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I’m beginning to understand what being prey feels like.
At his curious expression, I ask again, waving toward the scribbles on the wall beside me.
There’s an army of little figures on our mess-up wall, all wearing hats and sunglasses and scarves, like a little crowd of out-of-towners. I keep trying to spot Waldo. It’s adorable.
“You said you needed a way to keep track of your progress, stay accountable while you work through the book. It’s ninety thousand words, right?” I nod. “So ninetypeople. You can color one in every time you reach a thousand. Figured it was more fun than a countdown.”
Tears prick my eyes. It’s… wonderful. Brilliant—I’d never have thought of it myself—and so sweet. I don’t even have the words.
Instead, I launch myself at Sebastian, wrapping him in a tight hug.
He smells like sweat and heat and something so deliciously him that I forget all the reasons I shouldn’t and bury my nose in his chest. Something between a huff and a sigh rumbles through him, his grip snug around me. Maybe he needs this as much as I do.
It’s easy to squeeze my appreciation into him, as if there’s a way I can mark it on his body like another one of his tattoos. Easier to stay when he presses his lips to my hair, splays his fingers across my back and breathes me in.
The first row of stick figures gets colored in while Sebastian is at work. It feels a little like a distraction, another way of avoiding my writing, but then I’m racing to my laptop to write down an idea before it fades. It’s only after six hundred words that I realize I was halfway through making another pot of coffee and, oh yeah, it’s ten a.m. and I haven’t had breakfast again.
I text Morgan a photo of it while I make a sandwich, and I’ve doubled my word count by the time hercutecomes through. I’m not sure what to make of it. She’s usually more verbose, but she’s at work, and I know she can’t always respond.
It’s been more difficult to hang out with her than I expected when I moved back. Buying the house wasn’t planned, and Morgan has made it known several times that she misses our nights out. But between the mortgage and the book, I’ve been enjoying a quieter lifestyle. Where once I wouldn’t have batted an eye at spending a couple hundred bucks on drinks in a night, now I’d rather shop for a rug or maybe buy Sebastian a proper frying pan.
But I do miss Morgan, and I’m worried I’ve gotten as distracted from our friendship as I can get with everything else. I’ve invited her around a few times, but ended up at her place instead, which is fair. Morgan is as much a creature of habit as I am, and work has been hard for her lately. If she isn’t comfortable venting in front of Sebastian, I can completely understand that.
I’m still working on that myself.
By the time I hear Sebastian’s footsteps down the hall, two more people have gotten colored in, and there’s a load of laundry rumbling in the washer.
I may have also given the shower a complete scrub, but come on, it’s Thursday. That’s just part of my routine.
What isn’t is the sound of rushing water. I’m on my feet and only steps behind Sebastian when we get to the laundry room, where the washing machine is dumping water out onto the floor.
“Shit, shit, shit. What do we do?”
He points to the outlet. “Turn it off at the wall first. I don’t want the wiring to short circuit.”
Fuck, I hadn’t even thought of that.
Sebastian has already thrown open the linen cupboard and is grabbing the few towels we have and laying themdown. But I have another idea. Carefully stepping out into the hall, I run to my room and grab the mop I have stashed next to my closet.
“So much for not hiding your supplies anymore,” Sebastian jokes, then laughs when I kick water in his direction.
“Can you open the back door for me?”
He does, then steps aside, and I get to work, pushing as much of the water out the door and onto the patio as I can.
“Smart thinking, angel.”
The praise lights me up. My cheeks go hot, but there’s no time to hide it with water soaking into the hems of my sweats. I jolt when I feel Sebastian’s fingers brush my ankles.
“The one time you don’t wear those shorts,” he says, low and rough, unaware that my entire body is tingling. “It’s all right. I’m just saving your pants from getting wet.”
I stare down at him. The knees of his jeans darken while he rolls my pant legs into cuffs. My skin tingles everywhere he touches.
Too late.
It’s merely a thought as desire rushes over me in waves, but Sebastian must sense something, because he stops and closes his fingers around my calf, eyes boring into mine with hunger.
He stares for so long a shiver runs through me. It’s easier to focus on the collar of his shirt, the strong black buttons leading down his chest, the stretch and wear of dark denim around sturdy thighs.
