18
The alarm goes off, jarring me awake. I could swear I fell asleep only a minute ago, but a peek at my clock tells me it’s been hours. I yawn and stretch, then remember where I am.
Cleveland. With Ethan.
Cocking my ear, I listen for him. Nothing. He must be awake, though, because the tantalizing smell of coffee wafts through the air. It’s the incentive I need to get up. A quick glance at Ethan’s bedroom shows that it’s empty. The bed has rumpled covers and tangled bed sheets.
Leaving my own neatly made bed, I go to the bathroom. As I brush my teeth and hair, I evaluate my reflection. Tired eyes, pale skin. I hadn’t slept well last night, plagued by nightmares. The details of my dreams are hazy, but I can guess what they were about.
Still in my PJs, I leave the bathroom and go down the short hallway. I halt at the entrance to the living room. Ethan’s there, dressed in his pajama pants. He has his shirt back on, which makes me relieved and disappointed all at once. Standing on one leg, he slowly kicks his other leg out in front of him. His hands are bent at the level of his chest, palms facing out. In slow motion, he pushes his hands out straight, keeping his palms flexed.
“What on earth are you doing?” I interrupt, unable to process what I’m seeing.
Without pausing, he responds, “I’m doing tai chi. It’s how I start every morning.”
“You’re kidding me.” My eyes track his every movement.
“Nope. That move I just did is called High Pat on Horse.” Ethan’s hands and legs shift slowly, like they’re in molasses. “This one is called Carry the Tiger.”
“Are you for real right now? You actually know tai chi?” I stare at him with disbelief.
“Totally serious.” Ethan lifts his chin. “I also have a black belt in karate, I’ve won mixed martial arts competitions, and I was an Eagle Scout, which is the highest level in Boy Scouts.” He flashes a cocky grin. “See? You’re learning all kinds of new things about me today.”
I ignore his boasting but must admit there’s a certain beauty to his motions. He has a graceful slinkiness that reminds me of Fred The Cat.
“When did you learn all of that?” Watching him makes me extra curious.
“Started martial arts and Boy Scouts when I was in elementary school and stuck with them all the way through high school. I’m loyal like that.” Ethan shoots an oddly intense look in my direction. “Didn’t learn tai chi until college, though.”
For a minute, I have a doubling of my vision, seeing the present and the past all at once. I’m standing in Mr. Chen’s kitchen, looking out of the sliding glass door, watching him perform these same poses on his tiny concrete balcony. Had I known that it was called tai chi back then? I can’t remember.
Bending low, Ethan gracefully extends one leg, balancing easily on the other. Then he rises with his arms outstretched, shifting them slowly up over his head. The pose makes his shirt cling to his chest. Something about how his body ripples with each movement catches my eye. My gaze shifts to watch how his muscles flex and extend in his upper arms.
Staring at Ethan does strange things to my breathing, making it faster and uneven. It’s like last night, by the bathroom, and later, when he turned on the light. I’m finding it difficult to look away from him. There’s a slow, sweet pulse growing within me, a swell of desire I don’t welcome. It alarms me to be so hyperaware of him. I wish I could turn off how my body is responding, just flip it off like a light switch.
To deflect from my arousal, I say stiffly, “Well, it looks silly.” I’m surprised when Ethan doesn’t rise to my bait. He just raises one eyebrow and gives me a disappointed look. Usually, a barb like that pushes other people away, maintaining my boundaries. I’m not sure how to handle an adversary who refuses to fight.
Ethan continues like I hadn’t just been spiteful to him. “How about you? Were you a Girl Scout? I bet you got a lot of badges.”
“You’d bet wrong then. I was not a Girl Scout. Afterschool activities weren’t exactly a big thing where I’m from unless you count fist fights by the bike racks.” I grimace, remembering one particular fight, hearing the crunch of a nose breaking, blood running over swollen knuckles, that flash of green eyes.
“I know how to play the piano a little,” I offer. “My neighbor downstairs, Mr. Chen, he taught me when I was a kid. I’m not very good, but I like it. The way music can transport you to far-off places.”
