Ethan Cross

That’s when I saw him. Ethan Cross, all six feet of him, standing by the squat rack. His back was to me, but I’d recognize those tattoos anywhere-curling up his arms, disappearing beneath the sleeves of his workout shirt. He’d always had this way of blending into the background, despite his presence being so… magnetic. I thought about just walking past, pretending I didn’t see him. After all, we weren’t hanging out anymore, not since highschool. Before I could leave, he turned, “Hey,”