October bringsa crisp chill to New York, the kind that makes you want to curl up somewhere warm and safe.
Ethan’s apartment is what a perfect bachelor pad looks like. It’s been a week since I moved in and I’m still having trouble adjusting to my new home. There’s a large living room with an attached kitchen and bar. He’s got three bedrooms, an office, a gym, and a balcony that overlooks the dazzling skyline of New York City.
The apartment is beautiful, but it’s done up in shades of black, white and gold, the furniture matching the aesthetic: leather couches, a coffee table made of dark polished wood.
“How long have you been living here?” I ask him as I watch him do some pull-ups. I’ve been fascinated by the idea of having a home gym, but aside from the treadmill, Ethan’s not letting me use anything else. And when I’m on the treadmill, I’m only allowed to walk while he hovers me like an overprotective hawk.
“I got this place a couple of years ago,” he grunts, pulling his body up using the metal bar.
“Was it already furnished?” His body is glistening from sweat, and given that he’s shirtless and wearing only a pair of dark shorts, I can’t help but admire his physique. His muscled build is not very obvious under his suits, and watching his muscles flex as he lifts himself and lowers himself back down, his ankles crossed, makes for better viewing than TV.
“Not really. It came with the kitchen.” He lowers himself down with discipline, his voice strained. “I have a furniture guy who knows what I like, so he just furnished the space for me.”
I look around dubiously. “So you like this furniture?”
He gives me a quick grin, voice raspy. “Why? You don’t?”
My tongue darts out to wet my lips as I consider my next answer, and I catch him watching me intently.
“Focus on your workout, Ethan. Stop looking at me like that.”
He pulls his upper body back up. “We could do another kind of workout.”
“Perv. How can you think of sex when working out like that?”
“It’s easy when it comes to you.” His wicked grin has butterflies fluttering in my stomach. It was one thing seeing Ethan in his three-piece suits, those sleeves rolled up, his hair combed. That was a different kind of sexy.
Seeing him like this—in his own home, where he puts on sweatpants and roams around shirtless with his six-pack on display and his hair wild and ruffled—is making it very hard for me to practice celibacy.
We’ve not slept together since Chicago. He teases me in his subtle ways, but he’s kept a hands-off approach, which I appreciate. I’m still trying to get used to all these changes. The only thing he’s been adamant about after my first night here is that we sleep in the same bed.
Because of the nightmares.
They returned with a vengeance. I woke up screaming and fighting off my brother, only to realize it was Ethan holding me down as I tried to claw his eyes out. It took me two more nights to understand that when I slept in the same bed as this man, with his arms wrapped around me so securely, I didn’t dream.
I always believed I was the type of person who liked having the whole bed to herself, but it has taken me all of one week to figure out I like being surrounded by Ethan when I sleep. It’s like having a blanket of safety enveloping me. I often wake up using his arm as a pillow, my face buried in his chest, his leg thrown over my hips. Not the worst way to wake up, in my opinion.
It’s not just sharing a bed that has been an adjustment. Living with Ethan has also been an experience.
He always carries the purple scrunchie around, almost as if it’s become a habit. It’s in his pocket at all times. When I told him he could throw it away, he looked affronted by the very idea. However, to humor me when I insisted, he let me throw it in the trash.
Later that evening, when I went to get some water from the kitchen, I noticed it was not in the trash anymore. I found it later in one of his suits, the one he was going to wear to work the next day.
I’ve also begun to discover small things about him. He owns a television, but he doesn’t watch it. I put on a movie the other day and forced him to sit down with me to watch it. He only enjoyed the part where I sank into his chest and he got to hold me, feeding me popcorn now and then. By the end of the movie, I was nodding off and lying on the couch with him, our legs intertwined. He carried me to bed.
He doesn’t like avocados. I love them, so he went and got a bunch of them, not realizing that they spoil very quickly. I spentan hour peeling them and de-seeding them before sprinkling on lemon juice to preserve them for as long as possible.
I decided to heed Sarah’s words and start this new chapter with an open mind. It’s hard to lower my defenses all the time, but when I’m looked after and so openly spoiled, it’s difficult to remember why I was trying to be on guard.
Ethan isn’t the most expressive man there is, but I feel comfortable with that. His eyes and touch, his gestures, they say everything.
So far, he’s told me he loves me, has gone above and beyond for me, pampers me like there’s no tomorrow, and likes holding me and kissing me on my neck or cheek whenever he’s passing by me.
Is it any wonder that I find myself drawn to him?
He jumps to the ground. “So.” Grabbing a towel, he wipes off his sweat, watching me. “You don’t like the furniture?”
“I didn’t say that.”
