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While I’m balancing Amy, he scoops her into his arms and carries her as though she weighs nothing. His football days are beyond him, but it’s obvious even in clothes covering his muscles, he still works out.
“Let’s get her inside before she pukes in my new garden.”
He punches a code into the door keypad, and I wait for him to step inside, then he says a command, and the lights turn on.
Fancy.
I head to the lounge, only he turns down a hallway.
“There’s a spare room on this level where she can sleep. The laundry is the second door on the right. Grab me a bucket, and the towels are in the cupboard.”
The laundry has black tiles from the floor to the ceiling and a white marble counter. Black cupboards line one wall, and a pot of green pothos vine cascades over the counter. It suits Ethan. All class. I grab the bucket and towels and dampen a washcloth. By the time I arrive in the bedroom, Ethan is fluffing the pillow under Amy’s head.
He places her heels in the corner of the room along with her clutch purse. He moves to the other side of the bed and climbs on the bed on all fours. “I’ll lift her head, and you place the towel underneath it.” I do it so some of the towel hangs over the side to protect the bedding in case she pukes again.
Positioning the bucket on the side of the bed near her head, I watch Ethan position Amy on her side.
I admire his efforts.
He moves off the bed and stands, hands on his hips. “We should get her some water.”
“You know she’s going to be pissed to wake up here in your house, right?” I try to say it gently.
His gaze remains on Amy. “Yeah. She saw straight through me when I was an ass.” His gaze flicks to mine. “Figure I could prove I’m not that guy anymore.”
I snort. “By risking your life with Amy’s wrath?”
He grins at me. “You monitor her, and I’ll fetch some filtered water.”
I sit on the bed and place the folded wet towel over Amy’s forehead. “I’m apologizing now because you’re going to be pissed off when you wake up.” I use the other damp cloth to wipe makeup from her eyes and face. “Don’t be too hard on him, okay? He really is trying to be a better guy.”
“Okay,” Ethan says as he enters the room. “I’ll leave this here beside her.” He places a glass and a jug by her bed. “Go. I’ll keep a watch.”
“All night?”
He shrugs, sits on the bed, then he stands again.
“Why are you really doing this?”
“I told you.” He rests a knee on the edge of the bed. “Okay, I haven’t forgotten that look.”
“What look?”
“When you don’t believe me.” He pats Amy’s leg. “A guy in my football team died after aspirating his vomit after a big night out with the boys.” He shakes his head. “You didn’t know him, and it happened while you were on your holiday.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” God, I’ve never seen Ethan so anxious. He swipes his dark hair out of his eyes—his dark eyes convey his emotion, and I can’t turn away.
“If one of us looked out for him, even kept him off his back, he might’ve lived. Ever since, I promised myself I’d never leave a mate if he was intoxicated and out of it.”
“Shit, Ethan. Amy will be impressed you consider her your mate.” I say it to lighten the conversation, but it doesn’t work.
“We all used to be mates.” His eyes meet mine, a pained look marring his face.
“You’ve gone through quite the transformation.”
He smiles. “A little too late, yet I’m grateful we can still be friends.”
“We will always be friends. Shit.” I spring off the bed when Amy raises her head and heaves. I grab the bucket and secure her hair from falling forward. “And she better be grateful tomorrow,” I joke.
