Chapter Five

Alex thought about Ethan Bower a lot over the following days. He even dreamt about him—hot, explicit fantasies that left him feeling aroused and confused. Ethan had got under his skin in a way that had never happened when he’d been the subject of Alex’s writing.

On Wednesday evening, he got home around seven and fixed himself a light dinner of grilled chicken and rice, before pulling his biography of Ethan off the shelf. With a glass of wine and his feet propped on the coffee table, he set about revisiting the past. The suspicion that he might have misjudged Ethan all those years ago and done him a disservice had bothered him since their meeting the past week.

An hour later he closed the book. No, he hadn’t been mistaken. As he’d skimmed through the chapters, his memory had been refreshed. The Ethan Bower he’d known at the time had been a brat—a spoiled, entitled little shit. Alex remembered an incident when he’d been shadowing Ethan at the training track. His job had been to sit on the side lines, unnoticed, and observe what was happening. What he’d seen had not been pretty. Ethan had ranted and sworn at his coaching team and belittled one of the groundkeepers when he’d failed to meet his required speed.

A small group of fans had been waiting at the gates, hoping for an autograph and selfie with their idol. Ethan had barged straight past them on his way out, elbowing one youngster aside without a glance, before jumping in his Audi and speeding off.

None of those details had made it into Alex’s book.

No, he concluded. He hadn’t misjudged him or written a biased, unfavourable account. If anything, he’d gone easy on Ethan, brushing over his more obnoxious qualities.

So, what had changed? Why was the man he’d met at the book launch so different from the prick he used to know?

Ethan’s career was over, for a start. Maybe being toppled from his perch had mellowed him. He was older too. A lot of people changed from their twenties to their thirties.

But such a major turnaround? Is that even possible?

It had occurred to him that the man he’d met in Manchester had not been an accurate reflection of his character. Most likely Ethan had been on his best behaviour. There had been a lot of press around that night and a slew of other sports stars, all of them more famous and successful than Ethan was now. His position had slipped, and he was no longer the big name he used to be. It came to all sporting heroes once the trophies and medals dried up.

Alex took another sip of wine, then grabbed his tablet from the coffee table. It was time to brush up his knowledge on Ethan’s post-athletic career. He entered his name into the search engine and scrolled through the results.

Ethan’s last few years of competition had been blighted by injuries. That much, Alex already knew. Hamstring problems had affected his performance on the track and a stress fracture of his right ankle had required surgery, from which he’d never seemed to recover. Ethan had been forced to retire at the age of thirty-four. That must have hurt more than the physical problems. Ethan was on record as saying he had hoped to compete one last time in the 2020 Olympics.

He had gone from hero to zero almost overnight.

Alex read on. It seemed Ethan had wasted no time in signing with a talent agency and had marketed himself as a celebrity for the last two years. He’d kept in with athletics as a commentator and pundit for major events, but on the whole, he’d mined a new career as a TV personality. He’d stood in as a co-host on The One Show a couple of times, as well as presenting regular holiday segments on a famous travel show. His biggest achievement to date had been coming first on the show Celebrity Top Cook.

He seems to be doing all right for himself, Alex mused, looking at photos of Ethan holding the Top Cook trophy. If that’s the path he’s chosen.

To Alex, it looked like a spectacular fall from glory—from Olympic gold medallist to cheesy cookery programmes. Surely Ethan could have forged a more satisfying retirement path in training and coaching, passing his knowledge and skills on to a new generation of sporting heroes. But that would mean caring about others. Maybe his ego was too grand to handle it, watching a new breed enjoy the kind of success he once had.

Maybe he hadn’t changed that much after all.

Maybe the shallow, self-serving celebrity culture suited him better than anything else.

Alex put down his tablet with a sigh. What difference did it make to him what Ethan Bower did? None. There would never be a second volume of that biography, that was for sure. And if there was, Alex wouldn’t be the one to write it. Some other aspiring author could enter that dragon’s den.

He took his glass to the kitchen for a small refill and grabbed a piece of cheese from the fridge. It looked like a beautiful evening outside, with the sun setting over the quay, creating a stunning vista of red, violet and deep purple across the water. Alex opened the door to his balcony and stepped out. From the seventh floor, he had a grand view across the waterfront.

He inhaled the cooling night air, grateful that within a huge, bustling city, he had this small, quiet retreat of his own.

Alex loved living in Salford. Though he’d been involved in several medium-to-long-term relationships while he’d been there, he had always lived alone. He had met no one he was prepared to share this with.

The apartment was entirely his own. One wall of the living room was lined with bookshelves, crammed with sporting biographies and guidebooks. He had the biggest TV he could find on the other wall, perfect for watching football, rugby, tennis, athletics—any sport at all. Alex wasn’t fussy, though football was his favourite. He worked hard, and when he came home on an evening or weekend, he enjoyed the luxury of doing his own things—not having to compromise on what to watch or bend to the will of a partner who hated sport.

He enjoyed company and dating and liked being in a relationship, but always with boundaries. This was his space, and he didn’t want to share it.

In that way he was no different to the Ethan Bower of old…selfish.

Alex laughed. No, there were few similarities between him and Ethan. He could never compare himself to that man. They were like chalk and cheese, different in every way.

