“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? These are running clothes.”
“Ash, it’s like… skin-tight.” His cheekbones were popping from how hard he was trying not to laugh.
“It’s hot as balls right now, and these breathe.”
“No, I can definitely tell they breathe. With the mesh”—he waved a hand vaguely at me, clearing his throat—“and you being basically naked and all.”
I laughed out loud, all my worries melting away in an instant. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, darling. So what’s the harm?” I crossed my arms over my chest, biting the inside of my cheek when his eyes got stuck on it.
He gave in and laughed too. “You’re too fucking full of yourself. I shouldn’t even be surprised.”
I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “Are you done? Running?”
He nodded.
“Want to get coffee?”
He rolled his lips, looked away, clearly trying not to grin—then nodded again.
We walked to a coffee shop around the block, close to the entrance of my building, and settled at a small table outside by the door. It was still mostly empty, just a couple of regulars stopping by for their early morning jolt. Ethan’s leg was bouncing under the table, his arms crossed on top of it while we waited for our order.
I could have tried to strike up a conversation, but in that moment I was completely entranced by him. It hit me all over again how much he’d changed—in the best possible way. His biceps were bulging where he had them tucked in, and Ethan might’ve still been fun-sized compared to me, but he’d filled out perfectly for his frame. And the angles in his jaw? Mouthwatering. Then he went ahead and flipped his cap backward, and I had to bite my tongue not to groan at the sight.
“So, you’re a jogger now?” He arched a brow, smirk twitching.
“I’ve always done it, actually.”
He frowned, clearly trying to place that. “Really?”
“I stopped for a while when I took over Langley Enterprises. Didn’t have the time for it, but I’ve always been a junkie for early morning running endorphins.”
The server stopped by and dropped off our identical double espressos.
He took a sip. “Guess that makes sense.”
“How about you?”
He set the cup back down carefully. “I picked it up after I dropped tennis.”
Well, that sucked. I loved that outfit. “You stopped playing?”
“Yeah,” he said. “After I stopped talking to my dad.”
Right. Because his dad hated my fucking guts. One more thing I’d fucked up for him. “You don’t talk anymore?”
Ethan’s face flickered through a string of emotions—hurt, anger, shame—before he brushed his knuckles under his nose,the rings on his fingers catching the light as he did. His little nervous gesture. My brows knit at the sight.
“No, we do—kinda…” His lips twisted into a small grimace. “It’s complicated.”
“I get that. Mine’s pretty complicated too.”
“But you stopped speaking with yours altogether.” He didn’t phrase it as a question. When I cocked my head, he continued, “I interned with LE last semester—shadowing your dad. He mentioned it.”
I blinked.
What?
“My father mentioned—to you—that we weren’t speaking?”
