Breakaway

4. I'll think about it.

Ryan 

Wedging the stack of boxes I was holding between my thigh and the wall, I fumbled around to unlock the door to Ethan's condo using the code he texted me. The lock slid open and I shoved the door open with my hip, the boxes dangerously close to tumbling. Ethan must have heard the commotion because he appeared and opened the door all the way, catching my cargo just as it started to fall.

He was wearing a fitted black t-shirt and charcoal athletic pants and somehow, he still looked hot. It was unfair that he looked so good in what basically amounted to sweats. Then again, with a body like his, almost anything would look good.

With limited success, I tried not to ogle him. It didn't help that he was even better looking than I'd remembered from our first meeting. I reminded myself what I had told Isabelle earlier: athletes aren't my type.

"Why didn't you text?" he scolded me, surveying the boxes I'd deposited in the hall. "I would have come down to help you unload these."

I shrugged, still breathless from dragging up the boxes from my car, to the elevator, and then down the hall. It hadn't occurred to me to ask. "I don't know. I didn't have much to bring up."

"Women," he sighed, biceps bulging against his sleeves as he carried the crates in. I mean, not that I was looking or anything. "Now I feel bad that I was sitting here on my ass while you were carrying up all of these boxes. Please, let me help you. I'll bring in the rest."

Ethan Russell, a gentleman? Who knew? At any rate, I wasn't turning down the help. After moving out of my mother's and then staying at Isabelle's temporarily before relocating here, I was sick of dragging these infernal boxes around. I was developing a bit of a cube phobia at this point.

As I waited, I surveyed the condo again and a small thrill ran through my body. I couldn't believe I would be living there. It was, by far, the nicest place I had ever lived. The living room had a view of the river and there was a round, oversized armchair in the corner; the perfect space to curl up with a good book and a mug of tea.

Ethan brought the final box upstairs and put it in my new bedroom. "Is that the last of it?" he called from the loft balcony that overlooked the living room.

"For now. I still need to go to IKEA and buy some actual furniture. I don't exactly have a bed or a dresser yet, or even a lamp," I explained, slightly embarrassed. I didn't need much before, living in the dorms. I'd only brought about 4 or 5 boxes with me: mostly clothes and smaller personal items. Ethan had a fully furnished condo and here I was, living like a bag lady.

Ethan checked his phone quickly as he came back downstairs. "It's only 3. Want to go now? I can drive; I have a truck that will fit everything. And then I can help you get all of the bigger stuff upstairs."

I smirked. "Oh, I know you have a truck. I remember it clearly from when you swooped in and stole my rightful parking spot."

"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?" he laughed. He had the most charming dimple in his right cheek that I hadn't noticed before. I needed to stop noticing these things, actually. Brains should come with some kind of mute button for details better left ignored.

"Probably not. But as for IKEA, don't feel obligated. I can find someone else to go with me if you have other things to do."

As nice as it would be to get to know him better, I also didn't want to impose. Especially if he felt like he had to help me; I hated asking people for help.

"No, it's fine," he insisted as he threw on a black zip-up hoodie. "I have practice at six tonight. I can help you put it all together after that."