by Ethan Asher
He lifts an eyebrow. “Sebastian?”
I shake my head. “What?”
“You called me Sebastian. Why?”
Oh, right. I forgot about that. Could we just forget about it and go back to that whole kissing thing? Thanks.
“You looked like you just walked out of a Land’s End or LL Bean catalog.”
And Sebastian—Ryan Gosling—from La La Land…if he’d gained a few inches and thirty pounds of muscle.
He closes his eyes as he lets out a deep laugh that rattles in my chest.
I take the brief moment his eyes are closed to take a closer look at him. This man is so attractive I’m sure that if he lived during classical antiquity there’d be poems or ballads or plays written about him. Statues and paintings. I’m not saying that because he just saved me. Or because his mouth made me an amnesiac for a hot minute. It’s all true. And all I can think about is what the rest of him could do to me.
When he opens his eyes again, my chest clenches as my breath leaves me. He’s looking at me like there’s no one else in the world. There’s a hunger in his eyes, and I’m the only thing on the menu. A few more seconds under his gaze and I’m sure I’ll pull a Katniss Everdeen and volunteer myself as tribute.
Then, for a brief moment, I see something oddly familiar in his eyes, but I shake myself out of it. “Why the hell did you kiss me?”
And what made you stop?
“Because I was drawn to you the moment you walked through that door.”
Okay. I’m sure he’s never used that line on anyone else before.
“And when that asshole touched you, I lost it.”
I raise my brow. “You took it a whole lot further than that asshole.”
He takes a step back and runs a hand through his thick hair, ruffling it before he lets his hand fall back to his side. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
Well, let’s not get too carried away here…
“I wasn’t thinking.” He pauses for a moment, shakes his head, and then looks at me with those eyes. A look that I feel deep in my belly. “It’s no excuse. I’m sorry. Forgive me for my lapse in judgment?”
I pretend that I’m thinking about forgiving him, but all that I’m thinking about is the possibility of those lips on mine again. It’s strange. Under any other circumstances, with any other man, I’d be out of here. But there’s something about Sebastian. I felt it the moment we locked eyes earlier, and it hasn’t left me.
I offer my hand. “Apology accepted.”
The right corner of his mouth pulls back slowly into a half smile as he takes my hand into his firm grasp. He shakes it a few times, and just when I think he’s going to let go, he tugs me gently toward him as he leans in, invading my personal space once again, his scent hijacking my brain.
“But I don’t regret it, Emma. And I think you enjoyed it,” he rasps, his breath tickling the sensitive skin below my ear.
Ugh. Why can’t he have a snaggletooth or unibrow? Something that would make it easier to be mad at him.
But I’m not. And he’s right; I did enjoy it more than I want him to know.
“Maybe I did,” I say slowly, trying to breathe as the air between us becomes thick. “But maybe I also think you’re an asshole too.”
He snorts as he pulls away from me. “I’ll take it.”
I sigh and shake my head, finally able to breathe again.
"Have a drink with me, Emma? Give me the chance to prove to you I'm not an asshole."
He’s still calling me Emma. I kind of like it. It’s like my alter ego. Charleigh wouldn’t have a drink with this man. She wouldn’t be taken in by his rugged charm, mouthwatering muscles, or (very) kissable lips. Charleigh’s sharp as a tack. She’d turn around, walk out the door, and drive to her brother’s dinner like an adult.
Emma? She’s different. Emma definitely wants to see where this leads. Emma takes risks. Emma is all about exploring her sexuality.
“Fine,” I say, channeling Emma.
“Don’t get too excited now.”
I jab his arm. “Don’t make me regret this.”
And I’m not regretting it. At all.
Sebastian (we’ve decided to stick with our nicknames for now) is more than a pretty face and an amazing kisser. He’s funny and blunt and trouble, if I keep talking with him. Because I know exactly where this is going to lead. And no matter how much I’d enjoy where it’s leading, I’m not interested in a one-night stand. Or a relationship. I have way too much to deal with right now, and I don’t need complications. And everything about Sebastian screams complication.
