Chapter Nine

After changing trains at Leeds, Alex was on his homeward journey to Manchester. It had gone ten o’clock, and the carriage was almost empty. He had intended to stay over longer with Ethan and enjoy a lazy morning before heading back, but the mood between them had changed and he’d wanted to get away as soon as possible. He hadn’t even troubled Ethan for a lift to the station, telling him to stay in bed while he phoned for a taxi.

How fast everything turned around.

Sunday had been a perfect day. Ethan had been a great host—warm, funny and charming. The food and drink he’d provided had been out of this world, and the sex that followed had been the best. Better than that. Amazing.

Afterwards, dressed only in their underpants, they’d enjoyed a glass of wine on the terrace again and watched the spectacular colours of the sky as the sun dipped towards the horizon. Nothing could have been more romantic. Alex had looked forward to spending the rest of the night in Ethan’s bed and the hot sex that was sure to follow.

He’d come to realise during the day that Ethan had changed. The spoiled kid had grown up to be a fine, considerate and adorable man. Alex had underestimated him. The eight years since he’d written his book had brought about a remarkable change for the better.

Then Ethan’s phone had rung.

It had just gone eight o’clock, and they had moved inside as the night turned cooler. Suitably refreshed, they were making a move towards the bedroom again.

When Ethan had realised the call was from his agent, he’d stopped what they were doing and answered it.

It was the news he’d been waiting for—confirmation that he was on the shortlist of names to be chosen for this year’s Strictly Come Dancing. He’d spent half an hour on the phone with his agent, as excited as a kid in a candy shop. Afterwards, it was all he’d wanted to talk about. Romance and the bedroom had been forgotten as he enthused about the competition and how great it would be for his profile, the opportunities and endorsements that would follow and how he’d be able to launch his cookery book on the back of the show. He’d be a household name again and was sure to get more high-profile presenting work out of it.

It was like a switch had been turned and the ruthless, single-minded kid was back.

Ambition had shone in his eyes and there had been something hard and unattractive about his smile.

Alex had realised then that Ethan hadn’t changed at all. He was after the prize and would do anything to get it.

Alex sighed and gazed out of the carriage window as fields and housing estates passed by.

He didn’t blame Ethan for his drive and determination. He was competitive, and that would never change. Alex blamed himself for believing Ethan was different now. He’d set his sights on him, and maybe he’d only seen what he wanted to see. He’d convinced himself Ethan had matured and changed his priorities, when the signs had all been there that he was as focused as ever.

Ethan had the house he’d always wanted. He’d entered Celebrity Top Cook and won. He’d wanted to be a sport commentator and was now a presenter for the BBC. Ethan Bower was the kind of man who knew what he wanted and did everything necessary to ensure he got it. Second best was not an option.

What kind of boyfriend would that make him?

The kind who would drop anyone and anything if it would benefit him or his career.

And that was not the kind of man for Alex.

When Alex had left that morning, things had appeared to have cooled off on both sides. With Ethan still in bed, they’d made a half-hearted promise to call each other sometime that week.

Alex wouldn’t hold his breath on Ethan making the first move—not now that he had Strictly in his sights.

Alex’s phone rang, breaking his reverie. Shit. He’d forgotten to put it on silent for the journey.

The ID showed that it was Lanita calling.

“Hey,” he said, answering quickly, his voice hushed. “Can’t talk right now. I’m on a train.”

“Congratulations,” she squealed, undeterred.

“Huh?” What is she talking about? She couldn’t know that he’d scored with Ethan. No one did, unless Ethan had shared the news already.

“Number one!” she cried. “Oh my God. How exciting? You must be ecstatic.”

The success of a podcast was marked in so many ways that Alex had never understood them all. It seemed The Long Run topped one poll or another every couple of weeks. “What are you on about? Did we win something?”

“Eh?” It was Lanita’s turn to sound confused. “What do you think I’m talking about? The number one non-fiction book this week is Playing with Pride. That’s brilliant news. And you’re, like, number four on the overall chart. Everyone says you’re bound to hit number one there by next weekend.”

“The book is number one?” he asked. The words barely sounded right as they came out of his mouth.

“Of course it is. What’s going on, babe? You sound like you didn’t know.”

“I didn’t,” he laughed. “When did this come out?”

“Oh my God, what are you like? Didn’t you see The Sunday Times yesterday? The book is this week’s bestseller.”

“Shit. No.” This must be what it’s like to win the lottery, he thought. A bizarre sense of disconnection. “I haven’t seen any newspapers.”

“I would have thought someone would have told you…your publisher or agent.”

“Maybe they did. I haven’t checked my email since Friday.”

“Only you could be number one and not have a flaming clue about it. Who doesn’t check their email? What have you been doing that’s more important?”

“The Gateshead athletics thing. I’ve been there all weekend. That’s why I’m on the train now. I’m just coming home.”

“Hang on. That was on Saturday. How come you stayed over Sunday?”

“I just did,” he said.

“Gateshead? What’s the attraction? Oh, just a minute. Ethan Bower. He lives in that neck of the woods, doesn’t he? Is that where you’ve been? Shacked up with Ethan?”

