Prince

by Cambria Hebert

  The bathroom that was in this bedroom.

  I made a sound. “Is this your room?”

  Pausing, Ethan glanced back. “Of course.”

  “I slept in your bed last night?”

  He nodded.

  My fingers tightened around the warm mug. “Where did you sleep?”

  “Right next to you.” His eyes flicked to the wide empty spot that was indeed beside me. The same spot that smelled like Christmas.

  “Agh!” I gasped. “You should have left me on the couch!”

  Ethan scowled. “A couch is not a bed.”

  “It’s basically the same thing,” I kicked back.

  “What if you woke up in the middle of the night and felt confused?” he countered.

  I made a face.

  “Relax. I didn’t touch you except to take off the jacket. All we did was sleep.”

  I let out a relieved sigh, drinking more of the bitter coffee.

  “Think about what you want for breakfast, okay? You can tell Jane when we go downstairs.”

  “Who’s Jane?”

  “The house manager. She’ll make you whatever you want.”

  “I should be going,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward as I sat in his bed, talking about his house lady cooking for me as he stood there looking like… well, like that.

  Tossing the towel off his shoulders, Ethan’s hips rolled smoothly with his long strides as he prowled closer. Gulping, I gripped the coffee and stared as he bore down on me.

  “Don’t even think about running off while I’m in the shower, puppy.” His voice was low and commanding. His arms flexed on either side of me as he leaned in close. “Because if I think you will, I’ll have to drag you in the bathroom with me.”

  My mouth fell open. I closed it, but it fell open again. “I won’t.”

  Chuckling, Ethan pushed back, ruffling my hair with his palm. “After breakfast, I’ll drop you off at Ivory’s on my way to work.”

  “Are you sure?” I called after his retreating back.

  I can’t believe I’m sitting in his bed.

  “Positive. Neo’s waiting for you.”

  “Neo? How do you know?”

  “He came by last night, but you were already sleeping.”

  “Neo was here?” I questioned.

  He made another noise, which I took as an agreement. I was about to question more, but he stripped off his shirt with one full tug.

  His abs were just as defined as the rest of him.

  A surge of heat bloomed low in my stomach. I wondered what it would be like to drag my fingers over that smooth, taut skin covering those hard muscles.

  “If you keep staring like that, I’m gonna kiss you again.”

  I jolted, his words like a bucket of ice water. Ice water that did nothing to cool me down.

  Shy and completely incoherent, I turned away, fixing my eyes back on the view while taking another swig of the too-strong coffee.

  When I heard the faint echo of his shower, a small prick of disappointment filled me.

  I kind of wanted him to kiss me again.

  13

  Ethan

  * * *

  He was no longer in bed when I came out of the bathroom. Panic made my feet stumble as my eyes searched wildly around the big empty bed.

  He told me he wouldn’t run away… Putting him in bed with me was too much too soon. How could I put him in a room across the hall when he was curled into my neck like he really wanted to be there?

  Fuck. I really didn’t know what to do with myself right now. I was always so much more in control of my emotions. People never got to me like this.

  It didn’t matter that I knew I was being irrational. I still couldn’t get away from the anxiety coiling inside me, ready to strike like a cornered snake.

  “I’ve never seen a view like this. Not even at Ivory’s.”

  My whole body rotated toward his voice, and thrill and relief wared within me.

  “Fletch.” My voice was breathless.

  He seemed oblivious to everything he’d put me through, standing there in the oversized clothes, peering out the window like he was taking in every last detail.

  His hair was messier than usual, total bedhead, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled from sleep. One hand was holding the mug I’d given him, and the other was pressed against the glass.

  “I’ve lived here my entire life, and there is still so much to this city that I’ve never known.”

  Even though his words held sadness, my heart bloomed with tenderness and love. Before I knew I was moving, I was already at his side, not even glancing at the view because everything I wanted to see was right in front of me.

  “You grew up here?”

  He nodded, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye before shifting back to the glass. “In the Grimms.”

  “Have you ever been anywhere else?”

  He made a noise. “I haven’t even seen all of the city, and you think I’ve gone outside of it?”

  “Just curious,” I said, voice tender. “It’s okay.”

  He glanced at me again, this time his head turning with his eyes. I couldn’t help but smile and reach out for the wild hair falling across his forehead to push it back.

  “You wanna shower?” I asked, moving my eyes over his face, focusing on his lips a little longer than the rest of his features.

  He’d been so responsive last night. Even when he had only stared, I felt it.

  He shook his head.

  “You hungry?”

  His bottom lip disappeared under the top row of his teeth, and he nodded.

  “C’mon then,” I said, smiling softly when I heard him fall into step behind me. Following along like a little puppy.

  Instead of heading to the bedroom door, I veered left, making his footsteps stutter.

  Glancing back, I saw him standing there watching me with suspicion.

  “Isn’t the kitchen that way?” he asked, pointing to the bedroom door.

  “I have a stop to make first,” I replied, backtracking to gently wrap my hand around his wrist, tugging him along with me.

  He dug his feet into the floor, likely thinking I was tugging him into the bathroom. “I don’t want to shower. I just showered last night!” he fussed.

