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“But now that you’re on the path to self-improvement, it will.”
Sebastian’s eyes scour my face, before he leans in, bathing me in the sour scent of weed and whiskey. I wrinkle my nose. “Let’s get something very clear, here…” He tips his head. “What is your full name? It’s not just Ziggy, is it?”
My stomach knots. “I don’t go by my full name.”
“Neither do I,” he points out. “But that hasn’t stopped you from using it.”
I sigh, annoyed. “Fine. But you can’t tell anyone else.” Extending my pinkie, I lift it toward him. “Promise.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. His tongue pokes into his cheek. “A pinkie promise? Is that what I’m being held to?”
Undeterred, I offer my pinkie. “I mean it, Sebastian.”
His expression turns frosty. “Go on, then.” His finger hooks mine, hard, jolting me.
“It’s Sigrid,” I blurt. “Sigrid Marta Bergman.”
Like Ren, whose full name is Søren, after Dad’s beloved Søren Kierkegaard, I used to get teased about my full name in school. I dropped it in upper elementary school and took the name Viggo gave me as a preschooler when he couldn’t say Sigrid. It started as Siggy, then became Ziggy, until the whole family called me that.
I have a lot of bad memories tied to the name Sigrid. I should be the first person to honor Sebastian’s request not to call him by his full name. Maybe he has bad memories tied to his full name, too. But, pettily, I’ve wanted something on this man who, even in his disheveled, haggard state, displays the kind of nonchalant composure and confidence that I frankly envy.
“Sigrid,” he says quietly, eyes dancing over my face again. “It’s…unusual. But sweet. In a…cardigan-wearing, prim-librarian sort of way—”
I shove him, because with as many brothers as I have, physical retaliation after being teased is a reflex.
He smirks, self-satisfied, and flops back in his chair. “I wasn’t done, you know.”
“I don’t care.” Standing, I walk away from him and face the ocean, already kicking myself for tethering my life to this schmuck for the next however long, until we both get what we want out of each other.
Glaring out at the ocean, feeling the dregs of my little milkshake buzz dissolve just like the sun on the horizon, I sigh heavily.
And then I feel him, warm and close behind me. “I was going to say…” His voice whispers across my neck, the sound of midnight smoke and starlight dancing down dark alleys. “This librarian…by day, she’s very well-behaved. Proper, quiet, sweet…” His breath brushes my ear, and I shiver. “But by night, she’s a dominatrix, a wild animal finally let out of her cage.”
My eyes widen. Heat floods my cheeks.
And then he’s gone, the deck set between us as he sinks back into his chair. “You’re fun to scandalize.”
I whip around, glaring at him. “And you’re an incorrigible jerk.”
“Guilty, Sigrid. Guilty.”
My teeth clench.
Sebastian picks up the joint he let die out and brings it to his lips, pawing around for the lighter. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, oblivion awaits. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to start this pretend friend ruse—”
“We start now.” My voice is strong. Flint.
I hardly recognize myself.
But that’s the point of this, isn’t it? There’s a voice that’s strong inside me. I’ve just spent a long time not listening to it, not believing in it. Since I went to college and stepped fully into my independence, I’ve sworn to myself that I’d nurture that voice, heed that voice, little by little, more and more.
No turning back now.
I’m not some dominatrix like he teased me, but dammit, there is something fierce and wild inside me, clawing at its cage. Time to start acting like it.
“We start now?” Sebastian lowers his joint, staring at me appraisingly. “Says who?”
Purposefully, I walk toward him, standing to my full six feet and one inch. I pluck the joint from his hand, smash it in his empty whiskey-reeking glass, and tell him, “Me.”
