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He releases a heavy sigh. “Right.”
Despite his daunting size, tattoos, and ability to snap me in two without breaking a sweat, Ricky is surprisingly gentle.
“I’m sorry. Had I known he was a complete piece of shit, I would’ve never let him in.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t know, and it doesn’t hurt.”
He raises my arm and assesses the scrapes around my elbow. “I’m gonna get you to stop saying that. You’re not always fine or okay. You’re too nice.”
I pull away, eager to escape this conversation.
I’m not the person I was before Hurricane Jackson, when I was a naïve pushover, and Emily did most of the talking for me. But even though I’ve learned to stick up for myself out of necessity, it’s still a struggle.
“Honestly, it wasn’t your fault. Kyle is an asshole.”
He makes a noise deep in his throat but, thankfully, doesn’t push the issue any further.
I rap on the apartment door, and Ethan answers almost immediately, having cleared our way with the doorman, and my body freezes. I want to go home. To Jackson.
Ricky places a hand on the small of my back, guiding me forward, and I focus on breathing slow and steady. He drops my bag and introduces himself, and I look anywhere but at the man who turned my world upside down.
Ethan’s barely lived-in apartment is modern and well-appointed, with monochromatic, clean lines and high-end furnishings. The most captivating feature is the floor-to-ceiling windows, which offer a panoramic view of downtown LA. It’s similar to Jackson’s nearby penthouse, though nowhere near as large. Still, it’s equally impressive.
Before he leaves, Ricky tells me to text him if I need him, and I nod, unable to speak. The door closes, and I’m left with Mr. Big Dick Married Guy, except he’s no longer married.
“Yeah, I’m not fond of him.” Ethan’s deep voice, filled with hostility, grabs my attention.
“Are you fond of anyone?” It slips from my mouth, but it’s an honest question.
He bites his lip and doesn’t answer, and I return to admiring his space.
“Sorry I haven’t got an oceanfront penthouse like your boyfriend.” There’s that bitterness again.
I cross the open living area to the kitchen, where he’s leaning against the counter, watching me.
“Oh, yes, because this downtown high-rise is truly awful. Is that a view of the Staples Center? How horrendous. How do you live with yourself?”
My tone drips with sarcasm, and his lips spread into a rare smile that reaches his eyes and shows off that dimple.
Fucking dimples.
“I see you still have that attitude.”
Ignoring his smart-ass comment, I glance around. “This isn’t what I expected. It doesn’t look like you.”
He tilts his head. “Oh yeah? And what do I look like?” The corner of his mouth tips up, and he runs his thumb over his bottom lip, as if trying to stop himself from smiling again.
In a white T-shirt and faded jeans with tousled hair and an unkempt beard, he’s as handsome as I remember, if not more. The laid-back style suits him.
Unlike this staged and untouched apartment.
I lean against the counter across from him, appraising his brooding demeanor. “Rough, impatient, and in need of sleep.”
I’m teasing but not exaggerating. Ethan’s hair is messy and overgrown, revealing adorable curls, and he has a scruffy beard, only adding to his rugged appeal.
He’s harsh and magnetic, and I’m drawn to him, but I also want to run out the door.
His gaze falls on my slightly swollen stomach, and he pushes away from the counter. He lifts me by the waist and plops me onto the granite island as if I am weightless.