Addicted (Ethan Frost #2)(50)

We met my first week at Frost Industries—he and my other friends, Romeo (use his full name and suffer the consequences) and Zayn, are interns over in the lab while I’m in intellectual property. They were cool enough to let me sit with them the first week when the intellectual property interns were treating me like shit—an ongoing thing courtesy of Rick and his minions—because of my relationship with Ethan. During that time, the four of us really hit it off and we’ve spent pretty much every lunch hour together since. Except we usually do it on the other side of the cafeteria, where we have some small semblance of privacy.

Sitting up front makes me feel like I’m on display. Thanks to the other intellectual property interns, especially Rick, the whole company knows I’m dating Ethan. It’s not like we were hiding it—Ethan wouldn’t put up with even the appearance of that when I suggested it—but it’s not like I’m going out of my way to flaunt our relationship, either. After all, dating the boss never won anyone good favor.

What my illicit—or at least less than fully licit—relationship means is that I get a lot more attention than I like when I’m in Frost Industries’ common areas, which in turn is also the number one reason I prefer to sit in the most secluded, out-of-the-way section of the cafeteria we can find. The guys know that, so I’m confused as to why they’ve suddenly changed the rules.

“Austin?” I ask again, because he’s always been sort of the leader of our ragtag group.

Today, he doesn’t even bother looking at me, let alone answering my question. His behavior is strange enough that I look at Ro and Zayn to fill me in.

“The TV’s over here,” Ro tells me with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “It’s semi-finals for the World Cup today and he’s been glued to his cell phone, computer and that TV screen all day—he’s been down for like four different snacks this morning alone. It’s even why we’re eating lunch late today. He doesn’t want to miss the opening pitch.”

“It’s called a kickoff, you arsehole,” Austin tells him in his crisp British accent, eyes still glued to the large screen in the center of the cafeteria wall.

It isn’t the only TV in the cafeteria—there are twelve of them, all tuned to different news or sports stations. Right now, the same World Cup scene is playing across seven of them.

“I’ve never really understood the appeal of soccer,” I tell Ro, who nods surreptitiously. “I mean, I know the whole world loves it but I much prefer football.”

“Right? What’s the point of watching a bunch of skinny guys in short shorts chase a ball around a field?”

“Are you kidding me?” Austin finally yanks his attention away from the screen long enough to blast us with a glare so frigid I actually feel shivers sliding down my spine. “This is football, you wankers. And I don’t know what the hell you Yanks get from watching a bunch of fat men in skintight pants and motorcycle helmets run around after a pigskin! This is real football.”
[page]



“This is a toddler’s game. Any three-year-old could play it.” Zayn winks at me behind his hand as we all wait for the explosion.

It doesn’t take long.

“A toddler’s game? A toddler’s game? I’ll have you know this is the most sophisticated, most important, most interesting game in the whole fookin’ world!” The more indignant Austin gets, the heavier his accent becomes. “It’s not my fault that you have no appreciation for sports or sportsmanship or good, old-fashioned competition, but the rest of the world certainly does. More people watch this than the Olympics, for God’s sake!

“And not only that—”

Laughing, I reach across and put my hand over his mouth, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Not only that, soccer is super-exciting,” I tell him with mock enthusiasm. “It beats watching fishing and lawn bowling and it even beats going to the ballet if you squint at it hard enough.”

“Fishing? Lawn bowling?” He’s choking on his own indignation—or maybe that’s his tongue. Either way, it’s a sight to see. “Ballet!”

I can’t help it. No matter how hard I try to keep a straight face, it’s impossible to do it when Austin’s eyes are all but bugging out of his head. I start to laugh and seconds later Zayn and Ro join me.

“So, that’s what this is about? You guys are taking the piss out of me, then?” He watches us with narrowed eyes.

“I have no idea what that means, but it doesn’t sound like anything I’d want to be doing, so eeew, no. I am definitely not taking the piss out of you or anyone else.”

“He’s asking if you’re messing with him. It has nothing to do with what it sounds like.”

I glance behind me at the sound of Ethan’s voice, to find him standing only a few inches from my chair. “How did you get there without me noticing?”

“I believe you were too busy taking the piss out of Austin here to notice.” He grins at me, then leans down and drops a light kiss on my lips.

I freeze—I can’t help it. I feel like the whole cafeteria is staring at us, and when I go to glance around Ethan, it turns out I’m not that far off base. He’s definitely making a spectacle of the two of us.

“You want to join us, Ethan?” Ro invites, scooting over to make room on our side of the table. It’s an invitation that took some time in coming—for the first couple of weeks, the guys were so in awe of Ethan all they could do was trip over their own tongues when he showed up. Of course, it didn’t help that he spent a lot of his time glaring at them like they were competition. But eventually things smoothed out and I’m glad to see that those two weeks when we weren’t together haven’t altered the group dynamic.