Ethan
She bursts into laughter, haphazardly smacking her free hand across her face. “You know the drill, Capybara.”
My brow raises. “How long have you been saving that one?”
“Months. I’ve got dozens of them I still need to go through before I’m formerly employed by Grinch Cheeks.” The edge of her lips tilts upward. “Now, quit stalling and untake it off.”
“I really don’t think that’s a word,” I say as I reach for a sock from my duffel bag. We’re playing unstrip poker. It’s exactly what it sounds like.
Before unstrip poker, we had an infomercial marathon. It’s also exactly what it sounds like.
Hours were spent watching shoddy kitchen appliances being aggressively advertised on late-night television. We were rather invested in the commercial’s production value for knives that could cut through soda cans.
“It’s almost five in the morning, Ethaniel. Anything’s possible at twilight,” she counters, whooping a split second later as I struggle to roll my sock over the three I’m already wearing on my left foot. “Yeah, baby, don’t take it off!”
I huff out a snort. “One, I think we should learn how to actually play poker ’cause I’m running out of clothes letting you win.” My half-smile widens when she sticks her tongue out. “Two, it’s just Ethan. It’s not short for anything.”
She picks up a lobster-shaped gummy—the bargaining chips we picked up from the candy shop—and flips it into the air. It pelts her on the nose, and she breaks into wild laughter. My mouth curves.
“I’ll take your darkest secret to the grave,” I say solemnly, planting my hand firmly against my chest. “No one outside this room will know how terrible you are at catching snacks.”
“You’re one to talk.” She squints at me, the challenge evident in her warm eyes. “Let’s see how great of a catch you are, Mr. Bad At Poker.”
“Please. Mr. Bad At Poker is my stepdad,” I deadpan. “Call me Ethan.”
Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, she lifts her hand in the air. I don’t miss the fact that she’s holding a fistful of gummies. Or the mischievous smirk playing on her lips. “Ready?”
“What if we go to bed instead?” I suggest. “Get in a good hour of shut-eye before our flight?”
“Why do that when we can pull an all-nighter and question our life choices later?” She pushes to her feet and teeters slightly with the four very tight pairs of shorts she’s sporting. “Now catch.”
I brace myself as she bombards me with a dozen lobster gummies all at once. She shrieks out a giggle before she breaks into a sprint, barreling into me, and my arms hook around her waist as we go tumbling onto the floor.
“Good thing I’m wearing a hundred shirts,” I say dryly, resting my hands on the small of her back.
Her eyes crinkle, and her tongue taps her sharp canine, which brings what can only be a dopey grin to my face. She pitches forward, her nose pressing into my cheek as her fingers twine with my hair.
“Can you promise to be more like this at work?”
“Sweating profusely under layers of clothes during office hours?”
She laughs into my ear as her fingertips trail idly down the side of my face. “You are such a smartass.”
My eyes crinkle. “It runs in the family. If you think I’m a smartass, you should meet my sister.” My chest feels slightly taut as the weight of my words rings in my ears, and I realize it kind of sounds like an invitation to meet my family.
Only, Barbie snorts. “When will I ever step foot in Oregon?” Her brow hikes an inch.
“You live in Oregon, right?” When I give her a short nod, she beams again.
“Yeah, I’m going to be busy with my internship to see how delightful and wonderful your sister is.
Tell your sister if she’s ever in LA, hit me up, and we can meet for lunch. Provided my schedule isn’t too busy.”
“You’ll make plans with my sister, but not me?
” I tease, but my voice sounds a little rougher than usual.
The realization dawns on me faster than daylight burning through the clouds.
I don’t want this to end—not the work trip, but the force of attraction between us.
The gravitational pull. That overwhelming intensity I felt on the plane is still there, and I want to see where it’ll go. When you know, you know.
“I mean, if you’re ever in LA, feel free to hit me up, and we can meet for fruity drinks,” she says. “That would require you to tap into the reserve and use some of your PTO hours, though.”
“Just drinks?”
“Why, Ethan Carter?” Barbie drawls in a terrible Southern accent. “Is this your way of scheduling a booty call a year out from now?”
I can’t help but chuckle softly. “You don’t see us more than that a year from now?”
A look of understanding gathers in her warm eyes, and her features sober. “Oh.” It’s a gut-punching syllable.
