Page 8 of Writing On The Wall

I don’t want him figuringanythingout. From what Ember has told me, Ethan is the biggest snitch alive. I’m sure he’d just love the chance to pass along incriminating information to his brother, which means Ember will know I’m homeless, too. And I refuse to give my friend cause to worry or to risk a distraction during her beautiful wedding-planning season.

I’m still shuffling over to my car when Ethan hasthe audacity to wipe his face with the collar of his shirt, flashing a sliver of tanned skin. I stop to unlock the door, and his eyes move over me slowly, starting at my shoes and continuing up to map every inch of me with a narrowed gaze. His brow lowers as he shifts to scan the contents of my backseat.

“Why’s there so much stuff in your car?”

“Why’s there so little stuff in your head?”

“You know, Marsh, it would help if you at leasttriedto be civil. Seein’ as we’re going to be spending more time together.”

“Right.” I nod, opening the door and immediately shifting clothes and shoes over so I can climb inside. It’s very anti-climatic. “Let’s try to keep that to a minimum, shall we?”

I feel the satisfyingclunkonce I finally slam my door shut and bug my eyes with a tight smile before driving away.

Gah! Aggravating man!

The first time I met him, he basically called me stupid for wearing heels, and now he has the nerve to question the state of my car?

I can’t deal with Ethan’s lack of human decency on top of the turmoil in my personal life. He and his ego need to float on out, because the last thing I need is a man telling me all the things I’m doing wrong.

CHAPTER FIVE

ETHAN

I increase the speed on the treadmill, aiming to raise my heart rate with a sprint before the end of my run. Sparring with Colton is usually my preferred form of cardio, but he’s understandably busier than usual since getting engaged. My mouth curls with a smile as I think about how happy my brother is.

The machine’s whirring slows after I hit stop, and I wipe the sweat from my face and neck as I catch my breath. Then I turn at the high-pitched whispers from two college-aged women nearby.

“See, I told you it’s him!” I overhear as they cycle leisurely on their stationary bikes, unaware that I can see their reflections in the mirror. A series of arm swatting and elbowing ensues after they catch me glancing their way.

I guess I should get used to this happening more often if I plan on moving forward with the reality TV show thing. It’s a weird feeling, though, being recognized by strangers. I’m wiping down my treadmill when they walk over, each of them nudging the other forward.

“Hi…I’m Layla, this is Chloe…” The taller one nods her head to her friend and clears her throat. “We were wondering…are you…that guy from the morning show? The one that went viral ‘cause you made the hosts practically fall in love with you?”

I let out a small laugh, my chin dipping to my chest. But when I look up, ready to deliver my flirty response, I’m distracted by a flighty blonde speed walking into the gym. Layla and Chloe turn, noticing my attention has strayed, and Layla angles her body to block my view. “Is it true you might get your own show? You’re really hot, so you’d be a hit.” She smiles with a coy lift of her brow.

Yikes. Is this what’s in store for me? Women coming on to me purely because of my looks?That’s what men do ninety-nine percent of the time, dumb ass.

Right. I guess that’s true. And kind of sad. I frown, pouting my lips as I stare off to the side. I may be guilty of the same thing. This is turning into a wonderful moment of self-reflection.

My eyes return to the restrooms where Ivy’s disappeared. “Yup, that’s me. I’m not sure on the TV show part, though. Sorry ladies, I’ve gotta make a call.” I grimace, leaving Layla and Chloe looking a little confused. I’ll need to figure out a smoother way to get out of these situations when all I want to do is get in a quiet workout.

I’d actually planned on weight training today, too, but I don’t think I fancy working out with Ivy Marsh around, especially since it’s only a matter of time before I find her staring and willing my head to spontaneously combust. It’s best I steer clear of the sea witch, especially so early in the morning. And if the day goes well, I’ll avoid seeing her at school, too. I’ve had enough communication mishaps at The Adventure Project thisweek, dealing with suppliers who don’t speak the same language as I do. I don’t need another round of that when Ivy inevitably chooses to misinterpret something I say.

The other problem is that even when a conversation starts off civil, I can’t seem to help pushing her buttons.

I don’t even want to explore the reason for that.

Like she said, it’s best if Ivy and I keep our interactions to a minimum.

My phone rings as I’m preparing to walk out of the building, and I pause, only answering once I realize it’s the agent from the TV network.

“Hey, Glenn.”

“Ethan, you got a minute to chat?”

“Yeah, shoot.”

“Great. So I’ve been putting my feelers out, and even though there are plenty of renovation shows with couples, single ladies, moms and daughters—that kind of thing, if you can present a unique angle, I think we’ve got a good chance of you being picked up. We’ve gotta pitch you as a single guy, dripping with all that Southern charm.”

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