Chapter Four

Ethan watched Alex walk away and marvelled at the change in his attitude towards the man. He’d expected to be angry when he saw him again. Mentally, he had half prepared a grand speech he would make, giving Alex a piece of his mind, a little reminder that he’d neither forgiven nor forgotten his shitty book.

All that hostility had vanished when Alex had approached him. Ethan didn’t understand why it had just happened. He was still pissed off, but when Alex had appeared, he’d been glad to see him.

Alex was looking hot tonight—there was no denying that—but he’d always been a good-looking man. He’d never been Ethan’s type before, certainly not when they’d worked together, but something had changed. Whether that was Alex’s appearance or Ethan’s taste in men, he didn’t know.

Alex was two or three years older than Ethan was, so that would make him around thirty-eight now. His light blue-grey eyes hadn’t lost their twinkly sparkle. His dark hair was longer on top than Ethan remembered and thicker, swept back from his broad forehead. Maybe he’d had a hair transplant. That would account for the increased volume.

The dark two-to-three-day stubble suited him a lot. He’d even look hot with a full beard. He had the dark, sexy looks to pull it off. His frame seemed fuller these days, too. He’d been quite slender back then and must work out now. With that wide mouth and those chiselled cheek bones, he was a real stunner. Some men were fortunate and got better with age. Alex Shaefer was one of them.

Lucky sod.

Why did I ask him to meet me later? Ethan had no idea what had come over him at that moment, but as Alex had been about to leave, the question had burst out of him on impulse. He wanted to see the man again. After so long apart and all those years of passive hostility, Ethan didn’t want to end it with such a casual meeting.

I could have caught up with him next weekend, he remembered. Only he didn’t want to wait that long. He wanted to see more of him now. Tonight.

Which meant sticking around. His plans to blow this gig, go back to his hotel and watch a movie were forgotten.

Ethan was staying.

He ordered another drink.

Melanie caught up with him a few minutes later, an expression of extreme satisfaction on her face.

“I think we’ve done all we can here,” she said, her chest thrust forward. A huge diamond pendant sparkled in her cleavage. She played the part of mega-successful agent to the hilt. “Most of the journalists have gone. It’s just a few stragglers and fans waiting to get their books signed. Are you ready to split?”

“You go,” he said. “I intend to hang around. There are some people I want to catch up with. I’ll make my own way back to the hotel when I’m done.”

She stared at the vodka in his hand. “Okay, but watch what you’re doing. Don’t get drunk. More importantly, don’t get photographed getting drunk. One whiff of inappropriate behaviour and Strictly will cut you from that list of potential contestants. You’re too close to the prize to fuck it up now. Understand?”

He assured her that he did. “I’m going nowhere other than this hotel bar. No one is going to see me out and about.”

She pouted. Her top lip, swollen with fillers, had a duck-like appearance. “All right,” she said. “But I’m going to text you at midnight to make sure you’re back in your room.”

He blinked, not quite believing what he’d heard. “Are you serious?”

“You bet your arse I am. And you had better be serious, too. You have no idea the favours I’ve had to pull to get you on that long list. You cannot fuck it up now. So, watch the drinking, don’t stay out late and make sure you don’t get snapped doing anything you shouldn’t. I want you on that show, and I’m going to make it happen. No one will screw that up, not even you.” She leaned in for one of her air-kisses that fell far wide of the mark. “Goodnight. And if you don’t answer that text at midnight, I’ll come back here to drag you out.”

He laughed as she walked away. He’d often wondered why he’d hired her, but the answer was obvious. Melanie was as driven and dedicated as any athlete he’d ever known. She could be cutting and ruthless at times, and often harder than any of his coaches had been, but she got results. Melanie had landed him a regular commentator’s job at the BBC, and she’d also booked him on to Celebrity Top Cook, the hugely popular cookery show that he had gone on to win.

