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“Shit,” I whisper, exhaling shakily.
“Sigrid.” Sebastian sounds delighted. “Is that a swearword I finally heard?”
I throw him a glare, or try to, but the world feels a little fuzzy. I’m having a hard time taking a deep breath.
Sebastian’s sly smirk dissolves on his face as he takes me in. “What the hell’s wrong?”
A thick swallow works down my throat as I clutch the menu for dear life. “I think this might have been an epic mistake.”
7
SEBASTIAN
Playlist: “Don’t Let It Get You Down,” Johnnyswim
I should be thrilled that Ziggy’s second-guessing this nonsense. Considering how things went in her apartment, I should jump at the chance to end this ridiculous stunt before it’s even begun.
Because what I felt, watching her naked silhouette through the curtain separating us before I spun away and shut my eyes; after that, kneeling at her feet; then, standing behind her as she looked at herself in the mirror, is bad, bad news.
I’m painfully attracted to her. To this delicious contradiction of shy quiet and sheer courage, tender feeling and tenacious fire. She’s a goddamn knockout, and she has no fucking clue. She doesn’t know that sheer white top draped across her dewy skin is jaw-clenching torture, that her hips sway when she’s feeling confident, and the freckles on her legs dance as she walks.
She will never know that from me. Because that kind of conversation is never going to happen with my best friend’s sister.
Who only wants to pretend to be my friend.
And who’s very obviously on the precipice of losing her shit in this syrupy-sweet diner.
Her legs bounce frantically under the table. I wedge a knee around each of them and pin them together, making her legs go still. She glances up and takes a deep, slow breath, something like relief warming her eyes. Her shoulders settle from where they’d crept up to her ears.
A rare, bone-deep satisfaction pours through me, better than the best high, more potent than the smoothest whiskey. I did that. I made her feel better. Fuck, could I get hooked on the rush it gives me.
Even more reason to agree with Ziggy that this idea was an epic mistake. I should throw down some cash, drag her outside, and put an end to this.
But instead, inexplicably, I say instead, “Why?”
Ziggy slides her fingers around the edge of her menu. Her hands are shaking. “The whole idea of this was to be looked at, to be seen. I’m not used to that, though, being noticed. It freaks me out.”
“You’re six one with flame-red hair. How the hell are you not used to being ‘noticed’ by now?”
She bites her lip and ducks her head, so her ponytail becomes a curtain of hair that shields her from the curious eyes turned our way. “You said yourself, I’m good at hiding in plain sight.”
My chest aches. My jaw creaks, I’m clenching it so hard. Who the fuck made her feel like this? What made her decide it was best to hide herself away and dim her fire?
She glances past her hair, inspecting the room, then winces. “I can’t do this.”
“The fuck you can’t.”
“Watch your mouth,” she whispers, glaring at me. “Some public-image overhaul you’ve got underway, dropping all these f-bombs in a family restaurant.”
I lean in and tell her, “If I’m expected to look like I’ve reformed myself and talk like a good little boy, you can sit tall and let people see you.”
She shuts her eyes. “It’s hard. Change takes…time for me. I can’t just snap my fingers and make myself suddenly comfortable with that.”
I stare at her, a sharp knot forming in my chest. “Then let’s take a step back. Ease you into it.”
Her eyes meet mine, curious and guarded. “Ease me into it?”
I lift a hand to grab our waiter’s attention, holding Ziggy’s gaze. Stevie, as he introduced himself, is at our booth very quickly, as if he’s been waiting for this moment. “Need something?” he asks.
