The Unhoneymooners(38)

I put a hand on his arm. “You may be taking this a little too seriously.”

He grins over at me and winks so I can see he’s just having fun. Something flutters alive in my rib cage. Playful Ethan is the newest evolution in my traveling partner, and I am completely here for it.

? ? ?

“I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD have paid closer attention to the rules.” Ethan is panting at my side, mud-streaked and splattered with purple paint. We both are. Spoiler alert: paintball fucking hurts. “Is there a time limit for this game?” He pulls out his phone and starts Googling, groaning when the service is spotty.

I roll my head back against the wooden shelter and squint up into the sky. Our team’s original plan was to divide up and hide near the bunkers, assigning a few defenders to stay in the neutral territory and cover advancing attackers. I’m not really sure where that plan went wrong, but at some point there was an ill-advised ambush and there are only like four of us remaining. Everyone on the opposing team—including all the teenage shit-talkers—is still in.

Now Ethan and I are trapped behind a dilapidated wall, being hunted from all sides by children who are way more cutthroat than we expected. “Are they still out there?” I ask.

Ethan stretches to see over the barricade and immediately drops back down again. “Yeah.”

“How many?”

“I only saw two. I don’t think they know where we are.” He crawls to look out the other side and quickly gives up. “One of them is pretty far away, the other is just hanging out on the bridge. I say we wait. Someone will come by and draw his attention sooner or later, and we can run for that stand of trees over there.”

A few seconds pass, filled with the sound of distant screams and the occasional eruption of paintballs. This is about as far from the real world as I can imagine. I can’t believe I’m enjoying myself.

“Maybe we should try to outrun them,” I say. I don’t relish the thought of taking more paintballs to the ass, but it’s cold and damp where we’re hunkered, and my thighs are starting to do the shaky cramp dance. “We might be able to get away. You’re surprisingly not terrible at this.”

He glances at me and then squints back out to the woods. “You have the agility of a boulder. We should probably stay put.”

I reach out and kick him, tickled when he grunts in feigned pain.

Because we’re just squatting here, hiding from a group of aggressive pubescent boys, I’m tempted to strike up conversation, but hesitate, immediately second-guessing myself. Do I want to get to know Ethan? I used to think I already knew the most important thing about him—that he’s a judgmental dude who has a thing against curvy women eating high-calorie State Fair food. But I’ve also learned that:

1. He does something math-y for work.

2. To my knowledge, he’s had one girlfriend in the time since I first met him two and a half years ago.

3. He is very good at frowning (but also great at smiling).

4. He insists he doesn’t mind sharing food; he just does not eat at buffets.

5. He often takes his younger brother on expensive, adventurous trips.

The rest of the list slides into my thoughts, uninvited.

6. He’s actually hilarious.

7. He gets seasick.

8. He seems to be made of muscle; must confirm somehow that there are actual organs inside his torso.

9. He’s competitive but not in a scary way.

10. He can be exceedingly charming if bribed with a comfortable mattress.

11. He thinks I always look great.

12. He remembered my shirt from the third time we met.

13. From what I can tell, he has a nice penis in those pants.

Why am I thinking about Ethan’s penis? Super gross.

Obviously, I came here with what I thought was a pretty clear picture of who he was, but I have to admit that version seems to be crumbling.

“Well, since we’ve got some time to kill,” I say, and move from more of a squat to a sit, “can I ask you a totally personal and invasive question?”

He rubs at the spot on his leg. “If it means you won’t kick me again, yes.”

“What happened between you and Sophie? Also, how did you two happen in the first place? She is very . . . hmm, 90210. And you seem more . . .”

Ethan closes his eyes and then leans to look outside the barricade. “Maybe we should just run for it—”

I pull him back. “We have one more life each, and I’m using you as a human shield if we leave. Talk.”

He takes a deep breath and blows his cheeks out as he exhales. “We were together for about two years,” he says. “I was living in Chicago at the time, if you remember, and went to the Twin Cities to visit Dane. I stopped by his office and she worked in the same building. I saw her in the parking lot. She’d dropped a box full of papers, and I helped her pick them up.”

“That sounds like an incredibly clichéd beginning to a movie.”

To my surprise, he laughs at this.

“And you moved there?” I ask. “Just like that.”

“It wasn’t ‘just like that.’ ” He reaches to wipe some mud from his face, and I like the gesture, the way I can tell it comes from vulnerability during this conversation more than vanity. In a weird burst of awareness, I register this is the first time I’m really talking to Ethan. “It was after a few months, and I’d had a standing job offer in the Cities for a while. Once I was back in Minneapolis, we decided, you know, why not? It made sense to move in together.”