Beautifully Destroyed (Beautifully Broken)

Then my eyes widen as Ethan comes out of the main bedroom. Shirtless.

Oh. My. God.

He’s rubbing a towel over his jaw. I must’ve caught him shaving.

Ethan stops dead in his tracks when he sees me, and we just stare at each other.

I can’t keep my eyes from dipping lower and running over his golden skin and the hard ridges of his abs.

The gray sweatpants hang low on his hips, and he’s barefoot.

And absolutely beautiful.

I know men aren’t supposed to be called beautiful, but I can’t think of another word for him.

“Shit. Sorry,” he says. “I thought you were my mom or dad. Give me a second.”

He rushes back into the bedroom, and I’m left standing with heated cheeks and a dry mouth.

Wow.

So, that just happened.

And I was okay with it.

My stomach is a fluttering mess, my heart skipping a beat.

I’m more than okay.

ETHAN

I change into my jeans, a t-shirt, and boots in record time, then dart out of my bedroom.

Finlay’s still standing in the same spot, a shy smile and a dimple in her cheek making my heartbeat speed up.

She has dimples.

Christ.

Her eyes sparkle, and her smile grows. “Sorry. I should’ve texted you.”

“No,” I exclaim a little too loudly. I quickly clear my throat. “This is a nice surprise.”

She glances down at her feet, and tucking her hands in her back pockets, she brings her stormy gaze back to mine. “I thought we could have that date today?” She shrugs. “If you want to.”

“I didn’t plan anything,” I mutter like an idiot, then realize what the hell I’m saying. “Yes. Of course. Yes.”

Fuck, dude. Get your act together.

She nods toward the door. “Want to walk around town?”

“Most of the stores are closed,” I mention.

“I know.”

I grab my jacket, and shrugging it on, I say, “Let’s go.”

Heading out of my place, I lock up behind me and pocket the keys. When we reach the beach, I glance at the Drakes’ house and wave at David, who’s watching us from the porch.

He waves back, then walks inside, probably just checking Finlay’s with me before continuing with his day.

Finlay’s with me.

The idiotic grin’s back in full force, and I couldn’t give two shits.

Holding my hand up between us, Finlay lets out a chuckle, then rests her palm against mine, linking our fingers.

“I’m not interrupting your plans?” she asks.

I’d drop anything for her.

“I was going to swing by my parents later this afternoon, but now that you’re here, that’s not happening,” I say, my tone light and teasing.

She turns her face to the houses we’re passing, trying to hide her happy smile from me.

“The first day of the year, and you want to spend it with me,” I sigh, making a blush creep up her neck. “I’m one lucky bastard.”

“Stop,” she laughs. “I hate blushing.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Oh my gosh, Ethan,” she pulls her hand free from mine and walks fast to put some distance between us, but not before I see the grin, the dimples, and her pink cheeks.

“Got to say those dimples are a nice surprise too,” I tease her, picking up my pace.

She shakes her head and breaks out into a run, her laughter echoing over the empty beach.

Darting after her, I quickly catch up, and wrapping an arm around her waist, I pull her off her feet, then spin us in a circle before putting her back down.

Placing my arm around her shoulders, I pull her into my side and press a kiss to her hair.

“Okay, where do you want to go?” I ask.

My lower back tingles as she wraps her arm around me. “Anywhere.”

We turn up the main street and glance at the folks cleaning up after last night’s celebrations. We keep walking, then turn up a side street.

I point up ahead. “That’s where I work.”

When we get close, Finlay pulls away from me, and cupping her hands around her eyes, she peeks inside the gym through the windows.

“Do you like working here?” she asks, turning to look at me.

I nod. “It feels like home.”

“How long have you worked here?” She moves closer to me, glancing around the area.

“I began helping out when I was sixteen, and after serving two years in the army, I started giving the self-defense lessons and private training sessions.”

“You served?” A frown forms on Finlay’s forehead. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

We continue walking down the street in the direction of my high school.

“When’s your birthday?” Finlay asks.

“November,” I answer, and when she raises an eyebrow at me, I add, “Seventh.” I reach for her hand, and lacing our fingers, I ask, “When’s yours?”

“January,” she grins at me, and when I lift an eyebrow, she chuckles, “Twenty-third.”

“You graduated this… no wait, new year. Last year, right?” I ask as we near my old high school.

“Yes.” She points at the school. “Is that where you went?”

I nod.

“Do you still have friends from school?”