Sex isn’t complicated, Emma tells me. Insert tab A into slot B.
No, no, no. NOT happening.
Okay fine, slot C.
NO THANK YOU!
I’m not sure I like Emma right now.
“So why Emma? A few unresolved issues with an ex-girlfriend or something?”
He smiles at me with that same damn smile again. Two rows of far too perfect pearly whites. Crinkles at the corners of his eyes. A single dimple. Kryptonite.
“Not at all. You remind me of Emma Stone, only prettier.”
Oh my JESUS. See? Trouble.
He brushes a stray strand from my face with his thumb. “I mean it.”
Did we move back in front of the fireplace? Because my skin feels like it's being roasted like a marshmallow over a campfire.
Sebastian waves at the bartender. “Another glass of wine, Ms. Stone?”
I shake my head. “Thanks, but no thanks. I need to drive after this.”
“I could take you home,” he says, covering my hand with his.
YES, Emma screams, flailing her arms around like a toddler in the midst of a tantrum. GIMME! GIMME! GIMME!
“Oh no, I’ll be fine,” I say, ignoring the fluttering in my chest.
“What can I get you two?” the bartender asks, diverting my focus away from the maelstrom of feelings swirling inside me.
“A water, please.”
Sebastian pulls his hand away from mine. “Make that two.”
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! Emma screams at me.
I don’t know. I like him. I really do. And as much as I’d like to see more develop between us, the timing just isn’t right.
TIME? IT’S ONE NIGHT! Emma isn’t pleased with me right now, and I don’t blame her.
He pulls out his phone and my stomach drops. “I’m sorry, but I need to take this.”
“Sure,” I say, trying to smile but failing miserably.
It’s probably for the best. My life is a hot mess right now. And as if I need another reminder of that, I check my phone and see the mass of texts from my brother. I’ve been so engrossed with Sebastian that I completely forgot about both the dinner and Guy. I send off a barrage of texts begging for forgiveness, but each one is met with silence.
The bartender drops off the waters. I immediately guzzle mine, and when I fail to flag down the bartender, I guzzle Sebastian’s too.
Charleigh: I REALLY am sorry, Jamie. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.
Charleigh: I’ll take Marissa out for a girls’ night. We’ll drink and dance and share embarrassing stories about you and—
I’m about to finish the text when I feel a hand on the nape of my neck.
“Emma,” Sebastian rasps. The tightly corded muscles in my neck and shoulders unwind as I turn around and meet his gaze. It’s strange how his touch puts me at ease. “I’m afraid we’ll have to cut our evening short. I have a fire I need to put out.”
“So you’re a firefighter?”
He laughs. “A metaphorical fire.”
My grip tightens around my phone. Tell me about it.
He retrieves a couple of twenties from his wallet and places them on the bar next to me. Then he grabs a card and sets it in front of me. “I hope we can continue our conversation later.”
How about we skip the conversation and head straight to the bedroom, Emma tells me. YOU’RE RUINING THIS FOR ME.
>
“I’d like that,” I say, palming the card. Just as I’m about to put it into my clutch, something else takes over. “Do you believe in fate, Sebastian?”
And there’s the look. Brows pushed together. The uncertainty rising in his eyes. He’s wondering what he’s just walked into. And whether he’s just dodged a bullet.
He tilts his head and then slowly, his smile returns. “Not particularly. Why?”
“Well, I do.”
Do I? I don’t even know. I don’t know what I’m doing.
NOOOOOOOOOO! Emma wails as I tear up Sebastian’s card. “And if we’re meant to see each other again, it will happen.”
Sebastian laughs. “Is this some kitschy romance novel stuff?”
“No.” I shake my head. “If we were in a romance novel, we’d already be sleeping together.”
Sebastian runs a hand through his mussed hair. "You're a strange one, Em." His smile is slowly returning to his lips, and then his eyes draw back up to mine, sending a frisson of excitement through me. "Strange, but I like you."
Emma’s stomping her feet in the corner of my mind, seconds away from flipping a table.
