Some Sort of Happy (Skylar and Sebastian): A Happy Crazy Love Novel (17 page)

She nodded. “I’m beginning to see that.”

Well, this was it. She was realizing how difficult I was, how frustrating it was to get close to me, and she’d abandon me because of it. It’s nothing I didn’t expect…it had happened plenty of times before with girls a lot less beautiful than Skylar. So her next words shocked me.

“You know what we need? Some fried chicken. You’re coming to dinner at my parents’ house.”

Nausea hit me. Strangers. A dinner table. A new situation. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Well, I do. And you’re going to come along and make it up to me for being a jerk just now when all I’m trying to do is have some fun.” She hugged her knees again, tilting her face to the sun. The light played with her hair, streaking it with silver and gold. It looked so soft and warm, and I wondered if I’d ever get another chance to run my hands through it.

“What time is it?” she asked suddenly.

I pulled my phone from my pocket. “Close to six.”

“Dinner is at six-thirty, so we should think about heading back.”

I frowned. “Skylar, I’m not entirely comfortable with this. It’s nothing against your family, I just don’t like situations where I don’t know anyone.”

“You know me. And Natalie will be there with her boyfriend, Dan. You can meet him, and our older sister Jillian, and my parents too. They are perfectly nice people with clean dishes. And we don’t use sharp knives for fried chicken, so you don’t have to worry about stabbing anyone. But if you do, stab Dan. Natalie thinks he might be cheating on her.”

“That’s not funny.”

She lowered her chin and looked up at me. “Yes, it is. You’re not going to stab anyone. You gotta lighten up a little, Sebastian. I’ll help you.” She leaned back on her hands and stretched her feet toward mine, batting one of my ankles with her toes. “Think how proud your therapist is going to be when you go in there next.”

“He will be,” I admitted. “He told me I should talk to you.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

I exhaled slowly, nervous to share this with her but feeling like I owed her something good. “Because the day I saw you at the beach, a lot of…feelings surfaced that triggered a relapse.”

“What kind of feelings?”

Fuck, this was embarrassing. “Old feelings. I used to…have a crush on you. In high school.”

She beamed. “You did?”

“Yeah. Along with every other guy there,” I said under my breath. “I had no chance.”

“Stop.” She kicked me gently. “You never said anything about it.”

“How could I? You were surrounded all the time. And I was so fucking awkward and shy.”

“You
were
shy. You’re still shy. Sort of.”

My face burned. “Yeah. I guess.”

She didn’t say anything for a minute or two, just stared out across the water. I was about to start rowing us back when she asked a question that surprised me.

“Why me?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you have a crush on me? Was it because you thought I was pretty?”

I had to think about it. Of course I thought she was pretty—everyone did. But that wasn’t all of it. “It wasn’t just your looks,” I said. “I was an observer back then, not really a participator, so I saw a lot of what went on without actually being involved. I saw that you were nice to everyone, that you didn’t bully or cut people down, that you went out of your way to smile and say nice things to people. I liked that you weren’t shy about raising your hand in class to admit you didn’t understand something. I liked that you sometimes asked me for help.” I paused to take a breath.

“Wow. That’s like the most I’ve ever heard you say at one time.” Her smile lit up her face. “And I’m totally flattered.”

That smile. It was like a drug—I wanted to say anything, do anything to keep it there. “So yes, Ken—that’s my therapist—told me that if talking to you was a fear, then I had to conquer it.”

She met my eyes. “And you did.”

“I did.”

“So now,” she said, “you’re going to conquer fried chicken, potato salad, and cherry pie with the Nixon family.”

Taking the oars in my hands, I shook my head. “You’re much bossier than you were back then.”

“I’m not bossy,” she said indignantly. “I’m just good at seeing what needs to be done.” She grimaced. “Except when it comes to myself. Then I’m horrible.”

I began rowing us back toward the dock. “I’ll help you. Maybe we can help each other.”

I watched Sebastian row us back toward the cabin, the muscles in his chest and arms working hard. Even though our brief romantic interlude had been a little frustrating, what happened afterward had been good for us. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure what had made me act the way I did, insisting he grab me by the throat—it could have backfired terribly. But I was so sure he wouldn’t hurt me, I needed him to know it. And maybe it hadn’t solved the problem entirely, but I felt like we at least gained some ground.

He was so different—for most guys, it would be the other way around. They’d be all over the sex part, and then when you asked about their thoughts, they’d go silent. Sebastian had those silent moments too, and moments where he snapped, but I felt like I understood him better. He was just so hard on himself.

Now if only I could get him hard on me.

