The Mighty Storm|| ethma

4

"Holy shit," Ethan exclaims, his lips shaping into a heart-breaking smile as he takes another step closer to me. "When Stuart said the name of the interviewer was Emma Chamberlain, I just thought – there can't be that many Emma Chamberlain's here in San Francisco can there? – I mean there probably is but –" He laughs. Surprising to me, he sounds a little nervous.

"But then I just thought it would be too much of a coincidence for it to be you ... and shit ... here you are."

"Here I am." Still echoing, sounding like some lame fucking parrot.

He comes over to me. Each stride he takes closer, my heart whams against my ribcage.

Then he stops in front of me, only inches away.

Holy crap, he's even more beautiful close up. And he's so much taller now than I remember, but then he was fourteen the last time I saw him in the flesh. He looks even better than he does on TV.

Wow, he really has grown up.

He's smells like of a mixture of cigarettes, aftershave, and mint. It's a surprisingly alluring smell, and it's doing all kinds of funny things to me.

"It's been what – eleven years?" he says, his voice quieter now.

"Twelve." I swallow.

"Twelve. Christ, yeah, right." He runs his hand through his hair. "You look different ... but the same – you know," he shrugs.

"I know," I smile. "You look different too." I gesture to the tattoos on his arms.

He grins down at them, then back at me.

"But still the same." I point my finger to the freckles on his nose.

Surprised by how much my fingers are itching to touch him, I draw my hand back.

He rubs his hand over his nose. "Yeah, no getting rid of them."

"I always liked them."

"Yeah, but you liked the Care Bears, Em."

I flush. I can't believe he remembers that.

It's crazy that he, Ethan Dolan, rock god extraordinaire, remembers that I liked the Care Bears when I was little.

"You remember that, huh?" I murmur, cheeks flaming.

"I remember a lot," he grins, devilishly. "Come on let's sit down."

He grabs hold of my hand. A jolt of electricity fires up my arm, searing into me. His hand is so rough, his fingers calloused. Must come from his years of playing the guitar.

Ethan leads me over to the plush sofa and sits down, letting go of my hand. My hand instantly feels cold.

I clutch hold of my bag and sit down beside him.

He turns his body toward me, resting his foot up onto his thigh. It's only then I realise his feet are bare.

Seriously, what is it about men in jeans and bare feet which is so totally hot?

I take my bag off my shoulder and put it to the floor.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asks.

I shift my legs toward him, turning my body slightly to face him. His eyes are already on my face.

I flush under his stare. "Water would be great, thanks."

I could actually do with a neat vodka right now to calm my nerves, my hangover suddenly disappearing. But it's 10am, and Ethan is a recovering alcoholic.