“I’ll tell you about it on Wednesday…if you behave.”

She laughed. “No wonder you didn’t have time for your email or the papers. I don’t blame you. I’d lose myself for a few days too if I had Ethan at my disposal.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“It always is. Well, I can’t wait to hear all about it. But I really just called to say well done. I’m so happy for you and Fernando. You deserve this so much. You both do. Congratulations. We’ll have another reason to go out and celebrate after the show this week.”

When he hung up on Lanita, Alex went straight to his email account to discover he had over two hundred unread messages. Scrolling through the subject headers, it became obvious that what Lanita had told him was true. Playing with Pride was the number one non-fiction bestseller for the last week.

Alex burst out laughing, drawing curious glances from some of the other passengers in the carriage.

Number one. Holy shit.

He might have been feeling glum about how things had turned out with Ethan, but this put it all in perspective. Let Ethan pursue those needy career goals if he had to. Alex had a huge success of his own to celebrate. He didn’t need Ethan Bower for that.

 

* * * *

 

Two days later, Ethan took his usual run through the woods. It was more important than ever for him to keep in good shape. No, great shape. If they chose him for this year’s Strictly line up, he wanted to give himself the best head start. It was against the rules to fit in some early dance lessons, and that would make him a cheat anyway, but he wanted to be at his physical best if—and when—he went on the show.

Melanie had sounded very confident each time he’d spoken to her this week. Ethan had no reasons to doubt her. Since taking over his career, she had delivered on all her promises. There was no reason to think she wouldn’t come through for him again. Ethan Bower, Strictly Come Dancing champion. It had a nice ring to it. And it would be another trophy to add to his considerable cabinet.

There was nothing better than winning. No way.

It surprised Ethan that he had heard nothing from Alex since he’d left the other morning. He’d thought they’d gotten along brilliantly over the weekend, but Alex had seemed to cool on him after Melanie’s call on Sunday night. Ethan had caught the way his eyes glazed over when he’d talked about his Strictly dreams. When Ethan had laid it all out and told him his hopes and plans for the future, Alex had smiled politely enough but offered very little encouragement.

What the hell is his problem?

Ethan thought he would have been pleased, but he’d looked like he couldn’t give a fuck.

He wondered if Alex was one of those guys who couldn’t handle it when something was going good for someone else. It would explain why they hadn’t gotten on so well at the time of his own book, when Ethan had been smashing records and winning golds, and why he’d softened towards him now, when he’d thought his career was over. Is that the kind of man he is? Jealous and insecure? Ethan didn’t know him well enough to be sure.

Or maybe sex was all he’d wanted, and once he’d gotten his rocks off, he’d lost interest.

He hadn’t struck Ethan as that kind of guy, either, but he’d never understood sexual politics or what made people tick.

It occurred to him, as he ran along the track that would lead him home, that he hadn’t been in touch with Alex either and that he was just as guilty of neglect. Except he’d had a lot going on that Monday, and after the way Alex had bolted before he was even fully awake, he supposed he’d wanted to cool things down.

Damn it. Why does it have to be so confusing? Trying to second-guess what the hell the guy wants.

Maybe Melanie was right. She didn’t know what had happened with Alex, but she’d repeated her warning about keeping his reputation squeaky clean. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to get into something with a new man, especially as neither of them was beating down the door to the other.

Ethan made it to the house without knowing how he’d got there. He’d been zoned out the whole way back, his mind occupied with thoughts of Alex, Strictly and his future prospects. Most people in their mid-thirties are sorted in their lives, both personal and professional. It must be unusual to be starting over in so many ways at his age.

He took off his shoes at the back door and went straight to the fridge. He poured a full glass of water from the filter and drained it in three gulps. He gasped. Better.

He ran his hands over his torso, glad to feel the firm muscle, paying extra attention to his waistline. No excess flab or softness there. He was keeping together nicely. Sometimes the contestants on Strictly could look chunky when they put on the skimpy dance costumes, especially in the early days of the competition. That would not be him. No way. He would be lean and strong from the outset.

Ethan grabbed his phone and headed upstairs. None of the messages were urgent. There were none from Alex or from Melanie. Damn. Just a few words from one of them would have brightened his mood.

He peeled off his running gear and tossed it all into the laundry basket. His housekeeper was due tomorrow and would take care of it all.

By the time he’d stepped out the shower and towelled off, his thoughts had returned to Alex. Things had seemed to be going so well between them until late on Sunday night. Should he be the bigger man about it and reach out to him or just let it go? If Alex wanted nothing more to do with him, that was his right. Ethan would not beg.

But he couldn’t deny he liked him—more than liked him. He hadn’t imagined it, either. Alex had been into him. He wasn’t wrong about how good things were.

Oh, fuck it. He had nothing to lose. If Alex blew him off, he’d be no worse off than he’d been before. Hadn’t he spent years disliking him?

Ethan grabbed his phone and flopped naked onto the bed. He couldn’t call him, that would seem too needy, but a text would break the ice and give Alex the opportunity to reconnect.

Now what the hell am I going to say?

With a sigh, he set about composing his message.