Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Seb fidgeted in his seat like a kid on a sugar high jonesing for his next fix. I stopped at a fast-food drive-thru and ordered two milkshakes, not because he actually needed sugar…but he needed something, and it was the one thing I figured he’d associate with me. Keeping him grounded in the present seemed important.
He took the milkshake from me absently and set it in the cupholder. “Thanks. Did I want this?”
“Fuck if I know. Drink it or don’t. It might make you feel better.”
Again…I had no fucking idea what I was doing. I was winging it. Hey, I was Italian. And when someone needed comforting when I was a kid, my mom cooked. On short notice, this was the best I could do.
“Thank you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Am I taking you to your place or mine?”
“I can’t go home,” he mumbled. “Not yet.”
“My place it is.”
The silence was calmer on the drive to my apartment. He didn’t touch the milkshake, but at least he’d stopped shaking. I was wary of disturbing the peace with well-intentioned chatter, so I kept quiet as I opened the door and welcomed him inside.
For the sake of perspective, if his childhood home was half the size of his garage, my apartment would probably fit in his master suite. The modern touches added a touch of pizzazz, but they couldn’t disguise that I was a big dude living in a Cracker Jack box.
“This is nice,” Seb commented, giving the space a thorough once-over. He eyed the framed posters over the sofa, then wandered to the bookshelves flanking the round dining table. “How many of these have you read?”
“Two or three.”
He met my gaze and chuckled. The first genuine laugh I’d heard out of him all evening. It was a good sound. And I couldn’t help feeling a little smug that I’d been the one to coax it from him.
“Thankfully, I can tell you’re lying.” He ran his fingers along the spines reverently. “You have an impressive Shakespeare collection.”
“Mmm.” I shrugged out of my suit coat and draped it over a dining chair, setting my to-go cup next to the plate of cookies Macy had brought over earlier. “Want one?”
Seb glanced at the plate and shook his head. “No, thanks.”
“Probably a good call. Knowing Mace, these were made with a little extra somethin’ somethin’,” I replied, sinking into the chair and kicking the one across from me toward him in invitation.
No one could claim I wasn’t chivalrous.
He pointed at the cookies as he sat, scooting the chair closer to the table. “Your friend made you pot cookies?”
“No. I mean, hey, you never know with Macy, but she’s more likely to spike them with chili powder. She’s into crystals and tarot cards…and supposedly a certain kind of chili leads to transcendent equilibrium or some shit.”
“Transcendent equilibrium,” he repeated. “I need some of that.”
He didn’t reach for a cookie, though. He stared at the plate for a long moment, then lifted his gaze to mine.
“You okay?” I asked softly.
He nodded. “Yes. I’m sor—”
“Stop. I don’t need an apology. I don’t even need answers. I just…want to make sure you’re all right.”
“I’ll live.” He flattened the napkin wrapped around his milkshake on the table and reached for a cookie. “I wasn’t going to throw that rock, you know. I’m…”
“Angry?” I prompted.
“Fucked up is a better description.”
“I really don’t understand why you’d keep something that reminds you of…bad times.”
“No, you have it wrong. It’s not a reminder of bad times. It reminds me of where I came from, why I am who I am. Most of the time, just thinking about it is enough. I haven’t physically been in that neighborhood in years. It wasn’t a good move to do it tonight.”
I bit into a cookie, then popped the whole thing into my mouth for courage. “Because of the party?”
“Something like that.”
Silence. We sat at my table, sipping milkshakes and nibbling on odd-tasting cookies like old friends. But I was obviously a struggling actor for a reason. I couldn’t pretend this was normal. I wanted answers…even though they were none of my business.
“Can I ask you a personal question?”
Seb smiled wryly. “Sure.”
“Does your ex know you’re in love with him?”
He narrowed his eyes and frowned. “Gray? I’m not in love with him. I love him, but that’s not the same thing. We haven’t been a couple in…years. Whatever we had was over a long time ago, and I accept that.”
“But…”
“No buts,” he replied earnestly, continuing in a lighter tone. “It’s just that…I don’t want anyone else to have him. Is that wrong?”
“Yeah, Seb. That’s wrong.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah…and selfish.”
He shook his head. “No, I’m the opposite of selfish when it comes to Gray. I want him to be happy. I encouraged him to fuck whoever he wanted. Sex isn’t love. Hell, being ‘in love’ isn’t love.”