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“Did you want something?”
“Yes, I thought of your next challenge. This week, you have to tell one new person about your book.”
“That’s easy. I told you. Next.”
“Are you trying to cheat?” he asks, nailing it in one. “Someone else.”
I pout, and then I pout harder when it only makes him smile.
“Also, I’ve got steak for dinner. It’ll be ready in half an hour.”
“You’re assuming I haven’t eaten already.”
“Am I wrong?”
My stomach has already filed multiple complaints to the home office about the neglectful service, so when it grumbles loud enough for Sebastian to hear it, I only have myself to blame.
“Guess not.” And then he winks and walks out.
I rub my eyes. Past me really has some explaining to do. Help him buy the house, ask him for help. What could possibly go wrong?
It’s late by the time I venture out of my room, and although I don’t pass Sebastian on my way to the kitchen, he finds me there anyway, looking rumpled and oh so gorgeous in a navy T-shirt and sweatpants.
“You added to the wall,” he says, gesturing to what I wrote earlier today.It’s okay to try and try againsits underneath his original line, with theokayunderlined, mostly as a reminder to myself, but also to show him that what he said mattered to me.
“I did. Felt a little naughty doing it, but you were right.” It’s not about doing something wrong, but accepting that it doesn’t have to be a big deal.
My heart trips over itself when his gaze dips down to my lips. But then it’s back. “A big first step. I’m proud of you.”
“How do you do this? You finish your econ degree, turn down a six-figure job offer so you can stay close to your mom, work multiple jobs to save for a house, and have no problem walking away if someone has a problem with you.”
“Don’t forget stripping.”
Heat races to my cheeks. Not something I can forget, considering how many times I’ve imagined it.
“You make it look so easy.”
“I know the saying is usuallypractice makes perfect, but you already know how I feel about perfect.”
I do.
“Everyone else is allowed to mess up, but not you. Why?”
I hold myself to a higher standard. “It’s different.”
“I promise, it’s not.” Between the gentle rumble of his voice and the unwavering way he’s looking at me, he makes me want to believe. I know I need to work on being kinder to myself.
“Okay,” I start, gearing myself up.
It’s ridiculous to be nervous, and yet that doesn’t stop me. What is he thinking? I want to pluck the words out of the air and swallow them back down, but even the impulse embarrasses me. The reveal was so anticlimactic. What was I even worried about?
Pity. Judgment. Rejection.
“If I give you a few chapters, you can’t tell me when you’re reading them, and you can’t tell me if you hate it.”
“Bee, the point of this is to make you more comfortable with open honesty.”
I exhale long and slow, my heart in my throat.
