Page 23 of Paging Dr. Hart
He’s stunning.
“Tiffy?” he questions into the silence.
“It’s fine. Totally fine. Thanks.” My voice is too fast and too high.
“No problem.” The details of Ethan’s body are lost as he walks back to his room. His bed squeaks when he climbs in. “Good night, Tiffy. I hope you can get some sleep.”
“You too. Good night.” I calm my racing heart and then, as an afterthought, add, “Try not to snore too loud from your enormous head.”
Ethan’s laughter is the last thing I hear before I fall asleep.
18
The alarm goes off, jarring me awake. I could swear I fell asleep only a minute ago, but a peek at my clock tells me it’s been hours. I yawn and stretch, then remember where I am.
Cleveland. With Ethan.
Cocking my ear, I listen for him. Nothing. He must be awake, though, because the tantalizing smell of coffee wafts through the air. It’s the incentive I need to get up. A quick glance at Ethan’s bedroom shows that it’s empty. The bed has rumpled covers and tangled bed sheets.
Leaving my own neatly made bed, I go to the bathroom. As I brush my teeth and hair, I evaluate my reflection. Tired eyes, pale skin. I hadn’t slept well last night, plagued by nightmares. The details of my dreams are hazy, but I can guess what they were about.
Still in my PJs, I leave the bathroom and go down the short hallway. I halt at the entrance to the living room. Ethan’s there, dressed in his pajama pants. He has his shirt back on, which makes me relieved and disappointed all at once. Standing on one leg, he slowly kicks his other leg out in front of him. His hands are bent at the level of his chest, palms facing out. In slow motion, he pushes his hands out straight, keeping his palms flexed.
“What on earth are you doing?” I interrupt, unable to process what I’m seeing.
Without pausing, he responds, “I’m doing tai chi. It’s how I start every morning.”
“You’re kidding me.” My eyes track his every movement.
“Nope. That move I just did is called High Pat on Horse.” Ethan’s hands and legs shift slowly, like they’re in molasses. “This one is called Carry the Tiger.”
“Are you for real right now? You actually know tai chi?” I stare at him with disbelief.
“Totally serious.” Ethan lifts his chin. “I also have a black belt in karate, I’ve won mixed martial arts competitions, and I was an Eagle Scout, which is the highest level in Boy Scouts.” He flashes a cocky grin. “See? You’re learning all kinds of new things about me today.”
I ignore his boasting but must admit there’s a certain beauty to his motions. He has a graceful slinkiness that reminds me of Fred The Cat.
“When did you learn all of that?” Watching him makes me extra curious.
“Started martial arts and Boy Scouts when I was in elementary school and stuck with them all the way through high school. I’mloyallike that.” Ethan shoots an oddly intense look in my direction. “Didn’t learn tai chi until college, though.”
For a minute, I have a doubling of my vision, seeing the present and the past all at once. I’m standing in Mr. Chen’s kitchen, looking out of the sliding glass door, watching him perform these same poses on his tiny concrete balcony. Had I known that it was called tai chi back then? I can’t remember.
Bending low, Ethan gracefully extends one leg, balancing easily on the other. Then he rises with his arms outstretched, shifting them slowly up over his head. The pose makes his shirt cling to his chest. Something about how his body ripples with each movement catches my eye. My gaze shifts to watch how his muscles flex and extend in his upper arms.
Staring at Ethan does strange things to my breathing, making it faster and uneven. It’s like last night, by the bathroom, and later, when he turned on the light. I’m finding it difficult to look away from him. There’s a slow, sweet pulse growing within me, a swell of desire I don’t welcome. It alarms me to be so hyperaware of him. I wish I could turn off how my body is responding, just flip it off like a light switch.
To deflect from my arousal, I say stiffly, “Well, it looks silly.” I’m surprised when Ethan doesn’t rise to my bait. He just raises one eyebrow and gives me a disappointed look. Usually, a barb like that pushes other people away, maintaining my boundaries. I’m not sure how to handle an adversary who refuses to fight.
Ethan continues like I hadn’t just been spiteful to him. “How about you? Were you a Girl Scout? I bet you got a lot of badges.”
“You’d bet wrong then. I was not a Girl Scout. Afterschool activities weren’t exactly a big thing where I’m from unless you count fist fights by the bike racks.” I grimace, remembering one particular fight, hearing the crunch of a nose breaking, blood running over swollen knuckles, that flash of green eyes.
“I know how to play the piano a little,” I offer. “My neighbor downstairs, Mr. Chen, he taught me when I was a kid. I’m not very good, but I like it. The way music can transport you to far-off places.”
Ethan’s looking at me with great interest, standing still now. He seems to enjoy finding out these little details about me. Collecting them like seashells on the beach. Putting them into his pocket for later inspection.
It’s weird.
