The shock from the realisation that he heard everything had me dropping my bag and my towel.

Go me.

You blubbering oaf, get your head in the game.

You gotta

Get'cha getcha getcha head in the game

We gotta

Get our, get our, get our-

Not high school musical you idiotic fuck. You're naked for Pete's sake!

Holy shit I am. Clearly, there's some lack of hand-eye coordination going on in that brain of mine.

I scramble to cover my dignity, while he continues to stand there, his face giving away nothing. The fact he's not looking me up and down like I'm a snack (or better yet, like the full course meal I am) makes me a little less nervous.

When I finally get my flustered self together, I look back at him, and he's still there as stoic as ever.

Well ok then. On one hand, I'm relieved. On the other, I'm wondering whether I really am that horrible to look at.

I turn around to call Rita and tell her that I'm coming to hers.

"You're staying here."

I turn around so fast I nearly give myself whiplash, "What?"

He stumbles over his words, clearly surprised with the words that just tumbled out his mouth, "I mean, you don't need to, but you're free to stay here. You know, since you're already here and all."

I cock an eyebrow at him, hands crossed in front of my chest.

"I can give you a shirt and stuff to sleep in and you can wear your spare clothes tomorrow," he elaborates, and I hesitate.

Is this another one of his tricks?

"I mean, it'd be easier for you?" he says with a questioning tone. Meanwhile, I wonder why my eyebrows aren't halfway up my head at this verbal diarrhoea.

Well... all right then? I nod slowly, "Yeah, all right, I'll stay. Thanks."

He nods too, and moves across the room to his wardrobe and pulls out one of his grey t-shirts.

Man, that shirt is fucking huge. If only it were black, you could look like a nun wearing it. Minus the head covering thing.

I silently agree with my head, for once. No need for pants then.

He hands it to me, along with a pair of socks I didn't notice him pick up. Which I really appreciate, my poor feet are always cold.

And let's be honest, those socks look nicer than anything you've bought in this past year. Despite the fact that they're green-screen green.

I take them gratefully (ignoring the voice at the back of my head asking me why in the world of decent taste would someone want to buy a pair of green socks?) and scurry back into the bathroom, taking my bag with me. I shut the door behind me quickly, locking it, and I rest my back against the door, letting all my towels drop. This time intentionally; I was too lazy to hold it up.

I get ready hastily and make my way down.

Making my way downtown walking fast

Faces pass and-

Nope. Not that song again. No thank you.

I bound down the stairs, my stomach pulling me towards the kitchen. Except then I slide at the base of the steps thanks to my oversized green socks.

"Oh fuck."

Everything happens in slow motion as my legs move forward following my sliding feet. My arms flail around in circles as my face contorts into a comical expression of fear. I see my life flash before my eyes as I begin my descent. The air begins escaping my lungs rapidly as if the molecules are afraid of the impending collision.

Then my arm manages to grab on to the stair rail and I catch myself ungracefully, my feet moving back to underneath me where they should be with a stomp. And all that happened in a good second and a half. Time resumes to moving at its regular pace and I hoist myself upright. I look down at my feet in dismay and wiggle my toes, wagging the sock along with it. I then yank the socks up by the end so that there's no excess sock left, although the heels now reach above my ankles.

We're both thinking your feet looks like the Grinch's here. And the fact that your last words were about to be 'oh fuck.'

Rolling my eyes, I ski towards the kitchen like nothing happened. Thankfully no one saw that. This shirt may reach my knees but with the show I just put on, I could've easily flashed the whole world my underwear.

No, they aren't super lacy, and they aren't a thong. And no, no one may see them but me. But they are black n cute. Hey, every girl likes feeling sexy when she looks in the mirror, don't even try denying it.

I finally go into the kitchen to be bombarded with the smell of lasagna. My mouth immediately begins watering as I see Ethan warming up two plates of the stuff. I involuntarily moan as my stomach rumbles for the food. It's probably the best thing I'm going to eat all week or even month.

Ethan's eyes snap up at my moan and he smirks, seemingly suppressing an actual smile as he sees my reaction.

Gazing at the lasagna, I wonder aloud, "Do you treat all the girls you bring home like this? Because if so, I would completely understand why you're always with them."

He just wiggles his eyebrows in response, the smirk still there, "I don't know about lasagna, they're usually too satiated after being with me to bother eating."

I gag, "Oh god. Oh no. Wow, thanks for telling me."

He winks with a cheeky grin, "Come on, you know you want to jump aboard the Ethan Beacon."

I look at him, flabbergasted at what just spurted from his mouth, and laugh. Like, proper laugh.

Yeah, that felt nice. We should do that more often.

I grin back at him, "I've got to concede, that was a good one."

He beams at me, revealing a dimple on his left cheek, "I know, I am a genius, aren't I?"

I look at him again, "Well that's-"

"Already common knowledge, you're right I don't need to repeat myself."

