Page 22

CHAPTER 21

ETHAN

The door burst open like the house was under siege, slamming into the wall as Bell stumbled in carrying a giant box overflowing with loose vegetables and six reusable cloth shopping bags hooked over his shoulders. The veins in his forearms were popping from the weight of his haul, his cheeks were flushed, his blond hair windblown, and the look in his eyes was somewhere between pride and full-blown panic.

“Before you scold me, I already know,” he said breathlessly, kicking the door closed behind him and staggering toward the kitchen with enough food for us to survive a nuclear winter.

“Need help?”

He set the box down on the long island and dropped the bags next to it, letting out a moan and rubbing his shoulder. Even in obvious discomfort, he looked stupidly beautiful. A flushed and disheveled Bell was my favorite Bell.

“Shit, you didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” I dropped the remote onto the couch where I’d been sitting and crossed the room to stand behind him.

I gently nudged his hand away and took over massaging his right shoulder. “Nah, just sore from the bag straps digging into my skin.”

I hooked my fingers under the loose collar of his sweatshirt and carefully pulled it aside, revealing deep red welts crisscrossing his traps.

“Jesus, Bell,” I muttered. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?” I leaned forward to drop a gentle kiss on his angry skin, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with cold winter air.

One kiss turned into several, as I trailed my lips up the curve of his neck.

He moaned softly, his head tilting to give me better access as I pressed my front against his back. Without turning around, he lifted his arm and reached behind him, his fingers finding my hair and threading through it, tugging just enough to make my breath catch as I nibbled at the sensitive spot just below his ear.

“I love it when you kiss me there,” he whispered, his voice already rough with desire.

My hands slid around his waist, pulling him tighter against me. I rolled my hips against him, letting him feel how hard I was.

Bell pushed back, the friction making me groan against his skin. I rocked into him, trapping him between my body and the counter as my teeth grazed his earlobe.

My hands found their way beneath his sweatshirt, skimming over warm skin before dipping below the waistband of his sweatpants. I palmed him through his boxer briefs, feeling him swell beneath my touch.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his hips bucking into my hand.

I was about to suggest we forget the groceries and head to my bedroom when Bell’s hand closed around my wrist, stilling my movements.

“While I very much like where this is going,” he said, his voice strained as he leaned his head back against my shoulder, “there are four more boxes of food in the car.”

I groaned, dropping my forehead against the back of his head. “Tease,” I whispered, my voice fond.

Bell laughed, reaching around to squeeze my ass. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, turning his head slightly to drop a kiss near my temple. “I’ll let you fuck me as soon as we put all of this away.”

The promise in his voice made my dick twitch. “In that case,” I said, reluctantly stepping away from him, “What are we waiting for?”

Five minutes later, the entire island was covered with food.

“Were you planning on feeding the entire team?” I stared at the mountain of groceries overtaking my previously pristine kitchen.

“At least that would explain whatever just happened,” he said with a chuckle as he pulled three rotisserie chickens out of the box, set aside a brick of cheddar cheese the size of my head, and pushed a tub of tzatziki big enough to drown in off to the side.

As far as I could tell, there was no rhyme or reason to how he was sorting things.

I scanned the sheer quantity of food he’d purchased. As pro athletes, we ate a lot , but nothing like this.

“Remind me again how you decided to buy out a whole grocery store?”

“I think I blacked out in Costco.”

I snorted. “That would explain the gallon of olives, then.”

As far as I knew, Bell hated olives. I’d watched him pick them off pizza and flick them into the trash like they’d personally offended him. Hell, he once spent five solid minutes dissecting a Greek salad from the team chef, muttering under his breath the entire time something about travesties and poison.

Bell bumped his hip against mine, gently nudging me out of the way rather than asking me to move. I shifted automatically, my body responsive to his in a way that had become second nature.

“Miller was telling me about his cousin who works there.” He pushed his hair back with the back of his wrist, a bag of dried mangoes dangling from his fingers “They offer full benefits, plus they’re one of the last big retailers that hasn’t caved to Trump’s DEI fuckery.”

I raised a brow, impressed despite myself. It wasn’t that I didn’t follow politics, but Bell was a wonk. He listened to podcasts, had digital subscriptions to multiple news outlets, and was constantly telling me how the administration’s policies were actively harming the country.

“I’m talking a real commitment to inclusive workplace policies, living wages, and supplier diversity.”