  I chuckled and led him into the walk-in closet, which was beside the bathroom.

  The second we crossed the threshold, automatic lights came on, an entire track around the ceiling and more in-cabinet lighting in the racks and shelves.

  The marble-topped island also glowed.

  “Whoa,” Fletch murmured, glancing around.

  Releasing his wrist, I took the half-finished coffee from his hand, setting it aside. “These are all your clothes?”

  “Most of them,” I said, going across the large space to a custom cabinet. “I keep some at the office too.”

  As I passed a floor-to-ceiling shelving unit, it lit up, showing off rows of shoes.

  Fletch made a sound and went to them, eyes eating up every pair. “These are sick!” he exclaimed.

  Frowning, I went to his side, staring at the black spiked sock neoprene sneakers Christian Louboutin sent me last year. They were brand new. I’d never worn them. The soles were bright red, as was the inside of the shoe.

  “Sick? Is there a flaw in the design?” I wondered, picking one up to study it. I didn’t find anything that would make them sick.

  Fletcher laughed. “Sick means I think they’re awesome.”

  I made a face. “Then why didn’t you just say you liked them?”

  “You use words I don’t know all the time,” he countered.

  “That’s hardly the same thing.”

  “Why not?” Fletch demanded.

  “Because my words actually mean what they’re supposed to mean. Sick means being ill, not awesome.”

  His chin jutted out stubbornly, and a glint came into his stare. “It can mean both.”

  How could I argue with that face? “Okay.” I agreed
. “You’ve taught me something.”

  Fletcher smiled as though he’d won some kind of prize, and my heart tumbled a little. Clearing my throat, I asked, “So you like these?”

  “You don’t?” he questioned, obviously shocked.

  I laughed lightly. “Yes, they’re very nice. But they’re too small.”

  “You couldn’t stretch them out?”

  One does not simply stretch out a thirteen-hundred-dollar pair of sneakers. But then I thought about the sneakers he had on last night and kicked off so easily in the bathroom. Glancing down at his feet, I said, “What size shoe do you wear?”

  Fletcher drew back a little, shuffling as if he were trying to pull his feet away to hide them. “I have shoes. They’re…” He made a face. “Hey, where are my shoes?”

  “You lost them?” I teased.

  He scowled, making me want to tease him more. “A lot of stuff happened yesterday. I—Oh! They’re in the bathroom.”

  “They seemed a little worn out. You were able to kick them off without even untying them.”

  “Oh, no, that’s ‘cause they’re too big. They’re Beau’s.”

  “Why are you wearing Beau’s shoes?”

  “He has more than one pair. He said he didn’t mind.”

  I sighed. Sometimes talking to him was like talking in circles. “I mean where are your shoes.”

  “Oh, they wore out. I haven’t got new ones yet.”

  “No wonder you trip all over the place. You don’t have proper shoes.” I scowled.

  Fletcher frowned. “My shoes are just fine.”

  “Put these on,” I demanded, shoving the shoe at him.

  He took it only because I pressed it into his middle, but he didn’t put it on. “Why?”

  “Because you need a pair.”

  “I can get my own shoes.”

  Stubborn. This puppy was stubborn.

  “You don’t need to because I’m giving you these.”

  “I don’t want them.” He shook his head.

  “You just said they were sick.”

  “Just because I like something doesn’t mean I want it.”

  Something inside me flared to life, possessiveness leaping up unexpectedly at his words as though we weren’t talking about shoes anymore but about us. “Are you rejecting me?”

  Shock rippled over his features, widening his eyes and slackening his jaw. The hair I’d pushed away from his face minutes ago was clinging to his forehead, almost threatening to shield him from view.

  At my hips, my hands clenched. The urge to haul him against me was so great I was also surprised.

  “I-I—” Fletcher stuttered.

  Blowing out a breath, I forced myself to chill. “I apologize. I didn’t bring you in here to argue over shoes.”

  Turning my back, I went to the cabinet I’d been heading for in the first place.

  “Why did you bring me in here?”

  Something in my heart lightened, hearing the curiosity in his voice and not any anger as if he wouldn’t punish me for my bad behavior. Oddly, that made me feel even worse.

  Opening the door, I pulled out a long horizontal rack filled with different-colored fabric. “Actually, I was hoping you would pick out my tie. Then when I wore it today, I would think of you when I looked down at it.”

  “Really?”

  I smiled. “Really.”

  Fletcher came forward, pushing the hair out of his face himself. His wide honey-colored eyes focused on all the ties between us. “You have a lot of ties.”

  “There’s more on the bottom row.” I pointed.

  Fletcher started poking through them. “Lots of different colors,” he murmured, still looking.

  “A man’s gotta make a statement.”

  Fletcher looked up, doe eyes hopeful. “Do you have one with Spider-Man?”

  I actually felt bad I didn’t. “‘Fraid not.”

  He made a face and went back to his choices. “This one!” he said, pulling out a hot-pink satin tie.

  “All right,” I said, taking it and going to put it on in the mirror.

  “Really?”

  I glanced at him in the reflection. “Didn’t think I’d wear it?”

  He pursed his lips. “I knew you would. You wear pink a lot.”