Sebastian lowers himself so that we’re eye to eye. And what fine eyes they are. Green flecks on a backdrop of rich brown. Intelligent and piercing and kind. “If that’s what you want. Alright.”
“Alright?”
“All. Right.”
He presses his lips against my forehead. The wet skin tingles as he pulls away, and I suck in a deep breath of his scent.
“I’ll see you soon,” I say as he turns to leave.
He smiles at me over his shoulder. “Or not.”
Right…
What am I thinking? What am I doing?
THAT’S WHAT I’VE BEEN ASKING YOU THIS ENTIRE TIME, Emma screams as she flails on the ground.
I watch Sebastian as he reaches the door. He turns around, waves at me as he flashes another smile, and then disappears. There’s a strange sense of familiarity in his movements, but I can’t place it. Probably the alcohol. My stomach drops as I see the door close behind him. It flies through the floor when I read my brother’s next text.
Jamie: I’m not the only one you need to apologize to. You haven’t visited Mom in months. What’s gotten into you?
It’s the perfect one-two punch that has me reconsidering my life choices.
3
Guy
“Need some coffee with that cream, Finch?”
Maddox’s words hardly register, as though my head’s underwater and he’s standing above me, his form rippled and blurred. They’re distant and distorted and—
“Dude, what the fuck you doing?”
Maddox grabs my wrist, shaking me out of my stupor. I look down at the mess in front of me. A pool of coffee and cream covers the area surrounding my paper cup. I have no idea how long I’ve been pouring the half-and-half but judging by how light the container is, it’s been at least a minute.
“Shit.” I drop the container of half-and-half on the counter, and both Maddox and I grab bunches of paper towels to prevent the coffee from becoming a miniature Niagara Falls.
Maddox tosses a soggy clump of paper towels into the trash and turns back to me, arms folded across his barrel chest. "You sure you’re okay?"
“Yeah,” I say with a shake of my head. I toss the drenched paper towels in the trash and grab a few more handfuls. “Fine.”
Maddox slaps my shoulder, giving me a good shake before he turns. "I'll be in the cruiser."
As I finish cleaning up the mess, there’s only one thing I’m thinking about. It’s the only thing that I have been thinking about for the past twelve hours: Emma.
Emma, whose name isn’t Emma. Emma, whose lips taste like honey. Emma, whose kiss has the power to bring me to my knees. Emma, who made me forget all about dinner with Jamie. And Charleigh.
Charleigh…
A clump of nerves twists and tightens in my gut. I’ve been back in Whispering Pine for a few months now but I haven’t even seen her yet. We haven’t talked. I tried to reach out to her through Jamie but that was a dead end. If she doesn’t want to talk, I won’t force her.
When I finally make it outside, Maddox is already in the driver’s seat.
“No driving for you today, pal. I don’t need you driving us off a cliff.”
I collapse into the passenger seat. “There aren’t any cliffs to drive off, Maddox.”
“My point exactly. After seeing you in that weird trance back there, I’m pretty sure you’d find one. Shit, you spent fifteen minutes making that mess and you didn’t even bring your coffee.”
Damn it.
I grunt as I buckle up. “Point taken.”
“Let’s go!” Maddox revs the engine and then peels out, squealing out of the station and swerving onto the road, nearly flipping the car in the process.
This is why Maddox never drives.
CHARLEIGH
I’m fifteen minutes late to my coffee date with Jamie. My phone’s been beeping nonstop for the past five minutes, but I refuse to look at the messages because I know exactly what they’ll say: Where the hell are you? Or some variation thereof.
When I finally open the door to Common Grounds, I can feel Jamie’s eyes home in on me. I glance right and find him at our usual table next to the window. He’s in his weekday attire—a suit, navy today, paired with a white Oxford and patterned tie—and his light blonde hair is neatly combed, parted, and styled.
Red tie, huh?
My mother thinks I’m crazy, but I’ve discovered that I can judge Jamie’s mood by the color of tie he wears. Jamie isn’t one for pops of color in his outfits, so when I see the red hanging from his neck, it’s like a beacon warning me of the danger ahead.
