Chapter 19
nineteen
INDIGO
He pushed her away. He pushed. Her. Away.
I can’t decide what I want to do more—puke my guts up in the boxwood bushes or pull Sebastian into my bedroom and finally have my way with him.
What I do know is that we can’t stay in this little bubble while his friends and some random rideshare driver wait on the street and Lola watches from the other room.
Because I have no doubt she’s watching us.
Lola will never pass up an opportunity to be nosy.
Still, I don’t pull away when Sebastian leans in and kisses me again.
It’s slower this time, more tender. I’d be a puddle of goo if he wasn’t holding me up.
I shift in his arms, and pleasure zings through my core as my center rubs against his thick thigh.
His fingers tighten on my hips when a breathy little moan escapes me.
“Fuck, sweetheart, if you keep making those noises, I’m going to skip a lot of steps here and go straight to fucking you.” Breathing hard, Sebastian rests his forehead against mine. His eyes are closed, screwed up tight like he’s in pain. “But we have a lot to talk about first.”
“We don’t have to talk.” Fucking sounds good.
And talking sounds painful. I may be a romance writer, but I’m also a human being with enough emotional baggage to sink a small ship.
I know, logically and from a character development standpoint, that we need to talk.
But I’m not a character. I’m a real-life person, and all I can think about is running away from the pain that will probably accompany the conversation we need to have.
Sebastian’s grip on me tightens. “We do. If we’d spoken ten years ago, we wouldn’t be in this mess. I’m not wasting another ten years.”
Sighing, I close my eyes and give myself a pep talk. Because he’s right, and I know it. I’m an adult, a successful writer, and a woman who’s been taking care of herself for a long time. Even if our conversation is painful, I can handle it.
But what if it’s not painful?
“Are you sober enough to have this conversation?” It’s impossible to miss the scent of beer on his breath, even if he doesn’t taste like it.
“I have a pot of coffee brewing,” Lola says, popping her head out of the kitchen and giving me a massive, innocent smile.
I knew she’d been eavesdropping.
“Kissing you sobered me up. But coffee won’t hurt.” Bash’s lips twitch.
“Fine. Do you have to be up early for practice tomorrow?”
“Nope. Not until two.”
“Okay. Then send your cheering section home. We can either get you a rideshare home, or you can sleep on the couch.” I’m not sure he’ll fit on the couch, but I can’t worry about that now.
“Be right back.” He kisses me on the forehead before sauntering out to tell his teammates they can leave. I follow him onto the porch and watch.
“Well, well, well. It’s about time he showed up. I can’t believe it took him this long, to be honest. I told you ignoring him wouldn’t help.” Lola smirks at me, her attention flickering between me and the gaggle of men on the sidewalk.
I really hope none of the neighbors call the cops. “I thought he didn’t want me. And I really didn’t want to have that conversation.”
“Inds, I know you’ve had your share of heartbreak, but at some point, you have to accept that you’re a beautiful, badass bitch who is desirable and worthy, and that other people see it too.” Lola points a finger at me. “Don’t fuck this up.”
I start to protest, but she cuts me off.
“I’m serious, Indigo. Not many people get second chances. Don’t blow it because you’re scared.” And with that, she slaps me hard on the ass and saunters back into the house. I hear her door close, and I know I won’t see or hear her again until tomorrow.
A few moments later, after Sebastian takes a group selfie with the rideshare driver, his teammates pile back into the car and drive away. Silence cocoons us as he ambles up the sidewalk toward me, hands in his pockets, hope in his eyes.
He takes each step slowly. His gaze never leaves mine, and everything inside of me warms and begins to vibrate. I want to run. Into his arms. Away from him. Screaming into the night. But I don’t. Because I’m held captive in his gaze, and it leaves me rooted to the spot.
“Hey.” He stops when our toes are touching, lifting a hand and brushing his fingers along my cheekbone.
“Hi.”
He grins at my breathlessness, and my insides do a little flip. “Do you want to talk out here or inside?”
“We’d better go in. It’s cold, and we don’t want to wake the neighbors.”
“Right.” He brushes his thumb along my jaw. “Don’t want to do that.”
“Come on, then. Let’s get you some coffee, then we can talk.”
Sebastian follows me in, closing and locking the door behind him.
It may as well be as loud as a gunshot; it’s so silent in the house and my nerves are firing so intensely.