“RIP Target,” I said dryly, watching him toss a comically large bag of Brussels sprouts onto the counter.

He reached for the cabinet above the sink just as I moved to grab a paper towel to wipe everything down. Without breaking stride, we performed an unconscious dance—his hand shifting left, my body leaning right—movements so synchronized it was as if we’d been sharing this kitchen for years instead of months. We moved together on the ice the same way.

He nodded solemnly. “You can’t profit off Pride collections for years and then abandon your LGBTQ commitments the second some billionaire bigot throws a tantrum on Fox News. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.”

When he pulled out a ten-pound pork shoulder, I shook my head in confusion. What was he thinking? “You do realize it’s just the two of us, right?”

He paused, sheepishly setting aside an eight-pack of ribeye steaks with beautiful marbling. “Which is why we’re having company.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Please tell me you didn’t invite the team over.”

“Nope.” He grinned, wholly unapologetic. “I ran into Marjorie when I pulled in, and I told her we’d feed her tonight. Figured she earned it after the ornaments she gave us.”

I lifted my head, my eyes seeking out our Christmas tree, bare still except for the two handmade porcelain hockey skates that she’d brought over yesterday, our names written in cursive along the blades. Something warm and unfamiliar settled in my chest. When I turned back to Bell, I caught him watching me, a knowing look in his eyes.

“I was thinking sautéed green beans—” he held up a bag that contained approximately five hundred of of them “—with that honey thyme butter you liked last time I made it. I also got potatoes I could roast, too.”

“Yeah,” I said, my voice thick with sudden warmth. “That sounds perfect.”

Bell was good with words of affirmation and praise for the people he cared about, but he also loved taking care of people, taking care of me . The way he remembered every off-hand comment I’d ever made about liking something or not was one of his love languages.

Without looking up from the steaks he was seasoning, he extended his hand. “Pass me the pepper grinder?”

I was already reaching for it before he finished his sentence, placing it in his palm with practiced ease.

He gave me a pleased smile, then reached for the vat of tzatziki again. “Also, I’m making some kind of appetizer, but I haven’t figured out what yet. I just know it’ll probably involve some peppers.”

“Any excuse to use that new mandolin, right?”

“I live dangerously.”

I leaned a hip against the counter, arms crossed. “You really like her, huh?”

He looked up. “Who, Marjorie?”

I nodded.

Bell smiled again, softer this time. “Yeah. She’s got that badass queer elder energy. Like, she’s seen it all, done it all, and doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks anymore. But she’s still kind. That’s rare.”

“She’s good people,” I agreed.

And maybe that was part of it—why it had been easy to let her in when I’d made an art of keeping others out.

Bell grabbed a cutting board and nudged me with his hip. “Go shower and then light the grill, old man. We’re about to get our steak on.”

“Insulting me while I’m the one responsible feeding you my meat feels like a bold move.”

His head snapped up, eyes widening before a slow, delighted grin spread across his face. “I’m sorry, but was that a dick joke ?”

I grunted and headed upstairs, feeling a smile tug at my lips as I went. I hadn’t got to fuck him, but this was good, too.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, I stepped out onto the patio, holding the platter of raw steaks.

Bell had already set the table, pulling out the good plates—the ones my sister had given me as a housewarming present when I bought this place seven years ago. He’d even unearthed cloth napkins from somewhere, though I couldn’t remember ever buying any, let alone knowing where they were stored. The glasses weren’t anything fancy—just the basic Pottery Barn set I’d picked up with a gift card I’d won in a white elephant gift exchange a couple of years ago—but he’d upped the elegance factor with unscented candles tucked inside hurricane lanterns to protect the flames from the breeze. The tall patio heater was already lit, casting a soft glow as it warmed the air.

I stood there for a second, just taking it all in. The domesticity of it. The care. Appreciation settled over me at how easily Bell had transformed my house into a home in the short time he’d lived here. How he’d unearthed things I’d forgotten I even owned.

What was I going to do if he ever wanted to leave?

I didn’t let myself sit with that thought for long. Instead, I headed for the grill and turned my focus to the steaks, waiting for the flames to work its magic.

A light wind rattled the bare branches of the oak tree in my backyard, and somewhere in the distance, a neighbor’s wind chimes sang a delicate, disorganized melody. From the house behind mine, came the deep baritone of a mariachi singer, punctuated by the gathered family’s laughter.