“Morning, Charleigh,” Jamie says as I approach.
“Sorry I’m late.” I’m not going to offer an excuse because it wouldn’t matter. Besides, Jamie has every right to be mad at me.
He slides a paper cup in front of me, and I eye it warily. He’s acting far too nice to me right now given the circumstances. I take a tentative sip, watching Jamie closely.
He shrugs. “Look, I’m not going to berate you.”
Then why are you wearing that tie? Maybe my mom’s right after all. Or the latte’s poisoned…
“I don’t hold onto grudges.”
“Ouch, Jameson.” I glare at Jamie and take a huge swig. I’m going to need all the caffeine in this decaf to get through this conversation. “I’ll have you know,” I say, setting my cup down, “I don’t hold grudges either. I’m over Guy. Seriously o-v-e-r. Over.”
The expression on his face tells me he’s everything but convinced. Maybe I tried to sell it a little too hard.
“You know he didn’t show up either.”
I cock my head to the side for a moment and then take another long drink. “Really?” I try to sound indifferent but instead I sound more like a squeaky mouse.
“Yeah.” Jamie nods. “He met someone and lost track of time talking with them. At least that’s the story he told me.”
If I’d been drinking my latte, I’d have sprayed it all over him.
“Was the other person chained to a wall? Because I don’t see how anyone would willingly spend more than a few seconds talking to him.”
I glance at my drink, and then push it away. Something doesn’t feel right…
Jamie shrugs. “It seemed genuine. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Guy talk about anyone like this before. Not even some of his past girlfriends.” Jamie stands up. “Want a refill?”
“No thanks,” I say. “My head’s already spinning from this decaf.”
“That wasn’t decaf.”
My eyes bug out. “What the hell, Jamie? You know I don’t drink caffeine.” I knew something was up. My theory about Jamie’s ties still stands.
“I guess I forgot.” A grin slowly forms on his face. “Like how you forgot about dinner last night.”
I groan. And I’m supposed to be the
one in the family who hasn’t grown up.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist, Chuck.”
“Don’t call me Chuck ever again.”
Jamie is way too pleased with himself as he turns around and heads to the counter.
Guy used to call me Chucky. You know—that redheaded doll that the soul of a serial killer inhabited. Wild red hair. Freckles and overalls. Yeah. That Chucky. I got so sick and tired of it that I tried to dye my hair. Tried being the key word here.
I learned the hard way that red hair isn't exactly the easiest hair color to dye. My bright red eyebrows looked like high beams in comparison to the odd blackish-purple bands that striped my head. When I finally came out of the bathroom, eyes blood-red from crying, snot dripping from my nose, Guy was the first person I ran into between the bathroom and my room.
Chargrilled Charlie was my new nickname because he thought the stripes looked like grill marks. It was such a low point. I came close to shaving my head, but thankfully my mom intervened and dragged me to a stylist, who, after overcoming her initial mortification, fixed the damage I’d done.
I. Hate. Guy.
But not nearly as much as I hate myself for not getting Sebastian’s number. Or his real name. Or anything that would help me contact him.
For the past twelve hours or so, he’s been all I thought about. Hell, I dreamt about him last night. His lips… His tongue… His…
A chill streaks up my spine as I recall the dream. He made me forget about Guy. When I was with him, it felt like I lived in a world in which Guy didn’t exist. I don’t know what came over me back at the bar. I finally met someone I connected with, who kissed me like a champ, and I sent him on his way.
My name is Charleigh Holiday, and I love to self-sabotage.
Jamie checks his watch. “I’ve got to head out, Charleigh, but I think we should reschedule the dinner. If not for me, do it for Mom.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Who taught you how to lay it on so thick?”
He matches my brow raise with one of his own. “Who do you think?”
There’s no doubt my mother prodded Jamie. Don’t be fooled by that small, unimposing stature with a voice to match. She’s the queen of getting what she wants without directly asking for it. And I love her for it, even when those skills are used on me.
