I nod reluctantly and drop the subject, and we spend the better part of an hour catching up. She asks about the new pub location, and I can’t help nerding out over my menu ideas.
She gives me a coy look. “Do you need a taste tester? I love putting things in my mouth.”
“Do you now?” I ask, with a raised brow. Everything below my belt is tingling, and I shift in my seat, praying to God that I don’t get an erection.
Stop flirting, Sebastian, I scold myself.She’s still your little sister’s best friend.
Fi’s cheeks pinken, and I’m mesmerized by the contrast to her pale skin. “I mean—not like that. Fuck, I just mean I like to eat.” She gives me an apologetic look. “I have no idea why I said it like that.”
Fiona’s so easy to talk to, and I almost hate it.
My attraction to her is right there, simmering at the surface, and my body’s response to her is unprecedented—and obscene. She’s the first person to make me feel this viscerally since the last time I saw her, soof course, she’s the one person I can’t have.
And now I’m going tolivewith her.
Fuck my life.
CHAPTER FOUR
FIONA
It’s been a couple weeks, and I have to admit that living with Sebastian isn’t as awkward as I thought it would be, though the guy is still one of the hottest people I’ve ever met in real life. I was hoping that I’d discover some disgusting habit that would push Seb into the friend zone, but no such luck.
Honestly, it’s ridiculous.
No normal person should lookthatgood.
Of course, he’s also my best friend’s brother, and that places him squarely in the “hoes before bros” category, so I have no plans to openthatdoor despite the lady blue balls I’ve had for months.
But I digress.
Since I got here, I’ve tried my best to stay off the radar, avoiding social media. I even convinced Seb to pay me cash under the table for now. So far, I haven’t heard anything from Dennis, so I think my plan is working. But I also blocked his number, so I’m not sure he’d be able to contact me anyway. I only have about a month and a half left before his legal claim elapses.
The city is starting to feel a little less scary. I grew up in smaller towns, so adjusting to the chaos of Vancouver has been a little rough. At first, my brain was constantly overwhelmed with the cacophony of car horns and engines, train whistles, thebing-bongof crosswalks, and the crowds of pushy, chattering people. But I’ve slowly learned to manage my anxiety by taking quiet moments at home and at work, where I’ve been taking on hostess duties at the pub. Sebastian also lets me use his office to do administrative tasks when I start feeling antsy, and I’m a little touched that he seems to notice my discomfort despite my efforts to hide it. I’m taking one such moment now, sitting cross-legged on the rolling chair pulled up to Sebastian’s desk when I hear a knock.
“Come in.”
I frown in confusion when no one enters, and I stand, walking over to peer into the hallway. I hear the knock again and realize it’s coming from the restaurant’s back door. I scan the space, but no one else is around, so I walk to the door and pull it open cautiously.
There’s a rush of cold air and then my eyes meet a stunning pair of familiar hazel eyes.
“Brantley?”
“Fiona…” The way my name falls from his lips sounds like he’s taking a much-needed breath, and he lurches forward, hugging me against him. The weight of his body crashing into mine sends us stumbling into the hallway.
My face is pressed to his chest, and his heart pounds wildly in my ears. He smells like vodka and leather, and I take a deep breath as his body heat mingles with mine. He lets out a strangled sob, and my heart fractures at the sound like he’s carving his way back into it.
I don’t know how long we stand like that, clinging to each other, but I pull back when it becomes too hard to swallow around the emotional lump in my throat.
I grab his hand, twisting our fingers together, and pull him into Sebastian’s office. After I close the door, I turn and stare at the man I thought I’d never see again.
He looks like shit.
His dark blond hair is shaggy and falls over his eyebrows, the longer strands getting caught in his eyelashes as he blinks back tears. His sharp jaw is lined with stubble, and a pink scar runs the length of his neck just below his Adam’s apple—evidence of the horrific hockey injury that ended his career. My fingers itch to touch it.
“What’re you doing here?” I ask, meeting his red-rimmed eyes.
“I—” He looks away like he’s ashamed. “I wanted to talk to Bastian. I had no idea that you were here.” He flops down into the office chair, slumping miserably.