When he’d found himself prematurely retired at the age of thirty-four, Ethan had had few options open to him other than coaching. Melanie Porter had approached him with promises of all the media work she could secure. She’d offered to turn him from a sporting has-been to a TV personality, and up to now, all those promises had come true. Melanie had the golden touch. She’d pledged to get him onto Strictly, and Ethan had no doubt she would do it.

He trusted her, and though he sometimes put up an argument, he’d always done what she’d told him to do.

But tonight, there could be no harm in having a drink with Alex Shaefer, a half-hour chat with the man who’d written his life story. How could that ever harm his image?

There were around twenty people waiting in line for Fernando and Alex to sign their book. As all of them wanted a selfie with the star as well as an autograph, it would take some time to get through them. The book launch wasn’t open to the general public. The people in the queue were all competition winners from local radio stations. If they’d allowed regular football fans in, it would have taken them days to get through the signing.

Ethan left the function and headed to the hotel’s main bar.

It was much quieter there. A handful of guests from the book launch had spilled over, but he didn’t know any of them personally. A woman worked on her laptop in a quiet corner, while another man swiped through the screen on his phone. Ethan chose a leather sofa farthest away from anyone else. When Alex arrived, he wanted to have his full attention, with no distractions.

Ethan checked out the menu, and when a waiter came over, he ordered a large glass of malbec. He needed to slow down. If he stuck with vodka, he’d chug down two or three before Alex got here. Red wine was a slower drink. Throughout his running career, Ethan had barely touched alcohol at all. An occasional beer when he was on holiday had been his limit. Since retiring, he’d acquired a taste for the good stuff. Why shouldn’t I? he reasoned. He’d missed out on the wild years of the teens and early twenties which most kids got to enjoy. He deserved a treat or two now that it was over.

Ethan was halfway through the glass of wine when Alex appeared in the doorway of the bar. Something inside Ethan tightened at the sight of him. He didn’t understand the reaction he was having. Before he could process his feelings, he stood and waved Alex over.

Man, he looks good.

Alex approached with a confident gait, his shoulders back and a broad smile across his face.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here,” he said. “The signing took longer than I expected.”

“I saw the size of the queue, so I knew you’d be a while. I don’t have anywhere better to be right now, other than a date with a Netflix movie.”

“Are you staying in Manchester for long?” Alex asked, slipping off his jacket and taking a seat. He wore a plain white shirt. It was fairly tight-fitting, and it showed off the toned muscle of his chest and arms. Ethan couldn’t miss the hard points of his nipples beneath the fabric.

“Just one night. I’ll be heading back in the morning.”

“You didn’t come all this way just for this, did you?”

Ethan laughed. “Busted. I did exactly that.”

“How come?”

“To show support and solidarity with Fernando,” he lied. “He’s made history, coming out at the height of his playing career. He’s been so brave. I know it shouldn’t be a big deal in the modern world, but it is—in sport more than any other area of life. It’s fucked up.”

Alex fixed them with those potent eyes. “How was it for you? You’ve been out, what…about five or six years now?”

“About that, give or take. I had it easy, I suppose. I got a lot of support in the UK. You still hear the odd comment, especially in competition from rival countries. Sometimes I think we’re in a little protected bubble. We think we’ve come so far and people are so accepting, but homophobia remains rife. The bigots aren’t quite as public as they used to be, but they’re out there, still hating on us as much as ever.”

Alex grimaced. “I know. Fernando has made a tremendous impact, but it hasn’t all been positive. He showed me some of the hate mail he receives. There are tonnes of the stuff—death threats and people telling him they hope he dies of cancer. There are a lot of sick people in the world.”

The waiter returned to take Alex’s order.

“I haven’t had time to look at the menu,” he said. “What’s that you’re drinking?”

“Malbec,” Ethan answered.

“How is it?”

“Beautiful. I’ll have another one, please,” he said to the waiter.

“Sounds great,” Alex said. “I’ll have the same.”

The waiter nodded and left them alone.

