Page 133 of Last Man Standing

“Mm.” He folds closer and tugs my sweater forward so he can nibble on my collarbone. “It was nothing. You wanna hang out for a bit?”

“It’s the middle of the morning.” I pull back and search his eyes. “You don’t have to work?”

“The perks of being me are that I can do whatever the fuck I want.” He slips his hand under my top and splays his broad palm across my back. His thumb touches the bottom of my bra strap. His pinky finger touches the waistband of my pants. “We could visit Jasper if you want. Toss you onto his back, let you wander around for a bit.” With hope shining in his eyes, he inches back and grins. “You seemed really happy last time we were with him.”

“I was really happy.” But I don’t want to discuss happy or sad today. I don’t want to discuss good or bad, and I definitely don’t want to discuss the things I overheard his family bickering about after I left the table last night. So I press my cheek to his chest instead. I allow us this contact, but without the rest. I allow us the physical, but without the emotional.

Just like when we were in bed last night.

“I’m still cramping a lot today, so I think I’m gonna sit in the warmth and keep drawing.” I count the beats of his heart beneath my ear. The constant, comforting thud-thud, thud-thud. “But if you wanna hang out in here…” I lift my shoulders and close my eyes. “That would be okay. I’ve been trying my hand at realism in my sketches lately. Ya know, instead of annoying squiggles.”

Chuckling, he pulls back and cups my jaw in his palm. He knows I’m evading, and he’s smart enough to grab on so I can’t look away. “You wanna draw me, Princess?”

“I mean…” Evade, evade, evade. You’re good at it. “Sure. It’ll probably come out dumb, since I’m not very good. But if you have time to hang out and don’t mind hearing the scratch of a pen and literally nothing else⁠—”

A knock at the door cuts my sentence short and brings my focus around.

Towering over me, Sebastion’s brows pinch tight and create a deep wrinkle across his forehead.

“That might be Koda,” I mumble. “He’s made a habit of knocking and asking to come in.”

“Are you spending a lot of time alone with my brother, Princess?” Playful, he ducks in fast and presses a kiss to the corner of my lips, then releasing me, he starts across the room. “Not sure if I’ve told you yet, but I’m a possessive man. I don’t share.”

“He’s five years old.” I roll my eyes. “Calm down, Boot. It’s not like I’ve been spending alone time in our bedroom with Maverick.”

Snorting, he casts a warning glance back my way. “That would be bad. Very, very bad.” He grabs the doorknob and swings it wide. For a moment, his eyes hover at thigh level, which is about where Koda stands compared to his brother. But then they swing up and lock onto that fucking chick. The one who came here earlier. The one he walked arm in arm with on the grassy field a couple of weeks ago. The one who was texting him daily, hourly, until the messages stopped coming altogether.

I don’t think she stopped. I think Sebastion wised up and stopped them from coming through.

They stare in silence for a beat, then they peek back and watch me. When Sebastion’s brain finally catches up, he twists and uses his expansive body to block my view of the woman who wants his attention so badly.

“Serena?” Her name comes off his lips with venom. Maybe a little shock. Fear. Panic. Pressing his palm to her shoulder and steering her backward, he strides through the doorway and slams it again with a resounding crack.

He cuts me out and takes a moment with the other woman in privacy.

Except it’s not private at all.

“What are you doing here? I told you not to come to my fucking room!”

“I wanted to see you.” Her voice isn’t as loud as his. Not nearly as firm. And though I back up and plop onto the window seat, since this is where I come when I feel like crying, her voice grows even fainter, as though he’s steering her further away.

“I said… and you… don’t do…” I only hear every few words. Though I swear, I try to catch none.

“And then you… but you… last night…”

Shaking my head, I twist in my seat and press my back to the frame. Picking up my pen, I lay my half-done arm across my upturned knees and continue working.

“Later… I’ll talk to you…”

“I didn’t… Scarlett…”

Oh good. I’m in the middle of their lover’s quarrel.

I peek down at my phone and read the screen preview of another text from Detective Mills, but it doesn’t appear urgent, nor do I see any numbers that might imply a baby has arrived, so I don’t bother opening it.

Instead, I start a circle on my arm, a little larger than a quarter, and when I have the placement how I want it, I sketch in the small dial and arrows to match the compass I’ve studied countless times on Sebastion’s arm.

Exhaling a sad sigh, I ignore the voices trailing off in the hall, and a moment later, when the knob rattles and the door inches open, I summon every ounce of willpower I possess to keep my eyes down and my pen moving.