Ethan finally cleared his throat. “Um. I think I’m gonna head to bed. You all right? Got everything you need?”
Disappointment briefly flickered across her face, but she camouflaged it like the professional she was. She smiled tightly.
“Yeah. I’m good. Night.”
She disappeared from the doorway. He listened to her steps padding down the hallway, the bedroom door shutting behind her.
* * *
—
GREY WOKE UP the next morning sweating and frustrated. Though the high-tech thermostat in her room read a cool sixty-eight degrees, she’d been tormented by a night of sexually charged anxiety dreams where she, unbearably aroused, had thrown herself repeatedly at a faceless man who was always just out of reach. She stretched out in the absurdly large California king bed and buried her face in the soft pillows, groaning, unsatisfied.
She rolled over and looked at her phone, which was so full of notifications that she had to scroll and scroll just to reach the end. Grey swiped open an Instagram DM from Kamilah, sent at 4 a.m. thanks to the time difference, which accosted her with caps and an army of exclamation points:
UM!!!!!!! EXPLAIN!!!!! NOW!!!!!
Kamilah had attached a post from a celebrity gossip account. Grey’s own face stared back at her, leaning out of her car window in front of Ethan’s gate.
SPOTTED: Poison Paradise’s Grey Brooks entering the elusive Ethan Atkins’s Pacific Palisades residence.
Grey sent back a shocked blushing face emoji, resisting the urge to click through and read the comments. Nothing good ever came from reading the comments.
Her phone buzzed immediately with Kamilah’s response.
omg don’t even. i leave for 5 minutes and you’re running around getting that a-list d.
without telling me!!!!
i’m sending you to friend jail.
Grey wrote back:
lmao
it’s not like that! we’re taking it slow.
i don’t want to jinx it. i’ll tell you everything soon. i promise!!!
She topped it off with an angel emoji and then threw her phone facedown on the bed. She didn’t feel right outright lying to Kamilah. Everything she said was technically true, but typing it out still gave her a curdled feeling in her stomach. Suddenly, she felt very, very alone.
She stilled and listened for signs that Ethan was up and about. No noise. She had been so focused on the night itself she hadn’t really thought about what would happen in the morning. Based on how unenthused he had seemed to spend time with her last night, she wasn’t holding out hope for sharing the crossword puzzle over eggs and mimosas. He probably wouldn’t care if she slipped out without saying goodbye.
He’d probably forgotten she was even here.
Grey rummaged through her overnight bag and was relieved to find she was able to assemble something resembling a normal outfit. She splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth, and finger-combed the knots out of her hair, smoothing it back into a messy bun.
After giving up the battle with Ethan’s complicated (and seemingly never-touched) espresso machine, Grey grabbed an apple out of his fridge and headed toward the front door. She paused. She hadn’t felt comfortable exploring the house the night before, but this might be the time to give herself a more thorough tour.
She left her bag in the kitchen and made her way down the hallway. First door on the right was Ethan’s office. Then a bathroom. Then her (“her”) room. Then, presumably, the master bedroom, door firmly closed. The next room was another bedroom: two twin beds, two desks. This must be where his kids stayed when they were with him. The room was immaculate, sparse, impersonal. It didn’t look like they were here very often.
By now she was on the opposite side of the house, around the other side of the pool. She slid open the glass door to reveal a huge state-of-the-art gym. What must have been tens of thousands of dollars of equipment stared back at her: treadmills, rowing machines, battle ropes, kettlebells, medicine balls, and enough free weights to train an army. Grey paused in front of a punching bag. If she got the role in Golden City, she would have to undergo months of stunt training. The idea was kind of exciting. She’d always wanted to learn how to fight, but aside from a handful of drop-in classes at Kamilah’s kickboxing gym over the years, she’d never pursued it seriously.
She gave the bag an experimental push. It swung back toward her and she stilled it, before putting her fists up hesitantly. She shuffled around the bag a few times, ducking and dodging, then swinging a fist. Pain shot through her knuckles and wrist.
“Ow! Fuck!” She shook out her arm. She heard laughter behind her and whirled around.
Ethan had slid open the door leading out to the pool, towel wrapped around his waist. Tiny droplets of water skated along his bare torso, mingling with the dusting of dark hair that covered his chest, and trailed invitingly down the center of his stomach. His hand moved to unwrap the towel and Grey’s eyes widened. He pulled it off to reveal…swim trunks. Of course. He wasn’t going to just whip it out. That would be insane.
He brought the towel up to his head and rubbed it vigorously over his dripping hair.
“You know you’re supposed to wear gloves with that, right?”
“I know, I just…I was just trying it out.” She tried to change the subject. “This place is amazing. I didn’t really peg you for such a gym rat.”
“Wow. Thanks,” he deadpanned, looking down at his naked torso almost self-consciously.
“No! I mean…you’re…you have…” she stammered.
When he’d landed The Lone Sentinel, the tabloids had obsessively documented his journey to pack thirty pounds of muscle onto the lean physique of his twenties. These days, he was obviously several years removed from the lifestyle of twice-daily workouts and optimized macronutrient meal plans, but his body still seemed to carry the memory of it. He looked solid and strong, with an added layer of softness to him that Grey found more appealing than overripe, bulging vascularity—not to mention the vanity that usually accompanied it. Though his six-pack from her Seventeen pinup was nowhere to be found, his arms and chest were broad and well defined. She’d been thinking about his arms a lot, actually, and seeing them bare and glistening with water droplets wasn’t helping.
After what felt like an eternity, he came to her rescue. “The studio sent it all over. When I was training for…well. You know.” He cleared his throat. “I wanted to just leave everything at my…at Nora’s, but she made me take it when I moved out. She only likes to use her scary Pilates machines anyway.” His eyes scanned over the room. “Honestly, I’m still expecting them to come take it all back any day now.”
He had a faraway, glazed expression. Grey tried to steer the conversation in a new direction.
“I’m up for this movie right now where I would have to do the whole boot camp thing, learn to fight, everything. At this point, I don’t think I’ll ever be able do a pull-up unless I’m getting paid for it.”
Ethan’s mouth twitched.
“Let’s see what you got, then. Put ’em up.”
“I thought I needed gloves.”
“We need to fix your form first. Bag comes later.”
You can fix my form anytime. Grey almost physically shook her head to knock that thought right out of it. She stepped her right leg back and put her fists up. Ethan leaned forward and, with a brush of his fingertips, guided her back elbow up until her fist was nearly touching her jaw.
“Hands protect your face. Always.”
He walked behind her.
“Keep your hips square.”
His featherlight touch on her hips nearly made her jump out of her skin. She shivered. Fuck. There was no way he hadn’t seen that. He stilled, but didn’t move his hands away. She might have been imagining it, but it felt like his pressure increased, gripping her tighter for a split second, before his hands disappeared.
When he spoke, his voice was thick.
“Good. Good start.”