6. Chapter 6 #2
Hank raised a questioning eyebrow. “And? I haven’t seen you in a year. You were really gonna let a bike get between us?” He was clearly teasing Ethan; enjoying every moment if Ethan was going to use the amusement brimming in his hazel eyes as an indication.
“Shut up,” Ethan said, shoving him a little. Hank laughed, and shoved him back, and suddenly it was like it had been between them, a year ago. Casual and easy.
“You said it, not me,” Hank said.
“I’m gonna um . . . go stretch?” Ethan said. Because he needed to. Even though the last thing he actually wanted was to leave Hank, even though it was only the other side of the room.
Hank nodded, getting back on the bike, his face taking on a much more serious cast. Like he was locking in. Getting prepped to give everything in the next few days to make sure he’d make it.
And Ethan should be doing that too.
Because if it was how he wanted it to be, if it ended up like he thought it would, then they’d get so much time together. Road trips and home stands and so many practices. An almost endless amount of time stretched out in front of them.
That was the reassuring thought that propelled Ethan over to the mat, where he began to stretch out, getting ready for practice.
Hank did ten minutes more on the bike, his pale face beginning to flush with exertion.
At least that was why Ethan told himself it was happening, every time he glanced over at him.
And if he kept doing it? Well, he was only human, okay?
And Hank looked like that. Strong and tall and built.
Ethan deepened a stretch as he watched the pink creep up Hank’s cheeks, because somehow that was even hotter.
He might be even more into Hank’s pale skin and auburn hair than he was his biceps or his abs or his fucking incredible thighs.
Ugh, Hank’s thighs.
Ethan leaned even harder into the stretch, trying not to flick his eyes up to them again, as Hank walked towards him, his shorts bunching up slightly.
“You almost done?” Hank asked, leaning in.
Brushing a hand over Ethan’s back. Ethan tried not to flinch or lean into it.
Tried to act like it was just a normal touch, even though it didn’t feel like any normal touch Ethan had ever experienced.
Warmth from Hank’s hand raced over his skin, making every nerve prickle with awareness.
“Yeah, I am,” Ethan said with a nod.
He half expected Hank to withdraw his hand, and head out without him. They didn’t need to shadow each other, even if Ethan kinda wanted to.
But Hank didn’t leave and he didn’t move his hand either. It stayed, his hand a firm and steady pressure as Ethan finished his last stretch. Hank didn’t even move it as he straightened, offering his other free hand to him to let him up.
Skin to skin was a whole other kind of experience, and Ethan was glad that the gym had emptied out, because he didn’t let go right away and Hank didn’t either.
They stood there, frozen in place, for a long moment.
One of Hank’s hands on his back and the other clasped in Ethan’s own.
Not holding him, necessarily, but holding him close.
Ethan felt breathless with how near he was and how he didn’t immediately pull away either, his hazel eyes warm and fond on Ethan.
Like he didn’t even want to.
“Um, yeah, we should . . .” Hank tilted his head towards the door but still didn’t move.
Ethan’s heart was in his throat. He hadn’t thought it would be like this right away, but he supposed that after spending the last year getting to know each other, it wasn’t that surprising that the moment they were back in each other’s presence, the sexual chemistry they’d just begun to develop was now back in spades.
Stronger than ever.
“Yeah,” Ethan said, swallowing back anything else he was tempted to say. Though that was a lot of insane shit like, Come over tonight. Or, what are you doing, for the rest of our lives?
He didn’t need the reminder that they were supposed to be focused on hockey right now.
That hockey was the most important thing.
For Hank, obviously, but for Ethan, too.
Inverness had told him he was a pretty solid lock to make the opening night roster, but he’d not made any promises, and there was always a chance that if Ethan fucked around, he’d find himself in Syracuse to start the season.
“We’re gonna do this shit,” Hank murmured under his breath and Ethan gave him a nod, holding his gaze for one more long moment, before he finally turned to head towards the door.
Hank felt like he was checking off boxes, one at a time, keeping to the plan, keeping his determination up. First, made it through development camp. Then, made it to the preseason roster.
It was the night before their first preseason game, and they were in Boston to play the Bruins.
Hank had ended up rooming with Bo again, though there wasn’t a strong chance Bo would end up on the Bandits’ main roster. He was hoping that he and Ethan would both make it, and they could finagle a way to end up rooming together.
