Iwas wishing for the control to repel him.
***
“Ilove your mom,” I told him, after Ronnie had left.
“Shelikes you too,” he replied, his tone unmoving as he loaded the leftovers intothe fridge.
“Alot of people like me, Sebastian. Believe it or not,” I teased, resting my backagainst the counter.
Heclosed the refrigerator door and eyed me with a blend of irritation andskepticism. “Why would you think I wouldn’t believe that?”
“Becauseyou don’t.” My arms crossed over my chest, and I watched the deep line betweenhis brows form. “You like to push my buttons. You don’t likeme.”
Sebastianscoffed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh,I don’t? Since I met you a few days ago, you’ve done nothing but taunt me.Honestly, I have no idea how you turned out the way you did when your mother isso wonderful.”
Slowlylicking his lips and studying me with a critical eye, Sebastian shook his head.“Remember how boys would pick on the girls they like in Kindergarten?”
Witha light roll of my eyes, I turned to grab my phone from the counter. “Don’t tryto act like your immaturity is your own special way of showing that you like me.That’s the most pathetic thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Idolike you,” he insisted. “It might not be in a romantic way, but it’ssure as hell in a friendly sort of way, anddefinitelyin an ‘I’d loveto fuck you’ way.”
Theabrupt mention of sex pushed my legs to involuntarily lock as my spine shiveredwith excitement.Calm the hell down. “How do you do that?”
“Dowhat?”
“Saythe things you want to say when you want to say them.” I turned around to facehim, my phone in my grasp. “I can’t do that.”
Sebastianshook his head. “I don’t always want to say them, but they’re always better outthan in.” He stepped forward, dipping his head to seek my eyes. “And, this isyour cue to say, ‘Oh, Sebastian, I like you too. Let’s be fuck buddies.’ ‘CauseI’d really like that.”
“You’redisgusting,” I snickered, shaking my head.
“Whyis that disgusting?” He cocked a questioning brow.
“Becauseit’swrong,” I countered with incredulity.
“Thereyou go again, putting those right and wrong labels on shit.” He shook his head,chuckling gently. “You’re not a kid, and neither am I, despite what you want tobelieve. Adults can have sex if they want to, without it being anything morethan sex. It justis, Tabby.”
Therehe went again,it just is. I didn’t understand how he could do that;live his life so carefree, without any worry of consequence. But then, look at whathappened when he did act with maturity and thought. I reminded myself that hehadattempted to do the right thing, to be an adult when the time called, and mysister had denied him the privilege of growing up for his son. But hehadtried, and I wondered, was that more mature than the life I was living, where Idenied myself every pleasure presented to me?
Wouldit kill me to let go, just this once?
Graspingfor the surge of electricity I’d held the night before, I stepped forward. Myfeet weren’t my own and my legs were foreign, driving me forward nearly againstmy will. The toes of my Converse met the white-caps of his, and his fingerspulled the barrette from my hair, tossing it to the floor, before threadingthemselves between the strands as his neck craned. Concealing the rights and wrongsof the moment with his mouth over mine, I stood on my toes and looped my armsaround his neck. He was so tall, so much taller than five-foot, and I had tobalance on the balls of my feet. To balance the time our tongues spent in mymouth and his, to increase the pressure of lips on lips, to let go and drown insomething other than responsibility and the forever lingering pain of my grief.
Mygrief. Where didthatcome from? I hadn’t thought aboutit in weeks; I couldn’t. When could I? I was always too busy. Too busy withwork. Too busy with Greyson—shit. Greyson.
Iuntangled my tongue from Sebastian’s and began to pull away as he shook hishead. “No, don’t stop,” he urged, pressing kiss after kiss against my lips.
“Weneed,” my words muffled, “we need to,” another kiss halted my words, tongue mettongue, moan met moan, until another reluctant withdraw, “Greyson.” Andthen, he understood.
One,two, three more kisses against my lips, and he groaned, pulling away. “Fuck,I think I’d be totally content just kissing you.”
Thefeeling was mutual, but I wouldn’t say it. He could say whatever it was thatpassed his mind, but I wasn’t there yet. Maybe I never would be.
Wrappinghis arms around my waist and tearing a gasp from my lungs, he lifted andunceremoniously tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He carriedme, despite my repeated protests, toward the stairs, taking them two at a time.And with every step my complaints faded, first into light giggles and then abubbly laughter I couldn’t control, even if I wanted to.
Iwas having fun.Hewas fun.
