Page 17 of Game Changer (Hidden Attractions #2)

Ethan

Now that it’s October, the scorching heat has begun to subside.

It’s in the low eighties during the day, which still isn’t ideal for me, but it’ll have to do.

Other guys hang around campus in tank tops and shorts that end at their midthigh, but me?

I’m in sweatpants and a sweatshirt year-round.

Needless to say, summer is my least favorite season, and I have no complaints about it ending.

I’m not sweating my balls off now on my walk back to the dorm. Leo and I got done eating at the dining hall, and with the sun already setting in the distance, the temperature is actually chilly . It’s enough to make me downright giddy.

“They need to work on their menu,” Leo says as we walk down the hall together. “I mean, come on. We’re college students, not prisoners.”

I roll my eyes. “The food was good, Leo. You’re being dramatic.

” Because the more time I spend in his company, the more I realize he’s kind of extra.

We’ve grown close over the past month, but with growing closer comes recognizing each other’s quirks and bad habits.

He’s funny as hell, but when something doesn’t go his way?

He acts like he’s a trust-fund baby cast into the wilderness for the first time.

We’re passing by Maya’s door when a flash of yellow catches my eye.

It’s a note taped to her door that reads: READY FOR A NIGHT OUT?

BOOK ME FOR THE SERVICES BELOW! A list of prices follows for a variety of services from manicures and pedicures to hair and makeup.

Her socials are listed for examples of her work, and the only thing I can do is smile at the note like an idiot.

I’m fucking proud of her for being such a go-getter.

She’s already working at Happy Endings on the weekends, and now she’s doing this as a side hustle? Where does she find the time?

Leo chuckles when he opens our door. “You’re a goner, buddy.”

“Leo, ninety percent of the time, I have no clue what the fuck you’re saying.”

He points at the note. “For her. It’s all over your face.”

“It is not.”

Maya opens the door, freezing when she sees us standing out here.

“Oh, hey. What are you up to?” She’s wearing a pair of tight leggings and a sports bra, and has a mat tucked beneath her arm.

It seems she’s still doing yoga, and I do not need to think about just how many positions she’s mastered.

Neither of us has spoken about that night a few weeks ago when we shared a moment of intimacy on opposite sides of a wall.

I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to call it, but I’m certainly not going to bring it up if she didn’t intend for me to listen to her. I won’t be a creep .

“Just looking at your door,” I reply, like a goddamn idiot.

Fucking hell .

You already are a creep .

“The note,” I quickly correct. “About your makeup services and stuff.”

Her lips twitch. “Do you want to book me?”

“What? No, I just—”

She laughs, and at the sound, words stall in my throat.

“I’m joking, Ethan. A lot of the girls around campus have been asking if I charge, so I figured, why not?

Make a few extra bucks while I’m at it.” She bites her lip, seeming to contemplate before she continues.

“Truthfully, it’s been a while since I’ve done anyone’s makeup. I’m nervous I’m going to fuck it up.”

Leo leans against our doorway with a grin I’m itching to smack off him. “I’m sure Ethan would be your test dummy. He’s got skin like a baby’s bottom.”

Maya furrows her brows. “Really?”

“Oh, totally. I caught him researching how to make homemade facials the other day.”

I’m going to kill him.

Slowly.

Painfully.

“I didn’t know you had such an interest in skincare,” she replies, with a sly grin of her own—a grin that lets me know she’s aware Leo’s lying. “But I wouldn’t ask that of you. Fragile masculinity and all.”

“You think I care about cultural standards?” I say it without thinking, and dammit, I hate how she makes me so quick at the mouth when I’m around her.

I want to be the guy who thinks rationally, but I’m beginning to slip more and more in her presence, which is why I’m following her into her room thirty seconds later, a cackling Leo in the background as she closes the door behind us.

“I can’t believe you’re offering to do this,” she says, setting the yoga mat on the floor.

I watch her go to her desk and get everything set up, loving how energetic and excited she is.

I’d do anything she asked me. That’s what she fails to realize.

Painting my face with makeup only scratches the surface of the things I’d gladly sign up for if it meant putting that smile on her face.

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” I lie. I’ve got three papers due by the end of next week, but this is better than sitting in a library for hours, that’s for sure.

She instructs me to sit on her bed, and after she squeezes some lotion into her hands, she steps between my legs and tilts my chin up. My eyes meet hers, but only for a second. The connection is too strong, too insufferable. I have to close my eyes to avoid it.

She wants to be friends.

Just friends.

Her fingers gently apply the product to my skin, and I hadn’t realized just how good her touch would feel. I’m buzzing from the attention, tilting my head back to grant her more access. It takes everything not to moan at her caress.

