I drop the towel with a shrug and reach for the boxers.
“For fuck’s sake.” Fi slaps her hand over her eyes. She turns and nearly stumbles over her own feet. I snicker. “I see you still have no sense of modesty.”
I pull on the sweats and look down, a tickle of unease in my gut. “I know I’ve lost a little muscle, but I think I’m still okay.” I tense and poke my stomach with a bit of force. My abs are still visible, just a little squishier. “I suppose I should lay off the beer.”
Fiona huffs a laugh, and I look up to find her staring at me with an amused smile. I step closer to her, and she angles her face up. She still smells like gardenias, which I always found endearing, considering her last name. Whenever we were together, her smell would wrap me in comfort. When I was a teen, we had a vacation home on the coast in Orange County, California, where my mom grew gardenias. The smell always mixed perfectly with the salty sea air. And before you make a joke about it, I can confirm that because of my hair, I was constantly compared to Ryan Atwood fromThe O.C.—even though I was a baby when that show aired. But the guy is easy on the eyes, so whatever.
“Why are you really here?” I ask, my fingers skimming along her jaw.
Her breath catches, and a little spark inside me ignites at the idea that I still affect her. We played a good will-they-won’t-they game in college, but in the end, we both lost.
She clears her throat and shrugs. “I needed a change.” A million questions fly through my head, but I know I have no right to ask her anything personal.
I study her. Fi looks the same, but somehow different, like the years we’ve spent apart have fractured some part of her, and I realize that I want to relearn every inch of this woman. My cock seems to agree. Fiona’s breasts are full and perky, and they’re practically touching my chest, which is sending a delicious ache straight to my dick despite what I just did in the shower.
I wish I’d never run into her again because I don’t know if she would ever consider taking me back. Hell, we weren’t even technically together when I chose my career over every relationship in my life. I hurt her deeply. I’m not sure I’m worth forgiving. But shit, I want to be better.
She bends down to pick up Bastian’s T-shirt, her face dangerously close to my hardening cock, and hands it to me. “Are you hungry? I think there’s some leftover Pad Thai.”
I let out a heavy breath when she steps out of my space and leads me down the hallway and into the kitchen. I follow, trying to defuse my horny thoughts. I have no idea what time it is, but it’s pitch-black outside, and I can hear rain pelting against the windows. I sit at the kitchen island and watch her rummaging through the fridge.
Was her ass always so perfect and round?
When I feel my cock stirring again, I adjust myself under the counter.
Calm the fuck down.
“Are you sure I shouldn’t go? I really don’t think I’m welcome—” My words are cut off when I hear the beep of the lock.
Fuck.
I stare at the front door anxiously, and when Sebastian enters, he stops, his expression turning thunderous. I swear, he only looks atmethat way.
“Jesus, he’sstillhere?” Bastian slams the door, and I flinch.
Fiona does not.
She’s fucking fearless.
“Stop it, Sebastian,” she snaps, standing up with a white takeout box in her hand.
Bastian’s eyebrows rise. “You’re going to give him my leftover Thai food?”
I almost chuckle at the whine in his voice. “I really don’t?—”
Fi shoots a glare my way. “There’s enough for everyone, so both of you shut it.”
Then she moves around the kitchen, pulling out plates and beers and setting everything up at the counter as if we’re a happy little family. I glance at Bastian, and he glowers at me. I pick up my beer with a smirk, take a long swig, and pat the stool next to me.
Am I a condescending asshole?
Absolutely.
When the food is heated up, we all sit and eat in awkward silence. I stare around the apartment, taking in the high-end appliances and leather furniture, everything in blacks, whites, and a few shades of gray—your typical guy pad.
“You and Marcus really have a niceAmerican Psychovibe in this place. Who’s your interior designer?”
Fiona snorts a laugh, and Sebastian’s unamused gaze moves between us. “Really funny, asshole.”
