Four months later
Ethan went home tired and pissed, and when he was like that nothing would look, feel, sound, or even smell right. The script reading hadn’t been as easy as he’d thought. He kicked off his Louis Vuitton leather shoes and threw his bag onto the couch, and shouted.
“Alex!”
He felt as though he was in a murky cave, as there was nothing but the soft muted light coming from the small bulb in the hall. Ethan turned to switch on the ones in the room. All right, that was much better. He called out again and still there was no answer. Huffing heavily, he dragged his steps to the kitchen.
There was Alex, shirtless, clad only in jeans and an apron, standing with his back towards the door. Ethan frowned.
“You didn’t answer—what are you—did I forget something?”
Alex still didn’t