Ethan realised his heart was beating fast. He was nervous. Because of Alex? That seemed crazy. And yet it was true.

Alex sat back in his chair, resting his forearms on the table, his nipples still hard and erect. In the soft light of the bar, he looked more handsome than ever. “So, what else is new?”

Ethan gazed into his wine glass, avoiding that impenetrable gaze. It was too intense. “Oh, this and that. A bit of TV, a bit of radio. I also do some coaching for the local athletics club.”

“Were you on MasterChef or something earlier this year?”

“Celebrity Top Cook.”

“That’s it. I don’t watch much reality TV, but I remember reading about it. I think it was in one of the Sunday papers.”

“I actually got commissioned to write a cookbook on the back of it. That’s one of the things I’m working on at the minute—putting together recipes and trying new things.”

“Wow. You have done well.”

“I won.”

Alex looked startled then embarrassed. The pink colour in his cheeks only made him more desirable. “Shit. Sorry. I genuinely didn’t know. I’m useless when it comes to anything but sports.”

“It’s not a problem. I was as surprised as anyone, believe me. Before going on the show, my cooking skills went no further than a grilled chicken breast and salad. I had no idea I could cook or had a natural aptitude for it. You never know what you’re going to enjoy until you try it.”

“I enjoy cooking but have a limited repertoire. When you’re on your own, there never seems much point in making a big meal.”

“A lot of people say that, but I always make the effort. Just because I’m by myself, there’s no reason to live off convenience stuff. I often make enough for two and it lasts me a couple of days.”

“I’ll look out for your book. I could do with some new ideas.”

Alex was single. Ethan had already established that. He wondered whether he’d be up for anything—maybe fooling around together. Those nipples were demanding attention right now.

Ethan was clueless when it came to hitting on someone. He relied on apps to get the small stuff out of the way. Whenever he met a guy for the first time, they both knew exactly what they were there for. When it came to meeting someone in person and asking them out, he had no idea how to do that.

As he enjoyed his drink, he also enjoyed Alex’s company, and Alex appeared to feel the same. Ethan berated himself for hating this guy for so long. Had they changed so much that it made the past irrelevant? He didn’t give a shit about that old biography, anyway. He doubted it was still in print. Why hold a grudge?

Alex chatted about his podcast, which Ethan had to admit he’d never listened to. That would change soon enough. As soon as he got home the next day, he planned to scope out a couple of episodes when he went for his daily run.

The whole time they spoke, his mind wandered to more intimate thoughts about Alex. What is he into? Is he a top, bottom or vers? He looks kind of versatile, but it’s never easy to tell. He wondered about the body beneath the clothes. Alex’s trousers and shirt were slim-fitting, showing a trim figure. What secrets are concealed beneath?

Alex suddenly checked his watch. “Oh, wow, it’s late. I need to get going. I’ve got an early start in the morning.” He picked up his glass and drained the last mouthful.

“Oh.” Just like that, it was over. Ethan checked the time. It was almost eleven, later than he’d thought, too.

Alex put on his jacket.

“Look,” Ethan said. “I’m really glad to meet you again. I know things weren’t so smooth in the past and I ran my mouth off about the book we did together.”

“Forget it.” Alex grinned. “It’s history. I’m glad to have met you too. I hope we can stay in touch going forward. I’ll be seeing you again next weekend, right?”

“For sure.” Ethan wasn’t about to take a chance. The tournament in Gateshead would be huge. They could easily miss each other. He pulled a business card out of his wallet and handed it over. “My mobile number is on there. Why don’t you send me a text, then we can stay in touch? Maybe arrange to meet up after the event.”

Those lovely eyes sparkled. “Thanks. I’ll text you from the taxi, then you’ll have my number too. I’d love to see you next week. Hopefully, we’ll have more time than we did tonight.”

Ethan was useless at reading signals, but that sounded like a clear invitation.

To what?

They’d have to wait and see.

This next week will be a long one.