I laugh again, "Well all right then."

We sit at the table and dig in. In between devouring my portion, I look up at Ethan, curious, "Did you make this?"

He shakes his head, "My helper did."

I pause, "You live alone?"

He stops eating and nods, "Got emancipated when I was 15. My gran's the one supporting me right now, but I've found a way to help cover the bills."

"You mean your fighting, boxing thing?"

He nods once more.

"Ah, okay."

He watches me as I resume eating, with that ever-present questioning look, "So, who was that on the phone?"

It was my turn to stop and look at him, contemplating whether to tell him or not. I shrug, "My mother. And then her boyfriend Tony."

I guess that was it, in a nutshell. I look down, I feel like we've already delved too deep into this conversation. I shake my head as an indication I'm not saying anything more.

I feel his dark eyes on me, his expression one of guilt, "Sorry, I didn't mean to probe. Really."

I shake my head at him, "No don't worry about it, I understand you're curious. It's just they're real assholes."

He nods as if he understands. Then again, he's emancipated, maybe he does. "I mean, with a name like Tony, he's got to be an asshole."

I chuckle at that description; he is an asshole. A silence ensues while we finish up. I'm glad that didn't turn into a heart to heart there. Nice save, Ethan.

We put the plates in the dishwasher after, and I yawn.

Today was exhausting, "So, where am I sleeping?"

He looks at me as if I was daft, "With me, obviously. There's only one bedroom here."

I snort, "haha, great innuendo. But really, where am I sleeping?"

He rolls his eyes and reiterates, "With me, in my bed."

I frown, "But surely the couch is perfectly good?"

Then it was his turn to snort before he 'ah's' with realisation and says, "You do not want to sleep on that couch."

"And why is that?"

"Because. You just don't. I wouldn't even want to sleep on it."

"Why?"

"Because."

"I want an answer or I'm forcing you to sleep on it."

He guffaws, "it's my house and you're making the rules?"

I grin, "Of course."

"Fine, I'll tell you." He leans in closer, pausing for dramatics to build suspense, obviously. Noses almost touching, he whispers, "Because."

I scoff and glare at him, in turn making him smirk, he raises his hands in defeat and says, "Okay, okay fine. It's because I only ever take the girls I bring home on the couch, happy now? Now stop looking at me like you want to murder me and feed my entrails to the dogs."

I grin, but then gag, "Wait, I sat on that sofa. Also, does that mean no girl has ever been 'taken'," I stress by making speech marks with my hands, "in your bed?"

He nods, and I bite down a laugh. Well, that's something, I guess.

"I'm trying to decide whether that's some sort of kink or fetish or whether you're just too lazy to change your sheets."

"You're free to assume whatever you want. But... it leans more towards the latter."

I frown, "When's the last time you changed your sheets?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, "Two week's ago, I think."

I nod in response and yawn again, done with the conversation. I really am tired to wit's end. As long as it's clean.

"Okay then, I'm going to head up," I say. He grunts in response and I slowly make my way upstairs to brush my teeth, trying to ignore the niggling feeling whispering at the back of my head that he was watching me go.

Obviously, he'd be watching you go you doofus, the eye is attracted to movement.

Bending over once I'm in his room, I rummage through my bag on the floor again to find the small pouch of toiletries I always carry around. Finding it I go into his bathroom and pull out the little aeroplane toothbrush and toothpaste. I squeeze some into my toothbrush, wet it and stick it in my mouth. However then when I move to close the toothpaste I accidentally knock over the cap and it rolls under the sink.

I sigh, kneeling on all fours trying to find the thing. Unable to see anything because of the shadows, I come again, grab my phone off the counter and turn on the flash to find it at the back of the cabinet, against the wall. I grunt in irritation, reaching underneath to get it.

Stretch that scrawny little arm of yours. There, almost there. Grow goddamnit! Oh wait, we got it, it's all good.

When I get up triumphantly, I turn around to see Ethan walking into the room and head towards the bathroom where I'm standing too. I finish up and head back into the room to look at the bed. It's got to be a king-sized, which is great. I can just awkwardly sleep on one corner of the thing and not disturb anyone.

So I do just that and climb into his bed, cocooning myself in the huge blanket, my feet freezing, despite wearing green grinch socks. I always have cold feet.

He follows not long after and doesn't take too long climbing into bed, which was unfortunate for me because he looks amazing without a shirt on. We get comfortable on opposite sides of the bed and I stretch, yawning again before curling up into a foetal position.

I hear the duvet move as he shifts to turn off the lamp on his nightstand, plunging the room into darkness. A few slivers of moonlight filter through the curtains of the room, providing a little bit of light as my eyes adjust to the darkness.

"Goodnight," I whisper.

"Night," was the gruff reply.

I close my eyes, drifting off almost immediately.

Today was so energy consuming, how am I supposed to do this for a whole year.