Ethan’s looking at me with great interest, standing still now. He seems to enjoy finding out these little details about me. Collecting them like seashells on the beach. Putting them into his pocket for later inspection.
It’s weird.
I fidget under his scrutiny. “Do I smell coffee?”
“I brought it from home. It’s in the kitchen. I also have vanilla creamer so you can make those iced lattes you love.” He resumes his routine.
I scrunch my nose and tilt my head, puzzled. “Creamer? But you like your coffee black.” In the hospital cafeteria, Ethan never used cream or sugar. Once, I had asked him about it, and he had jokingly told me, “I like my coffee how I like my women, hot and strong.” I had laughed when he said it but couldn’t stop the blush that had risen to my cheeks.
Ethan’s eyes glow warm amber in the morning sunlight. “I do take my coffee black, but you don’t, so I bought creamer.”
Oh.
It’s such an unexpectedly thoughtful gesture that I’m tongue-tied, uncertain how to respond. When I enter the kitchen, I’m impressed by the elaborate coffee setup. I didn’t see it last night when we first looked around the apartment, so Ethan must have brought it to Cleveland. There’s a bag of imported coffee beans, a coffee grinder, and a large espresso machine that takes up most of the counter space.
Humming to myself, I make my coffee and add the creamer from the refrigerator. Pouring it over ice finishes the drink. I take a sip and close my eyes, savoring how the vanilla flavor bursts across my tongue. It’s sweet, caffeinated heaven.
Beverage in hand, I return to the living room. There’s an old throw pillow, squashed nearly flat, that I move out of the way so I can sit on the lumpy couch. I delicately balance the icy coffee on my thigh. Ethan continues his ritual while I struggle not to notice the sexy way his hair falls over one eye and how firm his butt looks when he bends over.
Jesus, his body is insane.
It occurs to me that there’s probably a whole slew of women who would pay good money to sit right here in my spot on this couch and ogle Ethan. How they would love to view the Hot Ethan Clark Show that I’m getting for free. I need to not be one of those women.
“Wow. Good coffee and morning entertainment.” I try to sound casual, but it’s a struggle. “Maybe living with you won’t be as bad as I thought.”
His smile is slow, like his tai chi. “I like living with you too, Tiffy.”
The statement lingers for a few minutes. I shift on the couch, not able to look at him because my heart just gave a weird spasm. There’s a new pressure in my chest, one that wasn’t there before. I place my hand over my sternum and rub it absently. Maybe I’m having a heart attack. Should I check my blood pressure? Get an EKG?
“Except for when you wake me up with your nightmares,” Ethan adds, snapping my attention back to him.
“What?” My whole body tenses.
He continues moving. “Last night. I heard you having a nightmare. I was just about to get up when you stopped. You must have gone back to sleep.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
When I open my eyes, I see Ethan is worried. There’s a tightening around his eyes and mouth. “Does that happen often? It sounded pretty bad.”
“Yeah. I have a lot of bad dreams. Always have,” I admit. “Why? What did I do?”
“Mostly, you thrashed around. You were kind of crying and whimpering.” He bends down to touch his toes, surprisingly limber for a man.
“Did I say anything? Talk in my sleep?”
Please, no. Please say I didn’t reveal anything.
“No…you didn’t really say anything.” He ends his tai chi and sits down on the couch next to me.
Good. That’s a relief. The more I think about it, the more I hate how Ethan heard me like that. So unguarded. I can’t think of any way to gag my dreaming self, though.Hopefully, it won’t happen again. I can never predict how bad the dreams will be. They seem to flare up when I’m in an unfamiliar place. It’s one reason I didn’t want to come to Cleveland.
To change the subject, I say, “We’d better get ready. Want the bathroom first so you can spend hours on your teeth?”
“You know I do.” He doesn’t give me a chance for second thoughts, shooting me a quick, lopsided grin and then heading straight to the bathroom.The shower makes a splatter sound as it’s turned on. I have a flashback to last night, Ethan in the doorway with his shirt off. Now he’s in there totally naked. Water running down those abs and then lower…
I pull away from that mental image and how breathless it makes me feel.