When the steaks were nearly done—a perfect medium rare—I heard Bell let out a satisfied sound that floated through the open window and slid down my spine.

I glanced toward the kitchen just as he lifted a spoonful of something to his mouth. He waggled his head like he was weighing whether it was good enough, then reached for the salt mill with a decisive nod.

The timer on my watch buzzed a few seconds later. I pulled the steaks from the grill and laid them on a platter, tenting the top with foil to let the meat rest.

When I stepped back inside, I was immediately greeted by the scent of Bell’s cooking—roasted garlic, honey-thyme butter, something tangy and herbaceous I couldn’t place but knew I’d want seconds of. My mouth instantly watered.

“I feel underdressed for all this,” I said, gesturing toward the patio.

He glanced up from where he was arranging appetizers on a platter, his expression immediately mischievous. “You’re in a Henley with the sleeves pushed up and gray joggers—totally fuckable.” His eyes slowly traveled the length of my frame, making a show of admiring what he saw.

I chuckled and shook my head. “Yeah, not sure that’s what I meant.”

He smirked, the dimple in his left cheek making an appearance. “Well, it’s what I meant. And I’m the one making this feast, so my opinion wins.”

Before I could tell him he was ridiculous, the doorbell rang.

“I got it,” I said, my lips twitching despite myself.

The shit that came out of his mouth sometimes.

Marjorie stood on the front steps in a wool coat the color of burnished copper and a hand-knitted beanie with a rainbow pom-pom that bobbed as she moved. Silver hair peeked out from beneath it, framing cheekbones flushed pink from the cold. She held a bottle of red wine in one hand and a small metal tin in the other.

“Evening,” she said, her voice warm and slightly husky. “Smells delicious.”

“Good timing,” I said, stepping aside to let her in.

She passed me the bottle. “Texas Hill Country Mourvèdre. A woman in my book club gave me a couple of bottles for Christmas.”

“I don’t drink wine all that often and probably couldn’t identify one grape versus another, but the label’s pretty. I’m sure it’s great.”

“I made cookies too.” She lifted the tin to show it off. “Brought extra in case that handsome young man’s sweet tooth is as bad as I suspect.”

“Probably worse,” I said, helping her out of her coat.

He was probably the only pro athlete on earth who considered sugar a major food group.

“Speaking of the devil,” she mused as he stepped out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

His face lit up when he spotted Marjorie. . “Well, if it isn’t our favorite neighbor,” he said, striding over to greet her.

I hung back, a shoulder propped against the wall, my fingers wrapped loosely around the bottle’s neck as I watched them interact. Bell was smiling down at her with genuine affection glittering in his eyes, and I felt my own smile forming slowly, almost reluctantly, until it settled there.

I found myself smiling a lot these days, certainly more than I had in years.

“Saying I’m your favorite neighbor isn’t the compliment you think it is when Roger’s a bit of a dick,” Marjorie told him, referring to the man who lived on the other side of me.

“Yes, but I like dick,” Bell teased, his sparkling eyes lifting briefly to meet mine before he settled them back on her.

“Thankfully, I do not,” she declared with a lift of her chin. “Though if I were forty years younger, you might’ve convinced me to give it a try. You’re very pretty, you know.”

Bell preened, flashing her a model-worthy smile and flipping his hair back over his shoulder. “Flattery will get you everywhere, darling,” he said, pointing at the tin in her hands. “And speaking of flattery, are those for me?”

Marjorie chuckled, clearly delighted by his theatrics, and handed it over. “Nothing fancy. Don’t tell your nutritionist.”

He popped the lid and peered inside. “I’m not technically allowed to eat these.” He grabbed one without hesitation and popped it into his mouth, his eyes briefly closing in a sign of bliss as he chewed. “But what Elizabeth doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” His gaze bounced to me. “And you’re not going to tell her.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” I told him, letting the grin I’d been fighting win.

“Good.” He tossed me a sly wink. “Come on, Marjorie. Everything’s set up out back, and now all I need is someone to tell me I’m a genius in the kitchen or I’ll get self-conscious.”

I pushed off the wall, my hand landing instinctively on the small of Bell’s back before I even realized what I was doing. My steps faltered and I dropped my arm, lingering behind my neighbor and my ... Boyfriend? Lover? Partner?

Suddenly, I was aware that I had no idea what to call him.

None of these labels seemed to capture what he’d come to mean to me.

All I knew was he’d carved out a space both in my heart and my home that was undeniably his.