“You wanna watch TV or something?” she asked.
Ethan shrugged. “Whatever you want.”
She picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels. An infomercial, a reality show, an old sitcom rerun. She was flipping so fast that she almost missed it: a baby-faced Ethan strutting down a high school hallway in a letterman’s jacket. It was his first starring role, the teen dramedy What’s Your Deal? He’d played the secretly sensitive jock who, despite dating the prom queen, found himself falling for the weird artsy girl (equally as gorgeous as the prom queen, of course, just with brown hair and glasses). Grey recognized it instantly.
“Nooooo,” Ethan groaned when he realized what she’d settled on. He leaned over to try to grab the remote out of her hand, but she held it out of reach, laughing.
“You said we could watch whatever I want!”
“Anything but this,” he grumbled, taking a long pull from his beer bottle.
“Come on, it’s one of my favorites.”
He turned to her. “Really?”
She felt her cheeks turn pink. “I mean, it was. When I was a kid. It was a big hit at sleepovers.”
“As if I didn’t feel old enough already,” he muttered, but she could tell he was holding back a smile. She thought he’d put up more of a fight, but he fell silent, taking another bite of his burger.
“When’s the last time you’ve seen this?” she asked.
He squinted. “The premiere? I think I may have even snuck out early. It was my first time watching myself on the big screen, I was so fucking uncomfortable.”
Grey mopped up the syrup on her plate with the last bite of waffle. “We can change it, if you want. I’m not trying to torture you.”
“It’s okay.” He didn’t sound very convincing, but it was enough to keep her from turning it off.
They moved their empty plates and trays to the side of the bed. On-screen, Ethan had approached his science teacher after class to ask her to switch his lab partner from Weird Girl to his cheerleader girlfriend. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to him, Weird Girl had been standing right behind him and fled the classroom, crying.
“Harsh,” commented Grey. Ethan snorted.
“Come on, she’s being a little dramatic.” They watched him hurry after her to apologize. “Look at that idiot,” he commented as a close-up of his face filled the screen. “I’m about to pop a blood vessel from all that emoting.”
Grey giggled. “You’re being too hard on yourself. You were still figuring it out.”
“God, I was so green. I remember the first week of shooting, it took me three takes just to hit my mark. Every single scene. It was humiliating. I thought they were going to fire me.”
The scene changed, and now the characters were partying by a lake. Screen-Ethan stripped off his shirt, revealing a gleaming six-pack, and jumped off a rock as his friends cheered.
“With that bod? They’d be crazy to let you go.” Grey thought she saw Ethan give her a split-second glance, but she must have been imagining it. He cupped his hand around his mouth and pretended to yell at his younger self.
“Enjoy it, man, it doesn’t last.”
She thought about telling him that, as much as the fantasy of his twentysomething body had contributed to her pubescent sexual awakening, it was nothing compared to its current incarnation, waxed six-pack or not. Especially now that she’d forever have the sense memory of him gathering her into his arms, his heartbeat racing against her shoulder as she rocked gently against the solid planes of his chest.
But, of course, she bit her tongue.
Ethan stood up to put the trays back on the cart and push it out the front door. When he returned, he had a fresh ice pack in his hand, which he gently exchanged with the one currently melting over her ankle. She swore that he lay back down a little closer to her this time, their hands inches from touching. She wanted to laugh. If only she could go back in time and tell her preteen self that her umpteen viewings of What’s Your Deal? would culminate in her watching it while lying next to the one and only Ethan Atkins, as he waited on her hand and (literal) foot.
As infuriating as he could be sometimes, she felt a pang of gratitude that, against all odds, she’d been given the opportunity to get to know him beyond the two-dimensional crush object of her youth. Especially now, as he sprawled out next to her, rumpled and relaxed. His leap to action to take care of her had temporarily fractured the barrier between them, as if all they needed was an external obstacle in order to forget why it was even there in the first place.
That familiar feeling washed over her again: not lust, exactly, though there was definitely an element of that. Appreciation? Affection? Whatever it was, it thrilled and frightened her in equal measure. She already knew he was attracted to her, but after tonight, there was no doubt in her mind that he cared about her, too.
They were so fucked.
* * *
—
ETHAN DIDN’T REMEMBER falling asleep. He remembered helping Grey get under the covers, swapping out her pile of pillows for a single one at the foot of the bed. After the movie ended, he’d intended to retreat to the sofa, drink three or four more beers, and pass out in front of the television. However, Grey had talked him into staying for the movie that had started immediately afterward, an action movie he’d loved as a kid. Okay, maybe she hadn’t had to talk him into it, just shot him a mildly pleading glance, and he’d not-so-reluctantly climbed back onto the bed.
He checked his phone blearily, his mouth sour and fuzzy—it was after 2 a.m. The lights and the television were still on, but Grey was fast asleep. He started to get up, gently, so as not to disturb her, but paused. She almost looked like a different person. She was so animated when awake, every fleeting emotion clearly telegraphed on her expressive face. Now, safe from her sharp and searching eyes, he took a long moment to fully savor the artful way her features were assembled: the angular jut of her nose, her overfull bottom lip, the curve of her cheekbone. One honey-blond curl had fallen over her cheek, and he resisted the urge to brush it away.
Slowly, as if it caused him physical pain, he roused himself from the bed. He turned off the television and made his way around the room, switching off the lights. As he flipped the final switch at the doorway, he heard Grey stir. Then her voice, soft, thick with sleep:
“Stay.”
He froze. He turned back to look at her, but the room was dark now. Her face was drowned in shadow, her eyes hidden.
He tried to clear his throat, but his response still came out in a rasp.
“What?”
Silence.
He paused for another moment, willing her to repeat herself with every fiber of his being. Nothing. Of course you fucking imagined it. She didn’t want him to stay. She was still asleep. She’d wanted his company because it would’ve been awkward for them to try to avoid each other in such close quarters. It didn’t mean anything.
He closed the door behind him and slunk back to the couch. He was too groggy to attempt to pull the bed out, so he shed his clothes, dug a pair of sweatpants out of his suitcase, and stretched out across the cushions.