“I don’t think I could have done a better job if I tried,” I finally said, exhausted. My car had hit his truck at the worst possible angle and the shell had been almost welded onto the tray. No wonder Ethan hadn’t been able to get it off. It had taken two of us and my tools to even get it loose.
“And now to see what I’ve got left.”
Over the next hour, I learned more about Ethan the man, and didn’t hate what I learned. As we worked together to carefully extract his belongings and piled them in the small living space of his townhouse, he told me each story.
From the old, dismantled bedframe that he’d purchased with his first paycheck just to tease his mother about leaving home, to the boxes of kitchen cookware that seemed out of place in a bachelor pad, but perfect for the grandson of their previous owner.
Ethan didn’t throw things out. He collected cars, furniture, clothes, books, and albums to remind him of people and events. Even a box of football jerseys held memories. I’d accidentally dropped it, the tape gave way and suddenly two dozen jumpers were strewn over the floor.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, righting the cardboard packing box and shoving the jerseys back inside. “I seem to break everything of yours that I touch.”
“It’s fine.” He picked up one that wouldn’t come close to fitting him. “Oh, I remember this. I was still trying to break into first grade.”
“When did you start playing rugby league?”
“Oh, I didn’t start with league.” Ethan’s shoulders relaxed and his face softened into a smile “My mother signed me up to play real football—you know, soccer—when I was about five or six. She thought with my height and speed, I’d be a natural.”
“You weren’t?” I tried to make sure my question didn’t sound like an attack. But some of my brother’s friends had dropped out of playing league when they didn’t have the bulk or body shape the game demanded at the level they wanted to play.
“Oh, I was good at soccer—as far as nine-year-old’s go. But I also played rugby league with my friends. Then I got to the age when both games were on at the same time and on different fields. I had to choose, so I broke my mother’s heart by choosing league.”
“So you wanted to play with your friends?” I paused folding his jerseys, wanting to hear more stories about young Ethan.
“My father watched league on tv and came to my games.”
I heard the unspoken words,he never came to watch me play soccer. How many of Ethan’s decisions were because of his father? I heard the love for his mother and assumed they had the same close relationship Campbell had with our mother. Ethan’s relationship with his father sounded more … complicated.
“Will we see him at your games down here?”
“No.”
There were years of pain in that one word but already I felt like a voyeur peering into his life without permission. Was there anything more intimate than helping someone unpack?
“Um, I think we’ve got the last of your stuff out of the truck.” I offered the pivot and immediately saw his face relax.
“Then the least I can do is offer you a drink.” He opened the small bar fridge to reveal empty shelves. “Okay,” he said with a deep sigh, and I wished he didn’t look so good raking his hand through his hair. Was it his seduction move? Because if so, it worked a treat. “Bottled water, straight from the plastic wrap.”
He tore open a 24-pack of bottled water and handed me a bottle. “Sorry I don’t have anything chilled.”
“Life of a bachelor?”
“Life of someone who has been trying to get his bearings in a new town. The sooner I get to know my team, the sooner I know what I’m working with.”
We leaned against the breakfast bar, drinking our water and I felt comfortable. He’d seen a number of the bands I liked in person, and he insisted I share my workout playlists. He knew enough about cars to hold a conversation and I knew enough about rugby league to hold my own.
The car accident might have gotten us off on the wrong foot, but we’d at least made it to friends. And then there were his eyes. Each time they drank me in, I sucked in my stomach a little tighter and wanted to play with my hair. I didn’t do that shit, usually. I wanted him to see me in my tightest, shortest shorts, not my baggy work overalls.
When I saw myself reflected in his eyes, I felt tingles and sparks and all the sort of chemistry crap I didn’t believe in from romance books. I was practical and responsible. I dealt with facts, and engines, and paint jobs. I didn’t believe in two people being drawn to each other.
But here we were. Whatever physical reaction I’d had to Ethan after the accident had been compounded because I liked him. I liked Ethan Cooper as a person and wanted him as a man. And that scared the hell out of me.
“I was an ass the other day. Sorry.”
“What?” We’d been talking about the duty of care football codes owed to their youngest talent as they made the leap to professional ranks. His apology and gentle hand over my arm came out of the blue.
“You want me to repeat it?” This time his flickering eyes found their mark and the butterflies in my stomach held their breath.
“No, I didn’t expect it.” I hoped he didn’t hear the high pitch in my voice or realize how flustered his apology and touch had made me. Trying to recover, I clasped his hand in place, I continued, “I’m sorry, too. The accident—I wasn’t thinking.”