I get us both a mug, mostly because I wouldn’t mind having something to hold on to while we have this conversation. “How do you take it?”
“Just a splash of cream,” he says. He’s so close, I can feel his heat at my back, and the puff of his breath rustles my hair.
I fix us both a mug before turning and handing it to him silently. We stand there for a minute, cradling the warm cups against our chests, watching each other.
God, he’s handsome. The photos plastered all over the internet don’t do him justice. They never quite catch the luminosity of his dark golden skin, the little amber flecks that form a ring around his irises, or the way his left cheek has a dimple if he smiles big enough.
I thought I’d come to terms with never seeing his face in person again.
Now, I can’t imagine going another ten years without being able to watch the crinkles form at the corners of his eyes in real time, rather than simply seeing the result in a static photograph.
Depending on the outcome of this conversation, maybe I won’t have to.
“We can talk in my room,” I whisper.
“Lead the way, Rosebud.”
With every step toward my bedroom, I’m hyperaware of Sebastian. His heat, his height, the controlled power that emanates from him with every footfall. I’m nearly hyperventilating by the time we walk into my space and he shuts the door behind him.
The rooms in this little house aren’t overly large. It’s an older home, so there’s room for the queen-sized bed, a little vanity, and two bedside tables. With Sebastian in here with me, it feels downright claustrophobic. He sucks up all the oxygen in the room.
“You can sit on the bed,” I choke out, forcing myself to climb calmly onto the mattress and settle in, sitting cross-legged with the coffee mug in my hands.
Sebastian does the same, but his long legs take up much more space than my shorter ones.
Somehow, I keep my face neutral when his knees press against mine.
“I didn’t wake you up, did I?”
I shake my head. “No, I was still up. Doing some writing.”
“Sorry.” He winces. “We’d all had a few beers, and showing up unannounced at midnight sounded like a great idea in the moment.”
That makes me chuckle, because I can imagine. I haven’t spent much time around Sebastian’s teammates, but it doesn’t surprise me that they’re all up in each other’s business. I get the impression they don’t have many boundaries.
I’m glad he has that.
“It’s okay. Lola had just gone to bed, but I don’t think she was asleep yet.”
We stare at each other, taking sips of coffee to fill the silence.
“You didn’t answer any of my texts or calls.” The vulnerability in his tone is a kick to the chest. The idea that I’m not the only one who’s spent the past ten years hurting is going to take some getting used to.
Clearing my throat, I aim an apologetic wince in his direction.
“I’m sorry. I… I guess I kind of freaked out.
That kiss was… Well, when you said you hadn’t meant to do that after you kissed me, I guess I thought you regretted it, and I didn’t want to have one of those brutal conversations where you try to let me down easy, you know? ”
I’ve had more than one of those conversations, and my heart simply wouldn’t be able to handle hearing those words from Sebastian Navarro.
He grimaces. “Sorry. I could see how you’d think that’s what was coming. Especially since you saw that girl kissing me all those years ago.”
“What was her name?”
“Huh?” His brow wrinkles.
“The girl who kissed you. What was her name?” I have no idea why I’m asking. I’m not sure I want to know, but the words shot out of my mouth without permission, and now I’m committed.
“I don’t remember,” he says after a pause. His frown deepens. “Sarah? Emily? I have no idea.”
I bark out a laugh at that, because those names aren’t even remotely similar. “You don’t remember.”
“Swear to god, Rosebud.”
Letting my head fall back, I bang it against my headboard. “I’m such an idiot.”
“Maybe a little,” he teases, that frown melting into a smile for a moment before his face falls again.
“I was planning to tell you how I felt about you. That first night, I was going to take you to the beach with a picnic and a stolen bottle of wine from my dad’s collection, and I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend. ”
My breath gets caught in my throat.
“I’d wanted to ask you since I was sixteen, but some part of me knew I’d be likely to screw it up if I asked you too soon.
Even asking you before we were about to go to colleges hours away from each other was risky, but I couldn’t imagine going another year without being able to call you mine.
” There’s a nostalgic twinkle in his eyes, but it’s quickly dulled by the reality of what happened that summer. “And then you disappeared.”
“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I saw you kissing that girl, and all I could think about was how the paparazzi would describe her compared to me. Which is stupid, I know. But I was heartbroken and in my own head, and I ran like a coward. I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t you talk to me?”