Page 71 of Ethan

Yeah, he probably should get up. But it was so cozy and nice like this, even with his messy boxers, and the moment he got up, reality would start intruding into their bubble.

Everything would change, and not necessarily for the better.

But Hank had always been a pragmatist and meeting Ethan Barnes hadn’t changed himthatmuch.

“Yeah, we should,” he admitted. He slid off Ethan’s lap, grimacing a little at the way his underwear was currently sticking to his skin. He stretched out, his back popping, and eventhen, it was hard to look anywhere but at Ethan, still slumped against the sofa.

It had been so hot, but next time—whenever the next time was happening—they were definitely going to make it to a bed.

“Shower’s through there.” Ethan gestured down the hallway. “And feel free to rummage through my room—it’s the pretty fucking sparse one—if you need clean clothes.”

This was always the awkward part of sex. The aftermath, when everyone had gotten off and then the logistics mattered. Usually Hank was pretty good at smoothing that over, at thinking of these things ahead of time, but then, he hadn’t come over tonight with the intent of grinding to a hot, messy orgasm with Ethan.

Hank nodded and took off.

He had just finished in the bathroom when there was a knock. After he opened it, Ethan was standing there, still looking relatively relaxed. Not like he was freaking out at all, like Hank was. Not because of the sex or the sex-with-a-guy part, but the wholeeverythingof it.

“You good?” Ethan asked.

“Yeah.”

“I ordered some Chipotle, it’ll be here in a few,” Ethan said. He’d changed into a pair of loose sweats and an old Portland U T-shirt. “You need any other clothes or are you good?”

Hank had cleaned up the worst of the mess, and even though he’d been tempted to rummage around in Ethan’s closet and maybe even go back to Syracuse with an actual physical souvenir of tonight, in the end, he hadn’t bothered. Just tugged his jeans back up, sans underwear, shoving the ruined pair in his pocket.

“Nope, I’m all set,” Hank said.

Ethan slid him a look under his lashes as they headed back to the kitchen, but he didn’t make a comment about how Hank was probably free balling it, now.

Maybe Ethan didn’t think that was hot. But Hank wasn’t convinced he didn’t, because of the subtle little glances he kept shooting him as they leaned against one of Charlie’s clean kitchen counters and drank Charlie’s beer that Ethan had grabbed them from the fridge.

Still, he didn’t say anything. Kept the conversation light and simple.

“As soon as Charlie found out I was going out tonight, he headed right up to Max’s,” Ethan said, absently picking at the paper label on his bottle. “He probably won’t be home til late, or early, honestly.”

“He stays up there?” Hank couldn’t help the way his eyebrows went right up to his hairline. That seemed . . . not veryjust friends, honestly. Especially when Charlie had a perfectly fine bed a few floors down.

“Sometimes, yeah,” Ethan said. “And don’t ask me if they’re fucking. If they were, I think we’d know.”

“You probably would,” Hank had to agree.

“Right. You get it. But no, not even that. All that yearning would definitely shift, for sure, but there’s more. Charlie’s always having me do shit on his phone when he’s driving and I see their texts. They’re depressingly platonic.”

Hank wondered if Ethan would have categorizedtheirtexts as “depressingly platonic.”

“You read his texts?”

“No, man, they come inall the time. They’re like addicted to talking to each other. You’d think they’d get enough of each other.”

Hank cleared his throat. He didn’t think he could probablyevertalk to Ethan enough that it would be enough. Not when they’d spent all this timeonlytalking. Being separated by so many thousands of miles.

When he headed to Syracuse tomorrow morning, at least they’d be closer—hundreds instead of thousands—but that didn’t mean it would suck less.

“Though,” Ethan continued, suddenly shooting him a dimpled grin, “maybe Idoget it, a little. ’Cause I’m not sure I’d ever want to stop texting you, either.”

Even though he’d drunk at least half this beer, Hank’s mouth went dry. Tongue suddenly thick and clumsy. “Yeah.”

He wanted to put the bottle in his hands down and pull Ethan into his arms again. Kiss him again. Say without words everything he was feeling. Everything he was thinking. That would be a lot fucking easier.