Wishful thinking, it’s called.
I swallowed.
“Now we’re talkin’.” He led the way to an old elevator, and it was freaking tiny.
I couldn’t help but glance at the weight limit for the elevator as I entered the car—reflex reaction. I did that sometimes even for bigger elevators, but it was all good. Except for the fact that we had little to no space between us now.
Christ on a cracker, I was doomed.
He was standing so close that I couldn’t peer up at him, because I would find a way to make it awkward and unbearable.
Was I imagining the tension too?
He didn’t say a word on the way up to the top floor, and the elevator wasn’t very fast. He could probably walk up the stairs and arrive faster.
“Mind if I…” He lifted his hand, wrist facing my way, indicating he wanted to feel my forehead.
I froze in place, unable to say a word, and found myself caught in his gaze anyway. Like, completely fucking stuck.
He touched my forehead gently, and I shivered.
Was that green in his eyes, or was it the lighting in certain places? Under the spotlights at the gym, his eyes were so clearly blue. Grayish blue. But every now and then, something turned them greener.
I loved, loved, loved the silver in his scruff. Because he had scruff these days. Sometimes more, sometimes less, sometimes just stubble, and it was incredibly attractive. He had the jaw for clean-shaven as well, buthelooked more comfortable when he wasn’t rigid about it, and comfort was a huge factor for me. I wanted him comfortable in his own skin.
“You might have a fever,” he murmured. “You feel warm.”
I exhaled and kept staring into his eyes. I couldn’t look away for the life of me
His jaw ticked with tension, and he withdrew his hand as the elevator slowed down.
He broke the gaze eventually, then cleared his throat and gestured for me to step out.
I shuffled out of the car and did my best to compose myself. Tonight might very well be the time I lost everything. My defenses were down, my headache refused to vacate my skull, and the last few weeks of trying to be normal around him had exhausted me.
Each floor seemed to have only two condos, and he went to the one facing the street.
“So I’m about to see where the magic happens,” I teased.
Ethan let out a laugh and unlocked the door. “If by magic you mean me creating my Sunday meal prep videos, then yeah, fuck-ton of magic.”
Let’s not discuss his videos. I’d watched too many of them lately, and he was kinda brilliant about those. Because he wasn’t the preacher who gave grand speeches in his reels. Actually, he rarely spoke at all. Instead, he had a video running in the background, showcasing the info he offered in the caption. LastSunday, I’d watched him pull out a sheet of roasted vegetables from the oven, and I’d dutifully screencapped the recipe in the caption while being distracted by his ass in blue plaid pajama bottoms and a white tee.
“I’m sure a ton of other magic has taken place here too,” I replied.
Before opening the door fully, he glanced back at me with a wry smirk. “I used to have this thing where I invited someone I was seeing over for dinner on the fifth date,” he said. “I can’t even remember the last time that happened. I think I’ve repainted the walls twice since then, upgraded my couch, remodeled my kitchen, and bought a new bed after my brother fucking broke it.”
That made me laugh. “How did your brother break your bed? It sounds…uh, wrong, I guess.”
Or filthy, depending on the literature one read.
He sighed and finally opened the door. “His name is Ryan, and if his boys are jumping on the bed, chances are he’ll join them.”
Oh my God, that was so funny. I giggled like a girl with a crush.
Ethan flicked on the lights, and with one switch, the place lit up.
I walked in, immediately caught by surprise. Wow, his home was beautiful—and very open. A large living room and kitchen shared the space past the entryway, and from here, I could see what I assumed was a bedroom door too.