“Hey, forget it.” I spare her a reassuring half-smile. “I was just asking a hypothetical—”
“It’s been fun,” she whispers. “A lot of fun. Seriously. I haven’t been this… happy in a while. It’s just that I have my internship—”
“Barbie, you don’t have to explain yourself,” I interject, but she shakes her head.
“I have my internship,” she repeats, “and my last relationship became a long-distance one shortly after my parents died. I just… I can’t go through that again. I need the guy I’m seeing to be there.” She pauses. “Unless you ever want to consider moving across the state lines?”
“Oregon’s where my family is,” I say.
“And all of your beloved hiking trails,” she teases softly, her expression almost bittersweet.
“I get it. California’s where my sisters are, and even if it weren’t for my internship, I wouldn’t move away from them.
” She goes quiet. “And it would be wild to move to another state for someone you’ve barely known. ”
“We’ve worked together for two years,” I remind her.
“Does this mean you plan on moving?” The corner of her mouth tips upward.
“I’m kidding. I know your life is in Oregon, like mine is in California.
It’s like what you said on the plane about your ex—wishing you had the foresight to end it earlier because you knew you had different, incompatible goals. I wish…”
I strain my ears to hear what she’s muttering beneath her breath, but the rustle of the layers of clothing I got on makes it impossible to do just so.
Wordlessly, she inclines her head and brushes her lips against mine. It ends far too quickly. She’s already pulling away, pushing her silken hair behind her ear, before I can draw her in and kiss her deeper.
“Thanks for the last few days,” she says. “And last night.” Her eyes crinkle. “I think it was a perfect way to wrap things up between us.”
Still holding her gaze, my throat feels thick as I swallow. “Not unstrip poker?”
She expels a small laugh. “Do you want to watch the sunrise with me? I’ve never seen the sun rise over the beach before. I kind of want to witness one before we head home.”
Swallowing again, I nod. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
The eastern sky is a dazzling array of purple and orange, the sun breaking the horizon in the distance. It’s breathtaking, something I’m glad to witness with Barbie.
Her back’s to me, her fingers are entwined with mine, and she keeps tracing aimless shapes onto my knuckles with the pad of her thumb.
“You know,” she murmurs, breaking the silence. “We never did confront Ed over his piss-poor management.”
I rest my chin on the crook of her shoulder. “You still want to?”
“I don’t know. We did play a lot of hooky,” she muses. “Getting paid to enjoy a fun little vacation was probably the best revenge we could have done.”
“We’re not telling him that—”
“Oh. No. Definitely not. We’re taking this to the grave,” she says with her trademark creaky laugh. “You’d better blow off work again if you go to the conference next year.”
“How are you the same person who gets on my ass about proper capitalization in spreadsheets?” I ask out loud.
“It’s about the pivot tables,” she gasps, hurling a glance over her shoulder. Her nose scrunches. “Everything looks super sloppy when we have six lines for the same category, and then I have higher-ups breathing down my neck, wondering what’s up with that.”
“They do?” My brows knit.
“Yes?” She purses her lips. “Why do you think I’m always asking you to tweak your team’s reports and update the SOPs?
I know clients don’t give a shit as long as everything is properly keyed, but our higher-ups care, and they’re the ones who decide who survives restructures and lay-offs.
Both QA and QC end up looking bad if they think we’re all doing sloppy work. ”
“Why didn’t you tell me this?” Disbelief spears me as I stare into her eyes. “Earlier?”
“Ethan, you were always shutting me down and telling me not to overstep pretty much every morning.” She levels me with an arched look. “But that’s because you thought I was trying to get you fired, right?”
“Shit. Barbie, I—”
“It’s fine, Ethan. I’m glad we’re able to clear the air now.” The sincerity in her eyes amplifies the guilt forming in my chest. “I bet tomorrow morning will be a lot smoother, for once.”
“I should apologize,” I say. “For always shutting you down. I thought you were trying to screw me over and get my team fired, but having gotten the chance to know you these past few days, I realize now that it’s not something you’d ever do.”
“Duh, Ethan. I’m not lame,” she says with a bright giggle. “I’m down to commit insider trading with you before I leave the company.”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” I reply without missing a beat and banish the thought of Conjugal Visit Barbie from my head. “We should really set up some time to discuss this—”
“Oh my God.” She groans loudly. “Ethan. I need you to promise me to stop talking shop off hours. It’s Sunday. The sky is so pretty over the beach. We have two hours left together, and I would love to have breakfast with you before we fly home.”