“You look good in a backward cap,” she says. Her voice is nearly a whisper. Almost as if she can sense the intimacy of this moment too.

“Bad hair day.” It’s supposed to be a joke, but I can hardly get the sentence out. Not when she’s standing between my thighs. Not when I can smell her intoxicating scent, and her lips are mere inches from mine.

If I’d known it’d feel like this to get my makeup done by her, I would have offered to be her test subject a long damn time ago.

“So, when are you going to open your own salon?” I ask. “After you graduate, I’m assuming?”

She freezes for a split second before she uses a weird sponge to dab a thicker cream into my skin. “That’s the dream, but it’s not what my parents want for me.”

“What do you mean? Why else would you be getting a degree in business?”

She shrugs. “Become a CEO, work in marketing, be an accountant. . . . Starting my own salon isn’t guaranteed success, and they’d rather I had a job that’d give me a stable income instead of taking a risk on something that might not.”

“Even if it’s what you love to do? What you’re passionate about?” I don’t know her parents, but I can’t help the anger that surfaces. “What was the point of going to cosmetology school, then?”

“To feed my interests. I can work a job on the side with it, but owning my own salon one day? Making it my full-time career? I’d have to convince my parents that owning my own salon would prove to be a success, and—” She shakes her head, darkness entering her eyes.

“It can’t happen. At least, not right now. ”

“But that’s not—”

“It is what it is, Ethan.” Her tone is firm; no room for discussion on this.

The last thing I want is to upset her, so I drop the subject and allow her to do as she pleases with my face.

I love watching her so focused and in her zone.

I love watching her do what she was born to do.

Cosmetology is her life. Running her own salon has been her dream since we met, and I know this because it was one of the first things she ever said to me.

She braided Maddie’s hair one day and I complimented it in front of her, and then she rambled about the different styles of braids she could do.

How becoming a cosmetologist so she could do everything under the sun was her goal.

And now she’s accomplished that goal, but it was all for nothing.

It doesn’t sit right with me.

“Has anyone booked yet?” I ask.

She grins while applying some sort of tan powder. “Actually, yeah! I’ve had three sign-ups already.”

“That’s incredible, Maya. I’m really proud of you.” I avert my gaze when her eyes soften, because the last thing I need is to start assuming things. Just because she’s giving me that look doesn’t mean she wants to be more than friends. She created a boundary, and I refuse to cross it.

I lean back on my hands to put more space between us, but all it does is expose my body to her. She’s still standing between my legs, and her eyes dart to my chest before she clears her throat and grabs an assortment of colored tubes from her desk. “Which color do you want?”

I tilt my head to the side, studying them. “For my lips?”

She nods.

“Pick whichever one you think will look best.”

With a decisive nod, she twists the cap off a dark red. “I know you’re going to kill me, but red is the hardest to apply. If I have you as my test subject, I’m going to make the most of it.”

“Have at it.”

I’m the perfect model for her. I sit still and don’t move a muscle until her task is complete. When she’s finished, she takes a step back with her arms crossed over her chest and studies her work.

Then, she tugs on her lip to in an attempt to stop laughing, but it’s no use. She erupts into a fit of giggles, and shakes her head in disbelief. “I didn’t think you’d actually let me do it.”

I can’t help but laugh with her. “Was it worth it, at least? How do I look?”

She grabs her phone from the band of her leggings. “You look so pretty, Ethan.”

“Oh god. That bad, huh?”

“I mean, I guess the only thing left to do is take a picture of my work.”

Before she has the chance, I grab her and flip her onto the mattress, laughing hysterically as she clutches the phone in her hand with a death grip.

I try to pry it away from her, but whatever yoga exercises she’s doing are paying off.

She flips me onto my back instead, and it isn’t until she snaps the picture that I realize she’s straddling me.

She looks perfect like this.

And it’s not even her body (which also looks extraordinarily perfect), but it’s the way she’s staring at me. Her pupils dilate and her chest heaves, and for a second, we’re transported back to that hot tub, with locked gazes that reveal more to each other than our mouths ever could.

“I’m—” She inhales sharply at my hardness between her thighs.

I’m a man who respects boundaries, but I am a man, and this position isn’t exactly innocent.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Ethan.” I’m a bundle of mixed emotions as she scrambles off my lap and passes me a wipe to take the makeup off.

Upset because I want her back on me, but relieved because if she had stayed on me another second longer, I would have done something reckless.

“Thank you,” she adds in a rushed voice. “For letting me practice on you.”

And because I’d do it all over again despite the agonizing throb this encounter brought to my chest, I reply, “You don’t have to apologize. I’ll be your test subject anytime.”