Worth the Wait
Sara Winters
Smashwords Edition
copyright Sara Winters 2011 All right reserved.
Cover photo copyright Francesco Cura | Dreamstime.com
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Marc had the game queued before Ethan's car had made it up the driveway. A minute after he'd made it to the front door, Marc had it open. An easy smile brightened his features. It had been nearly two years since the last time they'd set eyes on each other, but the other man's slim, muscular frame and shy smile hadn't changed a bit. Neither had the glint of mischief in his dark brown eyes.
“Davis, ready to get your ass kicked?”
Ethan hitched his duffel higher on his shoulder. His smile widened until it took over his face. “Bring it on, Guerrero. I'll make you whine again, in person this time.”
Laughing softly, Marc backed away and motioned the other man into the house. He turned, leading the way into the foyer. “I did not whine. I just can't believe you beat me that many times.”
“Believe it, son.” Ethan closed the door behind himself. “Video game boxing isn't like the real thing. I can beat you again without even trying.”
“Right, because you've got that sensor thing on your controller.”
Ethan laughed from deep in his chest. “It just enhances the game.” He patted Marc on the shoulder as he walked past him and down the steps into the living room. “It's not cheating.”
“You say that lie like you've practiced it.” Marc said, following quickly behind him.
Ethan turned and winked over his shoulder. “You've always been such a bad loser.” He turned his back to Marc. “The place is nice,” Ethan said, gesturing to the polished hard wood floors, high ceilings and floor to ceiling windows that filled the sunken living room with light. An overstuffed sofa and chairs, light brown tables and a large entertainment center completed the furnishings. Ethan went over to a table and ran a hand over a boxing trophy, one of Marc's souvenirs from his college years. “You really should've had more of these.”
Marc had tried not to, but he couldn't resist the urge. He had to sneak a quick look at the back view to see if Ethan still had a round butt that would be the envy of every pretty boy model vying for a shot at the big time. The loose denim shifted as he walked, hugging the curves just enough to give a hint of what was underneath: a tight waist that tapered to firm buns and long, muscular legs—the same build that had made Marc drool when they were roommates in college. This kind of vision was what wet dreams were made of. And why cold showers were often a necessity when he'd woken up across the room from Ethan.
“Oh, I see you've already got it up.”
Marc stopped breathing. Was he really that obvious?
Ethan placed his bag on the floor next to the sofa and began digging through it. He pulled out his video game controller and gestured with one hand towards the large TV in the corner. “Give me a minute to sync with your system and I'll give you yet another chance to earn back your title, Superman.”
Marc grinned at the dig. The nickname he'd been given the first year he'd competed as an amateur boxer never failed to elicit jokes from his friends. He'd heard everything from queries about where he kept his tights to digs about his stamina in bed. Though a knee injury had sidelined his career, he knew his upper body still had the deadly aim and swiftness of a speeding bullet that had kept his nickname a whispered oath on the lips of his opponents. That was why it stung when he'd lost to Ethan a record nine times in a row the last time they'd played online. The other man had joked that the Superman had finally found his kryptonite, the only one of their friends who could beat him. It was just a game, but Marc hated to think he was going soft. It especially rankled that he could be so easily beaten by a soccer player.
“Don't worry. I know that was just luck the last time,” Marc began. “I won't make fun of you too often when you lose to me today.” Ethan's affronted gasp made Marc smile even wider.
“I'm going to make you eat your words,” Ethan replied. He took off his jacket and motioned Marc closer with his controller.
***
An hour and eight games later, both men were breathing heavily, sweating and laughing as the image on screen danced in triumph. They'd split the matches evenly, with the last going to Ethan as he swung a right hook to knock Marc down for the fifth time. Marc sighed as the music changed and they waited for the next round to begin. “I don't know why you won't box with me for real. This could get a lot more interesting.”
“Maybe because I like my jaw.” Ethan smiled over at him. “I remember your right hook. I know better than to get in the ring with you. Then again, if your real boxing is anything like what you're doing on this thing,” he gestured to the TV and game system, “I'd hate to ruin that pretty face of yours. Didn't Josh always say you squandered your looks by only being with men?”
Marc laughed as he remembered. It was one thing to be “blessed with the prettiest face in North America” as their mutual friend used to say, it was another to not use his almond-shaped blue eyes, high cheekbones and thick black hair to lure every willing woman at USC into his bed. When Marc had explained to Josh that he couldn't care less what any woman thought, much less a drunk sorority pledge, the resulting shock had made the other man sober instantly. The news that he was homosexual had shocked all of his new friends. Except for Ethan. He had merely nodded and joked that the rest of them had less competition.
Marc watched Ethan lift his shirt to his face. Fat beads of sweat trickled down his abs. Spiky blond hair stuck to his head in thick clumps. Marc licked his lips as he watched Ethan wipe his face before dropping his shirt again. He forced his eyes up. Ethan was smiling again. The gesture made the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkle. “Besides, I like winning. And you're funny as hell when you're losing.”
“I have to let you win a few times or you'll accuse me of rigging the system,” he said.
“No, that's your deal,” Ethan responded.
Marc smiled. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
A silence settled between them, the kind of familiar pause that used to be a sign of how comfortable they were together. But with Ethan standing across from him for the first time in years, his for the weekend, the last thing Marc felt was a companionable ease. Things between them hadn't been tense for quite a while, but their relationship hadn't been as carefree as their early college days either. Marc put it down to that stupid drunken escapade that had him throwing himself at Ethan, desperate for more between them than shared study time and easy laughs. He'd broken Ethan's trust that day, and though he'd apologized his way back into the other man's good graces, Ethan never looked at him the same way again.