Ethans Fal by Dee Palmer Read Free Book Online Page A

welcome respite to my constant numbness but no…nothing. That makes more sense. I am not his type and attraction is one thing, but love and passion strong enough to reignite some life into my empty soul…that isn’t going to be a one sided affair. I shake my head at my own cruel musing. To reignite something, you have to have at least the will to love again, and I am just not that stupid. My fire is long dead…nothing is bringing that back to life.
    Except maybe that God awful stench. Ethan has tipped the contents of his rucksack on to the bed, but not left it in a neat mountain of clothes that I could smell from the doorway. He has scattered the garments far and wide across the room. They look like they are trying to escape and judging by the pungent smell, they need to head straight for the bin not waste the journey to the washing machine. God, men are disgusting. I kick his stinky clothes back into a pile and hold a deep breath, I grab an armful and dash to the washing machine. I have over-loaded the drum and haven’t bothered to separate the colours. I spin the dial to boil wash. Let’s hope he doesn’t have anything delicate. You know what? Fuck him, let’s hope he does. Let’s hope his entire wash comes out dyed pink and shrunk small enough to fit Barbie’s Ken.
    His bedroom looks a little better now that the clothes are off the floor. I pull his bed covers flat, puff his pillows but that’s about it. The kitchen is a different story though. Sky really went all out with the oil. Every surface has a slick glossy sheen, and those that don’t are covered in a considerable layer of dust. This place must have been empty for a while. Sky had mentioned that Ethan lives in London, or maybe it was Kent, somewhere up country. He visits but never stays long. Looking round at the expensive fittings and unique original art work on the walls, it is pretty clear Ethan doesn’t rent this place out. No second home owner decorates to this standard. It’s normally Ikea or worse, functional but replaceable and inexpensive, because tourists aren’t so careful with the family china.
    Sky said he hasn’t been back for over a year, part of the reason she felt so comfortable bringing the guys back for some fun. I start to run the hot water into the bowl but after a good five minutes, it’s still icy cold. Great, with no hot water to cut through the grease this is going to take ages and a heap of boiling kettles and hard scrubbing. I decide to text Buddy to let him know I am running late, but I can’t find my phone in my bag. I’m just having the best day. It’s only a crappy, pay-as-you-go, but even as a semi hobo I need it for emergencies. I have about five numbers stored on it that I can, if pushed, remember, but still it’s irritating that I can’t find the damn thing. I spend the next twenty minutes doing as much as I can to clean the mess. Scooping handfuls of excess yellow oil directly into the bin and soaking up the rest with kitchen towels.
    It’s not great but it, at least, looks better than it did, and Ethan doesn’t strike me as the type to run his fingers along the shelves. From the state of his travel bag, hygiene doesn’t seem a priority at all. Swinging my own bag on my shoulder, I take a last cursory look around. It is a stunning apartment. The view as the sun dips low and catches the gentle waves…a million fiery sparkles dance on the horizon…just wow! Shame the owner is such a tool. I snicker and pull the door close until it clicks locked. Yeah, I could pick that lock, I think to myself, and my grin spreads a little wider. I think I have just found some alternate high season accommodation.
    Panting I dash straight behind the counter to grab the nearest bar apron, and start wrapping it round my waist. I kick my bag under the counter and look sheepishly at Buddy. He has just finished serving a patron, and he wipes his hands on the trademark towel he tucks in the front of is cargo shorts. He is a good