That would be good. That would also probably be difficult as hell, if the first week they’d spent together had been any indication.
Being around Ethan Barnes was plain fucking delightful.
He was funny and full of light and positivity.
Even when Hank got freaked out or anxious or let his million pounds of worries fall onto his shoulders, Ethan was always there to give him a smile or a reassuring pat, or to listen to him pace and rant about how he was suddenly not sure he’d be making it.
“You definitely will,” Ethan always said, and when he did smile, because of course he did, because he always did, it felt a little brighter, a little wider, than any of the smiles that he gave to the other guys.
So yeah, it would be tough to be around him all the time, because Ethan was so undeniably charming and more than a little irresistible. Hank was only resisting because there was so much riding on these few weeks. His whole fucking future.
But more than once—more like a few dozen times, to be honest—Hank had been so tempted to throw caution to the wind, yank Ethan against him and just let his mouth find Ethan’s.
Then again, it wasn’t just the timing. Neither of them had ever liked a guy before. Maybe Ethan had queer brothers, so he’d apparently dealt with that new realization pretty easily, it wasn’t resting quite so easily on Hank.
He’d never expected this. Never really wanted it, even though he wanted Ethan.
Bo’s meditations echoed through the room, as loud as ever.
Hank sank back into the hotel pillows and between his nerves over tomorrow—he’d played in so many NHL games at this point, sure, but none that had ever felt like they mattered as this stupid slate of preseason games—and all those unsettling desires swirling through him for Ethan Barnes, he didn’t think he’d be getting to sleep anytime soon.
Even though he was pretty sure he was getting more out of Bo’s meditations than Bo was.
Bo’s earbuds were leaking so much fucking noise Hank almost missed the knock on the door. But then whoever was out there knocked again, even louder the second time, making the sound unmistakable.
Hank hefted himself off the bed and didn’t bother grabbing a T-shirt or a sweatshirt on his way to the door.
When he pulled it open, Ethan was standing there, curls in a wild halo around his head and his eyes—that perfect, clear blue—betraying his own nerves.
He’d wondered if Ethan would freak out about tomorrow. Had assumed, sort of rightly, that if he did, he’d want to talk to Charlie about it.
But clearly not, because even though Charlie was off his first contract and could request a single room, he and Ethan were sharing, and yet, Ethan wasn’t there, in their room, he was here, in front of Hank.
“Hey,” Ethan said, in a low, uncertain voice.
It reminded Hank a little of the way Eth had been the first time they’d seen each other this year. He rarely looked less than brimming with confidence, but he had then, and he looked that same way now.
“You good?” Hank asked, not wanting to give away that he’d already figured out what the answer was. He didn’t think Ethan would be happy to know he was so easy to read. Maybe not for everyone? But for Hank, yes.
“I don’t know,” Ethan grumbled.
Hank braced his hip against the open door. “Bo’s in here, meditating, or whatever passes for that these days.”
Ethan laughed, but it sounded forced and Hank continued, “But I’m sure we could find somewhere to talk. If you wanted.”
“Our room’s actually empty. Three guesses where Charlie went off to and the first two don’t count.”
Hank was actually really surprised by that.
Charlie was conscientious to a fault—really, with all the guys, but more than everyone combined with Ethan.
Sure, he was painfully weird and close to Max, but Hank hadn’t thought he’d abandon Ethan now, just to hang out with Max.
Not the night before Ethan’s first NHL game, even if it was a preseason game.
“Really?” Some of Hank’s surprise must have escaped because Ethan gave another one of those sharp barks of unamused laughter.
“Oh, he definitely talked my ear off, first,” Ethan said.
And Hank realized, then, the fact hitting him right in the chest, deep and resonant, that Charlie’s reassurances hadn’t actually reassured, but Ethan had come to Hank after, because he thought Hank’s would.
“Oh,” Hank said.
“And I figured that your room would be noisy”—Ethan leaned closer, his curls nearly brushing Hank’s chin, and his heart stuttered about it—“and yeah, seems to be. Is that shit still working for him?”
“You know it is. Well, when he needs it to,” Hank amended. “I told you he apparently spent the whole offseason making up for not.”
He wasn’t going to say the word sex or, and definitely not the word fucking. Wasn’t sure he’d be able to get either of them out without his voice going all wonky and weird about it.