Page 132 of Last Man Standing

I wanna see Scarlett again.

But closer.

I wanna hear her voice, and if I’m lucky, she might say something happy.

41

SCARLETT

THE WORLD IS ON FIRE, AND SOMEONE ELSE IS CALLING HIS NAME,…

Icouldn’t have known for sure that Sebastion would come straight to me after leaving the grounds outside, but I hoped. Even when my heart hurts and my skin aches all over. Even when looking into his eyes makes me sad, but not looking into his eyes makes me sadder.

I couldn’t be certain him walking away from his brother would lead him to me, and I will never admit that smile I witnessed while he was on the phone to… somebody, took another chunk from my soul.

But it did.

Because while I’m in this room grieving something I thought was really special, he’s still the same old Sebastion. He smiles, rarely, which made that goofy grin from a few minutes ago even more breathtaking. He’s still working: he doesn’t let a single day go by where he’s not doing that. He’s still reading my texts: kinda figured that out once he brought me a cupcake for my birthday… And backed it up with a ride on a horse.

One could’ve been a lucky guess.

But both?

Now he walks through our door and closes it at his back. His eyes lock onto mine and his broad chest puffs just a little wider than usual. Like he’s ready for a fight.

With me?

For me?

In spite of me?

I don’t even know anymore.

“Hey.” I straighten my back against the window frame and swallow my groan of pain, since I spend entirely too much time curled up with poor posture. Elongating my spine and setting my feet on the floor, I force myself to smile.

Be normal. Be pleasant.

Be boiled spaghetti.

He marches across the room, the hardness in his stare softening, then he stops in front of me, his chin on his chest, his long lashes fluttering over dark, dark eyes, and when that’s not good enough, he takes my hand and slaps the button on the wall that turns a see-through pane of glass into one of those one-sided kinds, so we can see out but no one can see in.

Pulling me to my feet and burying his lips against the side of my neck, he groans as though touching me, tasting me, is where his happiness exists.

“I’m not accustomed to this sort of shit, Princess.” He trails his tongue along the column of my neck. Nipping and soothing. Sampling and savoring. “Before you came here, I was just a dude who could go to work and not really care about the clock, but now I count every single minute.” He wraps his arms around my back and cinches just tight enough to lift me to the very tips of my toes.

Because we’re not an appropriate height for each other.

He’s too tall, and I’m too short.

He’s too large, and I’m too… spaghetti’ish.

“Looked like you were having fun out there this morning.”

Don’t ask him about the woman who stopped by our door an hour ago, and definitely don’t tell him about the message she asked me to pass on: come find her later.

“Someone made you happy on the phone, huh?”

Ugh. Don’t be so naïve, Scarlett.