“I mean, if you were—”
“Please, don’t explain.” I smirked as the flush in his cheeks deepened. Something about watching Ethan’s usually unshakeable chill be, well, shaken, was amusing. “Really, there is no way to recover at this point.”
“You sure?” Ethan winced, rubbing the back of his head in that way he did when he wasn’t sure exactly what to do with something I’d said.
“Positive.” I snorted, leaning on the wall next to the door and watching him.
“Because I could keep digging.” Ethan’s laugh held a touch of nerves as he dropped his hand and eyed me. “Maybe my grave isn’t deep enough?”
“If you dig any deeper, you’ll hit sewer pipes.” I shook my head and caught bits of purple tinsel flashing in the bright hallway lights. “Put down the shovel.”
“In that case, come in,” Ethan said, intentionally stilting his speech so the staccato of his words could convey how awkward he felt.
“Now that I know you really don’t want me here, I will.” I turned to face him as he closed the door, then surveyed the room.
The layout was nearly identical to the room I was sharing with BamBam, but it felt completely different. For one, it was much neater than I’d expected. He and Buzzy had stored their suitcases upright in the little closet cubby, like they’d unpacked and actually put things away in the dressers that I’d always assumed were for show in hotels. The shared nightstand clearly delineated whose side of the room was whose. The bed closest to the window had to be Ethan’s, since there was a vintage-car magazine sitting on that bed’s side. On the bed itself was a small, bedraggled stuffie that might have once been a sheep or a cat; it wasn’t really clear which anymore.
“For the record, I never called you a bridge troll,” Ethan said, stepping around me and walking toward Buzzy’s nightstand. He opened a drawer and took out a jar of Vaseline.
“I’m pretty sure it was implied, given the situation.” I snickered.
Ethan followed my gaze to the bed. Frowning slightly at the stuffie, he said, “That isn’t mine. It’s Sophie’s.”
“I totally believe you.” I grinned. “Anything else you want to lie about?”
“Ah, you are impossible.” Ethan waved a hand at me, biting down on his bottom lip. He gestured with his head toward the bathroom. “Let’s do this in here. That way the maids can hose down the whole room if they need to.”
Ethan switched on the light and stepped into the cramped bathroom. He opened a large case sitting on one side of the sink and began digging around for something. Noticing me hovering in the doorway, he patted a space on the counter. “Can you sit here?”
“Okay.” The air in the bathroom felt still as I slipped behind him, doing my best not to brush against his body in the crowded space. I’d never been this alone with Ethan before. This close to him, with no distractions, I could see that his hair was starting to curl at the base of his neck. My fingers itched to trace the uneven edge of his hairline and feel the soft skin there. I clasped my hands together to keep from trying to touch anything I wasn’t supposed to.
“It’s easier if you are at eye level,” he explained over his shoulder. The sound of his voice, gentle against the whir of the bathroom fan, pulled my attention away from his hair.
“Right.” I exhaled shakily. I needed to pull it together. Even if I did have a tiny crush on him, I was literally covered in glitter. Worse, we were in a cramped hotel bathroom. In action movies, any romantic moments in a hotel bathroom were becausesomeone needed to have a bullet fished out of them. If that happened to either of us, it would be because one of our grandmas put it there.
After lifting myself onto the clear side of the counter, I crossed my ankles, letting my legs dangle as I watched him. Ethan began setting things on the surface, making sure they were all neatly lined up and visible as if he were arranging the different tools that he would need to work on a car. I’d seen him do this in his videos, but watching him do it for me felt more intimate. Like he was letting me see a secret.
“Ready?” Ethan turned to me, holding a cotton round covered in Vaseline. Nerves washed over me, and I nodded once. He stepped toward me. For a second, he just studied me, his brows knitted together in concentration, then relaxed. He set the cotton round down, then backed away, mumbling, “Actually. Hair tie.”
I exhaled and tried to force myself to relax as he moved back to the case. Why did I feel so nervous? Less than twenty minutes ago, I’d had my makeup done in front of one hundred people. Surely I could have it removed by one person.
Ethan pulled out a fuzzy purple scrunchie with a big bow attached to it. Stepping back toward me, he held up the hair tie and said, “May I?”
“Uh-huh.” I nodded. Ethan slowly reached for my hair, and I held my breath. I wasn’t accustomed to letting just anyone touch my hair, and not totally sure what to expect. Maybe something quick and perfunctory. That wasn’t this. His touch was gentle, almost reverent. As he gathered the strands together into aponytail, his fingers brushed against the nape of my neck, sending a tingle of pleasure across my skin. My scalp had that delicious stinging sensation as he worked his fingers loosely through my hair to brush it away from my face.
“That’s better.” I felt him pull my hair through the scrunchie; then he stepped back in front of me and smiled. I held my breath and closed my eyes, hoping to hide how much I was enjoying his touch and how disappointed I was to lose it.
I cleared my throat and reached for something to say. Anything to help me forget the feel of his hand on the sensitive part of my neck. Opening my eyes, I said, “So, where’d you learn to do this?”
The brightness in Ethan’s expression flickered, like someone had tried to dim the light in his smile. Belatedly, I remembered Emmie. She was always so put together. I had to be the densest person on earth. Of course he would have learned to do this from her. And of course he wouldn’t want to talk about it. Rushing to give him an out from my big, stupid mouth, I added, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. We could talk about why you have Sophie’s stuffie, if you’d like.”
“It’s okay.” He picked up the cotton round and avoided my gaze. “A little bit of everywhere. Emmie, mainly. But, around the time that we were together, Izzie got into makeup, so part of it was my sister talking about it, wanting to show me stuff. She’s in that phase where she doesn’t really want a big brother right now, so I kind of take what I can get from her. It’s clear she thought I was cooler when I was still dating Emmie, so she is back to ignoring me again. But Sophie still likes me so there is that.”
“I’m sure Izzie still likes you. She probably doesn’t want to like you at school, or around her friends, or alone, because she is fourteen.”
Ethan laughed, but it sounded hollow, and my heart ached. Without thinking, I pressed up against his arm. “I didn’t know you when you dated Emmie, but I think you’re pretty cool.”
“Careful. I might start to think we’re friends.” Reaching out his free hand, he tilted my chin toward him and took a step forward so my knee was resting low on his stomach. Leaning in, he dropped his voice and said, “Close your eyes.”
