Chapter 10 Sebastian
SEBASTIAN
Ivy looks especially unhinged tonight.
That’s not a criticism. It’s an observation.
She’s wearing tight dark jeans, heeled ankle boots, and a white button-down pressed within an inch of its life—clean lines, sharp collar, sleeves rolled just enough to look intentional.
It’s the kind of outfit you wear to a meeting. Or a first date.
Not to climb over deck railings and slip through unlocked patio doors like you own the place.
At least she didn’t scale my second-story balcony like she has a couple of times in the past few weeks. Drew would’ve had a heart attack.
Her hair is down, glossy and controlled, her expression bright and alert like she planned this entrance and executed it flawlessly. Which, knowing Ivy, she probably did.
Drew is still going on about her appearing outside the patio door like this is a normal way to enter a house she doesn’t live in.
I have to look away before I smile.
Ivy is completely unbothered. She steps toward Drew like she belongs here—because in her mind, she does.
That’s the problem.
And the appeal.
Ivy knows it’s always unlocked. I tell myself I don’t lock it because it’s inconvenient. I don’t want to carry keys when I run. And the neighborhood is safe. And I just… forget.
None of that is true.
I know exactly why I leave it unlocked.
I like knowing she can come and go.
Drew stares at the unlocked patio doors and freezes again.
He keeps doing that.
His body hasn’t adjusted to the fact that the rules he’s lived by—locks, warnings, personal space—don’t apply here.
Ivy moves through the house like she’s memorizing it again. Her eyes skim the shelves. The furniture. Me. She’s cataloging everything. She does that.
“I folded your clothes and put them away.”
My brother blinks at her. “You folded his clothes?”
“Yes,” she beams. “Just the way he likes. Including his socks.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing. Ivy is careful and methodical with my clothing. She separates what I’ll wear again from what goes into the hamper. She gets annoyed when I leave them on the floor too long, which is inappropriate and strangely comforting.
Arguing with her doesn’t work.
And somewhere along the way, I stopped trying. I’ve gotten used to her doing it.
Drew looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
He’s not wrong.
I pour a drink and lean back against the counter, watching the slow unravel. Ivy’s voice stays light. Cheerful. Polite. She never raises it. Never pushes too hard.
That’s another mistake people make. They assume escalation is loud.
“I hope your wife leaves your retirement alone,” Ivy says mildly, unloading the dishwasher like she lives here. “It’s petty and mean to go after it. Especially when she’s the one who cheated.”
Drew’s shoulders lock. Then his eyes snap to me. “You told her?”
I take a drink and shrug. I didn’t tell her, but I know Ivy lurks and listens.
“Oh, no. I heard him tell Marcus.” She rinses a plate like this is perfectly normal information to have.
Drew looks at me with wide eyes. “You let this happen?” he hisses, glancing at Ivy. She’s humming softly, her back to us.
I meet his gaze and tell the truth in the safest possible way. “I don’t stop her.” I give him a look and gesture in her direction. He looks doubtful but nods.
What I don’t say is that I could.
I briefly considered it.
But late at night, when she isn’t here, the house feels too quiet. I miss the soft sounds of her moving through it. The way she notices when I forget to eat and comes over to cook. The way the lights are always off in the morning because she turned them off after I fell asleep.
I don’t tell him I like the way Ivy looks at me. Like I’m the only thing worth paying attention to.
Plus, he already knows I’m fooling around with her. Ivy let that cat out of the bag.
Cum swallower. I still can’t believe she called herself that.
I laughed at the shocked look on Drew’s face, but it bothers me. It’s degrading. I don’t know what Ivy is to me, but cum swallower and hand job enthusiast aren’t it.
She’s more.
But I’d never tell her that.
Besides, I can’t tell her to leave. She’s entertaining. Especially now that Drew is here.
He loves rules and order. She’s chaos in a pressed white shirt.
“You should tell her to leave. Or get a restraining order. Or both.”
“Oh, I don’t respond well to paper threats,” she chirps. “I do best with calm conversations and positive reinforcement. And snacks.”
My brother looks like he’s deciding whether to laugh or call a lawyer.
I almost laugh out loud. Instead, I look down at my glass, my shoulders shaking slightly.
God help me, I’m enjoying this.
I tell myself I should stop. That this has gone on long enough. That encouraging her—even silently—is reckless. That involving my brother crosses a line.
“For God’s sake, Sebastian. Does she lurk around here when you sleep?”
No way in hell I’m answering that question.
“I hate the term lurking. It sounds so... creepy.” She shivers.
“What the hell?” Drew runs a hand through his neatly combed hair, messing it up.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to watch you sleep. I only watch Sebastian.” She closes the dishwasher door and straightens, giving Drew a reassuring smile.
He makes a wounded sound in the back of his throat that has satisfaction rolling through me.
She claims me with a certainty that should bother me, given my aversion to relationships.
But for some reason, I can’t make myself get rid of her.
I take another drink, convincing myself I’ll end it soon. Lock the doors. Set boundaries. Tell her she can’t climb onto my balcony, hide in the shrubs, or rearrange my kitchen.
Tomorrow, maybe.
Tonight, I stand in my kitchen, smelling her familiar vanilla-sugar scent, listening to her hum.
She reaches into my fridge like she owns it. “I’m making chicken tonight. Your brother loves dark meat.” She glances at Drew. “Are you okay with that?”
He nods, looking defeated. Like he has no choice but to accept the insanity.
Her sleeves ride up when she grabs a pan. I smile at the butterfly bracelet on her wrist. It’s so Ivy.
She smiles at me over her shoulder, green eyes sparkling with the knowledge that she knows I’m watching. That I can’t look away.
The beautiful ones are always crazy.
I call this acceptably crazy.
She’s harmless—mostly.
Just because she once told Marcus’s date that I was a man-whore with commitment issues who would never marry or have kids doesn’t make her unhinged.
I stare at the bottom of my cup, the memory washing over me.
When Marcus returned from my bathroom and threw his arm around the woman, Ivy blushed and murmured an apology to her.
Of course, she created more issues by showing up at my house, strolling through the patio door like she owned the place. Marcus was quite surprised to see a woman standing in my living room.
I told him she was my neighbor.
He looked doubtful.
Things got worse when Marcus’s date asked if Ivy and I were serious.
“No,” I said at the same time Ivy said, “Yes—he’s just in denial.”
Marcus chuckled. His date blinked, clearly unsure which of us to believe.
I was humiliated, heat crawling up my neck.
I walked them to the door, Ivy trailing behind us like she belonged there.
“Maybe next time we can double date,” Marcus’s date said brightly.
Ivy clapped her hands and fixed the collar of my shirt like it was already decided. “That would be wonderful.”
“I look forward to it,” the woman said, beaming.
Marcus patted my shoulder. “I look forward to the upcoming engagement.”
I froze. Every muscle locked.
“Oh, Sebastian doesn’t do serious,” Ivy said easily. “Ever.”
I didn’t argue.
She isn’t wrong. I don’t want a wife. Or kids.
Ever.
The thought doesn’t even tempt me.
…Right?
She brushes past me, the scent of her shampoo tickling my nose.
I watch her move through my kitchen, cooking dinner for my brother and me like this is normal.
A tight, uncomfortable knot forms in my chest.
She looks like she belongs here.
I almost groan.
Losing my grip on reality because my stalker looks good at my stove is unhinged.
Fear prickles at the base of my spine.
I should tell her to leave.
Ivy opens the oven, and the smell of dinner fills the room.
My stomach growls.
Fine.
After dinner, I’ll establish boundaries.
Probably.