7. Chapter 7 #4
There was nobody around now. They were alone.
“There’s part of me that wonders if tonight was too little, too late,” Hank said, shoving his still damp curls back from his forehead.
Ethan opened his mouth to argue, but before he could, Hank continued. “I know it probably is, and you know what? There’s a part of me that doesn’t fucking care. That’s almost decided it doesn’t even matter.”
“Of course it matters,” Ethan objected.
“I guess if I’m gonna go back to Syracuse again,” Hank said, sounding annoyingly resigned, “it’s not a bad thing to get one dinner out of it, first.”
Ethan couldn’t hold back his smile. “Yeah?”
Hank nudged him, like he wanted to touch, but couldn’t come up with a good enough reason to do it. Well, Ethan could come up with lots, and he’d be happy to share.
“You free tomorrow night?”
Ethan nodded.
“Okay. I’ll pick you up.” Hank said it in a determined voice, like he didn’t want there to be any confusion—either on his own part, or Ethan’s.
“Alright,” Ethan said. “Where are we going?”
“I got a place,” Hank said. “Asked Dom.”
“You asked our goalie a good place to take me to dinner?” Ethan wasn’t sure if he’d ever get sick of Hank surprising him.
“Dom’s a real foodie. He knows all the good spots in the city. Not the overpriced tourist traps, but the good shit.” Hank took a breath. “I don’t wanna just phone it in, not if I’m going—”
Ethan knew he was going to say, if I’m going back to Syracuse. If I only get one shot at this.
“Nope,” Ethan said cheerfully, interrupting and not letting him say it. Because he wasn’t going to dwell on it. Wasn’t going to let either of them do that, not like it was already decided. He was going to enjoy this, while it lasted. Especially after he’d wanted it for so fucking long.
Hank chuckled dryly. “Alright. Message received.”
“Good,” Ethan said, lifting his chin. And this time, he didn’t wait for Hank to touch him, or to touch him in a way that could’ve meant something else.
He tugged him right into a long, lingering hug, letting his hands sweep right across Hank’s broad, muscled shoulders.
“That was a fucking sick goal, if I didn’t already say it,” Ethan murmured.
“You did say it,” Hank pointed out, the edge of his voice warm and amused. But he didn’t let go, so Ethan didn’t let go either.
“Well, I meant it. I was happy you did it, and not just ’cause of last night,” Ethan confessed. “Just happy for you, Tuck.”
Hank sighed and pulled away, finally. Ethan told himself he wasn’t disappointed, but he was. Still, he had a whole date tomorrow. A dinner and maybe they’d even do something after, plenty of time to convince Hank that kissing was the best idea that either of them had had in awhile.
“Thanks. And not at all happy for yourself?” he added, the corner of his mouth quirking up, his expressing going all smirky.
Maybe that shouldn’t have done it so much for Ethan, but it did. A lot, actually.
“Well, maybe a little,” Ethan conceded.
Grinning, Hank nudged him with an elbow. Like he also wasn’t quite done touching yet.
“Two points,” Hank said dryly.
“The assist was pretty good,” Ethan agreed. The empty netter was less of a big deal, but he wasn’t going to turn up his nose at it, either. Points and goals would come; they always had, and getting worked up about them not materializing, like Charlie did, never made him score any faster.
“I wasn’t talking about your points,” Hank said, and yeah, Ethan had known that.
But he wasn’t about to make this all easy on Hank, even if that was his first instinct.
“What were you talking about?” Ethan asked innocently.
Hank rolled his eyes. “You are such a little shit. Why do I even like you?”
“I think the most important part of that statement is that you do like me,” Ethan said.
“That’s the best part?” Hank scoffed, beginning to walk again towards the parking garage.
“Well, duh,” Ethan said, grinning. “And duh, obviously I’m stoked that you scored a goal not just because you needed to stop stressing about it, but also because that means you won the bet.”
“So did you.” Hank had shoved his hands in his pockets and his stride was easy, but there was a line of tension in his back.
“Yeah, I’m gonna have to bring you a breakfast sandwich.” Ethan was already thinking of a way he could convince Hank to sleep over tomorrow night. Take him to the deli himself the next morning. One date sliding right into the next. Two dates and they weren’t just going on a date, they were dating.
Ethan could already imagine them at one of those small tables at the deli, his ankle hooked around Hank’s, their heads tipped together. Hank’s bed head rivaling his own. Ethan wearing Hank’s sweatshirt. The unfocused sleepy look in Hank’s pretty eyes before he got his first sip of caffeine.
“I’m thinking I should have come up with something better for you,” Hank complained.
“Those sandwiches are lit and you know it,” Ethan said, though the sandwiches weren’t the only thing lighting him up inside. His vision was pretty fucking killer, too.
“Maybe,” Hank conceded.
“You’ll see,” Ethan said.