March 13th
I’VE JUST OPENED Penny’s text—boys are fine, spending the night at Coop’s—when there’s a knock at the door.
I slip out of bed, shivering as my bare feet hit the floor. My head is pounding from the alcohol I threw back at Red’s, something that I’m sure I haven’t helped by squinting at my laptop in the dark, letting all that blue light wash over me. But it was between staring at the ceiling and finishing work for my stellar astronomy course, and you don’t get into NASA-funded research labs by slacking off.
And fine, maybe I wanted to distract myself from him.
Sebastian Miller-Callahan.
Sebastian, who has been smiling at me ever since the movie theater last fall.
Sebastian, who calls me sweet when I come.
Sebastian, who threw a punch for me.
Who the hell does that?
Callahan boys, apparently. I’ve heard the stories from Penny about Sebastian’s brother, Cooper, who she’s pretty much disgustingly in love with. I would hate it, except that I love her and love seeing her happy. She’s the kind of girl you want to bring home to your parents. The kind of girl who deserves a loving relationship.
And then there’s me.
I shouldn’t keep letting Sebastian in. I’m just going to hurt him, one way or another. I tried to earlier, I wore Cooper’s teammate’s sweater to the hockey game after Seb asked me not to, and he just gave me a once-over and ignored it. Patient as always. And then at the bar, some creep tried to take a video of me and Penny, and he tore me away from the fray before jumping in alongside Cooper.
I pad to the door and ease it open.
“Hey,” he breathes. His voice is hoarse—not just from the punch to the throat he took during the fight, but from the game earlier. Only his voice was as loud as Penny’s. Penny and I have talked about it before, how we’ve never seen brothers so close. “Can I come in?”
His eyes are dim and exhausted, his cheek swollen with the makings of a wicked bruise. There’s a cut on his forehead, too, half-hidden by his messy hair.
I grab his hand and guide him inside. He sits on the little couch in the common area gingerly. We have a mini fridge, so I grab an ice pack from the freezer and wrap it in a t-shirt before handing it over.
“Sure you don’t have a fucking concussion?” I ask, staying by the door.
He turns to me slowly, as if trying to minimize the pain. The movement makes him wince. I shove down the thread of worry working through me. “They checked me out at the urgent care place, I’m fine. Cooper needed stitches.”
The worry grows deeper. A rapidly expanding black hole, threatening to suck me in.
He jumped into a fight for me.
That doesn’t matter.
I try for a scowl. That’s safe. It’s the smiles that get me into trouble, not the scowls. “I didn’t ask you to be my knight in shining armor.”
“I wasn’t about to let that asshole smack you around. Or Penny. Or Cooper, for that matter.” His voice is sharp. It’s a voice that allows no space for argument. I bristle against it, even as part of me—a small, yet annoyingly vocal part of me—likes the tone and what it could promise.
I snort. “Cooper had like thirty more pounds of muscle than that guy. He was nothing. I could’ve taken him.”
“I wasn’t about to let that happen.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t.” He stands, walking over to me, and presses me against the door. I swallow, gazing into those gorgeous green eyes that devour me whenever we’re in a room together. It’s a secret, our thing, but shit like defending me in a public fight threatens to let that escape. I ought to tell him to go home, and to stop texting. “Just that I’d never let you fight alone.”
It can’t be more than hookups. Can’t be more than these moments, alone at night like we’re the only two people alive, my body burning for his. Chemical reactions in our bodies, a web of connections unfurling between us. I reach up, tracing over the bruise, and he hisses, dragging me closer.
Our lips are mere centimeters from each other, and into that space, we lean in. Together. Magnetic.
I bite his lip. He groans, making my stomach swoop. He smiles—then bites my lip back, not to be outdone. His hands grip my hips as easily as they do a baseball bat, and my nails scratch down his back, through the too-thin sweater he’s wearing. When we’re both gasping, we break apart, only to come even closer; his leg between mine, firm and casually dominant, my hands winding through his hair instead. The blond strands, so different from his adoptive family’s, are still cold from the March air outside.
I want to drag him into my bedroom. Penny won’t come back tonight, not when she has a boyfriend with stitches to care for. What I’m doing with Sebastian is dangerously close to the same thing, but there are enough differences that I can shove away the thought. Nearly. I ease back, even though I’m trapped between him and the door.
Perhaps steadied is a better word than trapped.
“Mia,” he begins.
I don’t give him a chance to finish the thought. It’s my room or the hallway for him, and the hallway would be safer, but I can’t push him out into the cold tonight. Not when he has a bruise on his face because of me. Not when he grabbed me around the waist and told me to stay put like I was breakable. Like I was the kind of girl who needed that knight in shining armor, sword on his shoulder, one of Penny’s fantasy heroes made real.
I’ve never needed it, but some part of me must want it, because I take him to my bedroom, shut the door, and tell him to make me scream.
