I figure it can’t hurt if my mom’s been doing this all her life. And she looks great for her age.”
It hits me that she does this whole routine to fight off aging. I don’t know why that didn’t click for me until now, and I get why it’s so important to her. It’s not because of our age gap, but because she’s probably been told by society, the media, and even her own mother that it’s necessary for someone her age.
“You’re really fucking gorgeous, you know that?” I cup the back of her neck, pressing my forehead and nose to hers. She inhales a sharp breath but doesn’t say anything.
Breaking the tension, I continue rubbing my nose against hers before dragging it all over her cheeks, teasing her. “Sorry, I thought I saw some extra on there. Gotta be sure we rub it all in.” Smooshing my face against hers, I rub our faces together like a dog nosing around in someone’s crotch.
“Ethan, stop.” She laughs, and I continue rubbing my face against hers. “This is not how you’re supposed to apply the product.”
I pull back, still cupping her neck with both hands, and pull her mouth against mine. It’s a quick kiss, but I nip at her bottom lip as I pull back.
“Fuck,” she breathes. “Just friends.”
“What’s next?” I ask, bringing her attention back to me. The effect that kiss had on her makes my heart and my cock swell.
“Um, we do the hyaluronic acid serum next.”
“Acid?” I wince at the thought of putting acid on my face.
She chuckles. “It doesn’t burn. It helps moisturize.”
I lean down and press my lips to hers again. Her taste is sweet and subtle with a hint of mint from when she brushed her teeth earlier. When I pull back this time, she’s captured my lower lip between her teeth, tugging on it as we part.
“Not just friends,” I whisper against her ear before pecking her cheek.
I hand her the acid that somehow moisturizes, and she dabs it on her face and neck and hands it to me, so I follow her actions.
“I finish with a retinol cream and some eye cream.”
I reach for the creams and place them on the counter beside her. “Should I use them too?”
“You can if you want.” She shrugs, her tone suddenly less playful than it had been. Maybe I pushed too much with my “not just friends” comment. Sometimes the banter between us is fun and playful. Other times, it strikes a chord in her I didn’t know existed, and she’s throwing walls up around herself, pushing me out.
We finish the last two steps, and I follow her instructions precisely. I neatly return all the items to the basket in their proper order and pick her up off the counter before depositing her gently in the bed.
Leaning down, I kiss her forehead. “Good night, sweetheart. I’ll be on the couch if you need me.”
____________
The sound of retching wakes me from a restless sleep. I look at my phone and see it’s around two in the morning. I hurry back to her room, not knocking or waiting to be invited in. When I find her in the bathroom, she’s hunched over the toilet, emptying the contents of her stomach in a violent manner.
“It’s okay, I’m here,” I say softly as I run a hand up her back and gather the hair she was holding for herself, taking it out of her hand. She’d probably fight me on this or tell me to leave if she wasn’t so sick.
I snake one hand up to her forehead, brushing back the hair that sticks to her sweat-coated face. Her skin feels clammy but cool, no signs of a fever.
Moving my hand to her back, I rub small circles against her exposed skin while blowing out cool breaths against her.
“You should—” Bridget starts but is interrupted by another heaving tremor. I can hear liquid hitting the water, but looking over her shoulder, it appears to be mostly clear at this point. How long was she vomiting before I woke?
“It’s okay. Try not to talk,” I soothe. The sounds of her groans and retching calm down as I continue rubbing her back, lowering myself to the floor next to her, still holding her hair in my other hand. “I know you like numbers, so let me share some with you, and maybe that will help take your mind off things.
“Thirty. That’s the percentage of people that experience nausea and vomiting after undergoing general anesthesia.”
She groans into the bowl, and I keep lightly trailing my hand along her back as I continue.
“Four. That’s the number of months my youngest sister, Evelyn, experienced projectile vomiting during her infancy. It was like The Exorcist . I’d be holding her on my shoulder in the kitchen and hear a random splash of liquid hit the floor three feet behind me while warm liquid dripped down my back. I had no clue how her little body could launch vomit so far. It was impressive, actually. And terrifying. I was seventeen. Taking care of her was the ultimate form of birth control for me.
“Five. That’s how old Evelyn is now. She hasn’t thrown up on me since.
“Twelve. That’s how old my sister Ella was when she had her tonsils removed. I was helping my mom take care of her, and being the budding chef that I was, I offered to make her something she could eat that wouldn’t hurt her throat. I didn’t know then that anesthesia could make some people sick after surgery. I mashed up some fresh peaches in the blender and added some vanilla ice cream. It lasted twenty minutes in her stomach before it came back up. She ran into me on her way to the bathroom and covered me in peach ice cream-flavored barf.
“Sixteen. That’s how old Ella is now. I plan to share that story with her prom date, in case he thinks about trying something.”
I feel Bridget’s back shake with a small laugh, and she stills, still hunched over the toilet.
“Twenty. That’s how old I was when Alyx and I attended culinary school in Italy together. We’d lived there a few months, and I’d saved all my money and splurged on a nice pair of Italian leather loafers. They were the only nice thing I owned. Alyx saved up his money and splurged on a huge bottle of Limoncello, which he downed in its entirety in a single night. I was getting in from a night out with some friends, and I was about to slip my shoes off when Alyx came running toward me. He missed the bathroom mere feet from me and vomited all over my new shoes.
“Three. That’s the number of people that have thrown up on me. Ella, Evelyn, and Alyx. I get that I’m the last person you want to be vulnerable in front of right now. But I promise, you’re safe in my care. Though, if you wanted to keep your aim in the bowl, I wouldn’t object.”
She sits back on her legs, still kneeling on the tiled floor, while swiping the back of her hand along her mouth. “I’m glad you stayed. I shouldn’t have tried to make you leave.” She must feel bad if she’s willing to give up that nugget of truth. Hope springs in my chest at the thought that I might finally be scaling one of her walls.