Chapter 3
Ethan got there faster than I'd expected.
He came in, shoved the bag at me, and turned his head away, his eyes refusing to land anywhere near me.
Too bad his ears and neck had gone bright red, selling him out completely.
"I'll go change," I said.
"Okay," he replied.
"Go wait for me in the bedroom," I told him.
He didn't say a word.
Ethan stayed silent, but the rise and fall of his chest gave him away.
A whole year apart, and it looked like he hadn't gotten any sex at all, because he was blushing harder than he ever had when we were together.
I swallowed a laugh and practically skipped into the bathroom.
When I came out, Ethan was sitting on the edge of the bed with perfect posture.
White shirt, khakis, both pressed within an inch of their lives, and a face working so hard to look calm that it couldn't hide the shyness underneath. He had a strange, sweet, husband-material thing going on.
I wanted to tackle him.
But on second thought, even if he'd delivered himself to my door, I couldn't let him have it that easy.
Back then, Ethan had been the youngest star surgeon at Central City Hospital.
Not only was he insanely good at his job, but he had the kind of looks that could launch a celebrity career.
I'd been a sucker for a pretty face since I was a kid, and I liked a man who was good at things.
Ethan was basically walking right into my trap, all buffed up and irresistible.
Falling for him had been more natural than breathing.
To get him, I hung around the hospital every other day and engineered one "chance" run-in after another.
I finally landed him on sheer stubbornness.
And then?
Dating Ethan was like living with a robot.
He was busy and disciplined, both for real.
He didn't drink or smoke, and his schedule ran like a clock.
He got up at six every morning without fail, ran, hit the gym, and weighed his food to the gram.
The most ridiculous part was that even sex had to be scheduled ahead of time and carried out according to plan.
Sometimes I'd get worked up and try to climb him, and I got shot down every single time.
That damn stop-the-second-the-timer-goes-off restraint drove me out of my mind.
In the honeymoon phase, I put up with it.
As time went on, I blew up.
He couldn't meet my needs, and worse, he didn't seem to think I mattered much at all.
He loved his work. That part was real.
Ambition was fine.
But any time, anywhere, one call from the hospital and he would drop me and go.
I was a girl who wanted her boyfriend to fuss over her a little.
Who wanted to come in second forever?
Eventually, I broke up with him.
Ethan didn't try to stop me.
He said okay, and that was that.
I had been optional to him.
After that, as far as I was concerned, Ethan Cole was dead.
But now?
What kind of normal ex-boyfriend runs to his ex's apartment in the dead of night?
The tables had turned, so of course, I was going to make him squirm a little.
I walked up to Ethan and stood over him, looking down.
"Well? Do I look good?" I asked, teasing.
I'd already checked the fit in the bathroom mirror.
It wasn't going to bring down empires, but it was more than enough to get a man's blood up.
Ethan's reaction didn't disappoint.
His throat worked, and he got out a quiet "Mm," hanging onto what little composure he had left.
Too bad the hand fisted in my bedsheet had already sold him out.
I reached down, lifted his chin, and made him look at me.
"Want it?"
The bedroom was so quiet I could hear both of us breathing, and the air was thick enough to wring out.
Ethan gave a small nod, his throat moving hard.
His whole body pulled tight for a second, like a drawn bow.
I liked that reaction very much, which was exactly why I took a step back.
I smirked, keeping all the power in my hands. "Then you do exactly as I say."
He didn't argue.
"Take off your clothes," I ordered.