  “How would you know?” I quizzed.

  His lips folded in on themselves, and he turned back to the ties, busying himself with pushing the rack away. “I see you on TV sometimes.”

  I made a noise. “And what do you think of me wearing pink?”

  “Not many guys can pull it off. But you do. Just like a prince.”

  My fingers stalled in the middle of tying. Hands still at my neck, I spun. “What?”

  Fletcher’s cheeks reddened and his face dipped.

  “Fletcher,” I called, voice stern.

  His eyes popped up. “I said it makes you look like a prince.”

  I tried to keep my reaction smooth, simply nodding and turning back to finish tying the tie. Inside, my stomach was doing flips, and I was completely charmed.

  When I was finished with the tie, I grabbed a different sport jacket than the one I originally planned to wear. Instead of going with all black, I chose a slim-fit grey herringbone, pulling it on over the white dress shirt and black trousers. The pink tie was a nice choice.

  “All right, I’m finished. Let’s go eat so we can go,” I announced a moment later, heading past him for the door.

  “Ethan?” His small, hesitant voice stopped me. That tone would forever be my undoing.

  “What is it, puppy?” I asked, words gentle.

  “These really are too small for you?”

  Heartbeat erratic, I rotated, seeing him still holding the one shoe against his middle. Nodding casually, I replied, “Yeah. They were a gift from the designer, but they sent the wrong size. I wasn’t about to complain because it was thoughtful of them. So I just bought a pair in the correct size and wore those out to be photographed.”

  “Really?” Fletcher asked, listening intently.

  Smiling, I went back to the shoe rack, reaching up high to pull down an identical shoe to the one he held, just bigger. “See?”

  “You did all that for a picture?”

  “I get a lot of stuff sent to me by designers because they know that when I go out to events and things, I get photographed, and it’s good advertisement for them.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s okay.” I spoke gently, reaching up to smooth his hair. It was becoming a habit I didn’t want to break. “I’m sorry I got mad before. It’s just shoes. Don’t be upset.”

  Reaching down, I grasped the shoe still in his arms to tug it free, but his grip tightened. “Fletch?”

  “They’re my size.”

  I felt my brows rise. “Are they?”

  He nodded.

  “How do you know?”

  “I looked when you were putting on your tie.”

  This boy is going to be the death of me.

  “Don’t feel like you have to accept them. I just thought since I couldn’t use them, you might.”

  “If I wear them… when I look down, I will think of you.”

  I swallowed thickly, feeling the words he’d echoed back at me.

  Is this how he felt when I said that? What the hell will I do if I’m the only one who feels like this?

  Trying to breathe normally, trying to keep my composure, I grabbed the matching shoe from the rack and knelt in front of him.

  Despite Fletcher’s smaller size, his feet and hands were surprisingly large like he was indeed a puppy who had yet to grow into his paws.

  “Let’s see if they fit,” I said, holding out the shoe for his foot.

  Reluctantly, he slid it forward, allowing me to slip the sock-style sneaker over his foot. When I was finished, he stepped down, giving a little bounce on one foot.

  “I like the red.” His voice floated over my head.

  Making a sound, I reached up for the one he held, and this t
ime he gave it willingly.

  When it was on, I felt for his toes, making sure they really did fit and weren’t too big or small.

  Despite the black spikes, I was able to determine that these were in fact perfectly sized for his feet.

  “What do you think?” I asked, standing up.

  He bounced again and took a step. “They have real cushions inside!”

  Oh, baby, haven’t you ever had new, cushiony shoes before?

  “Comfortable, right?” was all I could manage to say.

  “We match now.” Fletcher beamed, lifting his foot like he needed to show me.

  It made me want to toss the Gucci loafers I had on into the trash and put on the sneakers, not caring at all that they didn’t go with my suit.

  “You sure it’s okay?” Fletcher asked, pulling his foot down.

  “I’m sure.” I promised, voice husky.

  Why did he make me like this? Why did everything about him make me want to spoil and protect him?

  “Thank you, Ethan.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, turning to flee. Enough was enough. “C’mon then,” I called out. “I think Jane is making pancakes.”

  “Pancakes!” he yelled. “I haven’t had those since Earth made them last Christmas!” he exclaimed, rushing past me and out the bedroom door before I could blink.

  I laughed as he raced down the stairs, all the while worried he was going to fall.

  What am I going to do with you? The thought from last night reappeared in my brain.

  “Is this heaven?” Fletcher’s excited exclamation carried from all the way in the kitchen. Jane’s tinkling laughter followed directly after.

  I smiled to myself, gazing down at the hot-pink tie.

  There was only one answer to that question that I could accept.

  Keep him.

  14

  Fletcher

  * * *

  The sweet flavor of maple syrup and cinnamon still clung to my lips and the roof of my mouth. The kind of breakfast Jane made for us was the kind I only ever saw on tv before. I think she might be an angel.

  They tried to tell me she wasn’t.

  Maybe they just didn’t know.

  But I did.

  No mere mortal made pancakes that good.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said, unbuckling the seat belt and reaching for the handle right after the Mercedes slid to a stop at the curb of Ivory’s building.