So what if they were both single, gay, independent and they both liked sport?

Shit. Maybe they were more alike than he gave them credit for.

Alex sipped his wine and watched the sun dip below the horizon.

What is it with Ethan Bower? He couldn’t get the man out of his head. Why was he so fascinated by someone he’d previously dismissed as a complete arsehole?

Maybe it was a blip. When he saw him again the next weekend, Ethan would probably revert to his normal dickhead persona and the spell would be broken.

Maybe? Maybe not.

 

* * * *

 

Ethan maintained a steady pace as he ran down the public footpath, cutting across a large farm and between two fields filled with grazing lambs. It was a crisp morning with a clear blue sky. The rising sun had yet to imbue the landscape with any heat, though he knew it would be scorching in a few more hours. Ethan liked to get his run out of the way before things got too hot.

There were several routes he could take when leaving his coastal home, but this was his favourite. It was flatter than any of the others, which was good news for his ankle. His old injuries were well healed, but they could still cause considerable pain some days, especially on the more rugged trails. But today, everything was wonderful.

It was vital that Ethan take care of his body if he was going to be fit enough for Strictly. He didn’t know whether his ankle would be strong enough to cope with several months of intense dance training, but the more strengthening and conditioning he put in now, the better equipped his body would be to cope.

Ethan powered on, running over the farmland into the woodland beyond.

He tried to fit in a good run most mornings—anything between three to five miles, depending on what his schedule permitted. When working away, he always made sure his hotel had a gym and swimming pool so he could maintain his fitness. His body might not be at an Olympic standard anymore, but he was in a condition most other men his age would envy.

This morning’s run went by in a blur. Ethan had other things on his mind.

Mainly Alex Schaefer and what would happen when they saw each other again this weekend.

Alex was another, more short-term reason that Ethan wanted to be in peak fitness.

He didn’t know what would happen when they met in Gateshead, whether the spark of attraction they’d experienced in Manchester would still be there, but he was determined to look his best.

Alex hadn’t been far from his thoughts all week.

Ethan had discovered The Long Run, Alex’s weekly podcast, and had been working his way through the backlist of episodes on his daily jog. Alex’s voice in his ears provided a great motivator as he pounded the footpath—so sexy and deep. Alex was a warm and knowledgeable presenter, always well prepared for whatever subject he talked about. He also had great chemistry with his co-presenter Lanita. They sparked naturally off each other, and Ethan had laughed out loud several times when listening to them.

More embarrassingly, Alex’s sensual tones had provoked several unwanted erections while Ethan had been running. Thankfully, there were few people out on these trails at the time of day Ethan exercised to witness his hard cock bobbing around in his running shorts. One morning earlier in the week, he’d encountered a cyclist coming in the opposite direction and had to step off the track, feigning a cramp in his calf to conceal his hard-on.

The podcast had also given him an insight into the kind of man Alex was these days. Though the primary focus of each episode was sport-related, Alex and Lanita talked freely about their personal lives and their likes and dislikes. Alex enjoying listening to movie soundtracks and watching thrillers when he wasn’t caught up in football and rugby. He liked James Bond films and murder mysteries and hated romcoms and reality television. Ethan shared his ideals, though not about reality TV. The genre was a necessary evil when Ethan had wanted to start a new career in his mid-thirties. It was impossible to get ahead in the industry without embracing that merry-go-round and all it entailed.

Why did it matter what Alex Shaefer was into? It was unnerving how much time Ethan had spent thinking about him. He had a crush of the worst kind. Ethan couldn’t remember ever being into any man quite like this, not even when he’d been a teenager. Back then, Ethan had had complete control over his emotions and could suppress anything that might interfere with his sporting achievements.

Now the opposite appeared to be true.

His body was raging like a hormonal adolescent, and the only thing he could think about was Alex.

With perfect timing, the podcast ended just as Ethan returned home. The house was a renovated barn on the edge of a farm, with majestic views on all sides of the Northumberland countryside and the North Sea. Ethan entered by the back door and went straight to the kitchen. Panting, he grabbed the filter jug from the fridge and poured a cool glass of water.

Ethan lived alone, though he had a cleaner called Lynne who came in twice a week to keep on top of the place for him. The house was large enough for a family, but Ethan enjoyed having the space to himself.

After finishing his drink, he headed upstairs. His bedroom on the first floor had his favourite view in the whole house, an unrestricted view of the sea. As he stripped naked, he wondered what Alex would make of it. Would he appreciate the rugged coast and rural vistas, or was he purely a city boy, content among the dense traffic and heavy population?

He couldn’t help thinking about bringing Alex back here, up to this room—of having him spread out on the bed, primed and ready for sex, those stunning grey-blue eyes inviting Ethan to come closer, to do all the things he’d been thinking about, to wrap him in his arms and ravish that wonderful body.

Ethan’s cock sprang up stiff again. He laughed. He’d been nothing more than a walking hard-on all week. He gave the shaft a gentle stroke, running his fingers along the underside, tracing the veins and causing it to twitch.

He couldn’t wait to see Alex again this weekend. One way or another, he had to rid himself of this growing infatuation. Whether that meant fucking him or the two of them falling out again, he didn’t really care, if it broke this spell he was under.

He headed for the bathroom, intent on taking care of his more immediate problem.