Stifling a smile, I recalled how divine it had felt when he’d let himself relax for a few minutes with me on the bottom of the boat. I probably pushed it too quickly with the hand thing, but I couldn’t help myself—and he’d felt so good beneath his shorts. Thick and long and solid. Lust zinged between my legs and I pressed my thighs together.

Damn. Sebastian needed time to work through whatever had his mind all jacked up when it came to touching me, and I wanted to be patient for him, but lord almighty I had some frustration to work off.

The thought made me wonder what he did to relieve that kind of tension, and right away I pictured him naked, lying in that bed in the loft getting himself off, the muscles in his arms working hard, his abs flexed.

Oh crap. I better look away from him right now.

Maybe I’d get the vibrator out tonight. The way I felt right now, it wouldn’t take more than a minute.

• • •

While Sebastian cleaned up, I sat outside on the patio and tried very hard not to think about him in the shower.

OK, somewhat hard.

After about fifteen minutes, he came out to the patio dressed in khaki pants and a fitted navy blue button-down with the sleeves cuffed up. “This OK?”

“Of course. You look great.”

“I didn’t have time to shave.” He rubbed his chin. “Sorry.”

“Stop it. I like the scruff. And we are very casual, I promise. I texted my mom that I was bringing a friend to dinner, and she was delighted. But we better hurry so I have time to change.”

We pulled up between the big house and my guest house right at six thirty. Sebastian waited in the living room while I stealthily scooped a clean pair of panties from a drawer and flipped through casual dresses I had hanging on a rack beneath some corner shelves.

“That your closet? Very clever,” he said.

“Gotta make use of every inch of space in a place this small. OK, I’ll be right out.” I grabbed a flowy little dress with cami straps and a deep V neckline and ducked into the bathroom. Tossing my shorts, panties, socks and t-shirt in the hamper, I threw my hair up in a clip and quickly showered, then slipped on the new panties and the dress. Crap, was it too sexy? The neckline was low and I didn’t wear a bra with this dress, but the dress wasn’t tight or short, and the pretty floral pattern gave it a touch of innocence. I put on some deodorant, fluffed out my hair, and added a dab of perfume behind each ear. A quick swipe of pink lip gloss was the only makeup I had time for.

“OK, dressed,” I said, sliding open the repurposed barn door that now served as bathroom door. “Now shoes and we’ll go.”

Sebastian was standing by the window, hands in his pockets. He turned to me, his eyes traveling down my body. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and he cleared his throat. “You got the bin pulls attached. I like them.”

“Me too.” I hurried over to the corner shelves, beneath which I had shoeboxes stacked, and dug out my light brown wedge sandals. “Actually, I’m happy with the whole place. Wish my mother wasn’t kicking me out of it next week. It’s rented for the summer,” I went on when I saw the question on his face. I shoved my feet into the sandals and tugged the straps over my heels.

He nodded in understanding. “So you need to find an apartment?”

“Yes.” I grabbed my phone off the table and led the way out, pulling the door shut behind him. “But before that happens, I’ll need to find that better paying job. Working for Natalie is fun, but it won’t pay my rent.”

Sebastian fell silent as we headed across the drive toward my parents’ house, and he walked sort of slowly and stiffly, like a prisoner headed for the guillotine.

“Hey.” I grabbed his hand. “No worries, OK?”

He looked down at our hands, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Are you nervous?”

“A little.”

“You know what I used to do when I’d get nervous before auditions?”

“What?”

“I’d imagine the very worst thing that could happen. Like forgetting my lines or falling on my face. Wetting my pants. Those things still wouldn’t kill me.”

He stopped walking right before we got to the front porch. “Except when I imagine the worst thing that could happen tonight, Skylar, I’m not wetting my pants. I’m stabbing someone.”

I turned to him. “Who are you stabbing?”

“I don’t know. Whoever’s closest.” His worried expression told me he was serious, and I was tempted to hug him, tell him he didn’t have to come to dinner if he didn’t want to, assure him I understood. But somehow I thought that wasn’t what he needed.

“Well, remind me not to sit next to you, then.” I headed up the steps. “Come on. Let’s do this.”

• • •

My family welcomed Sebastian warmly, Natalie giving me a smug smile behind his back as he shook our father’s hand.

“I take it things are going well,” she whispered on our way to sit down at the big antique table in the dining room, which was already laden with platters and serving bowls full of food.

I shrugged. “They’re OK.”

“I want details!”

“Tomorrow at work,” I promised.

“Sebastian, why don’t you sit here next to Skylar?” my mother suggested, pulling her usual chair for him. I sent her a grateful look.

Natalie sat on Sebastian’s other side, and Dan next to her. I wondered if she’d confronted him about the text messages yet. We’d have to talk about that tomorrow, too.

“Sebastian, did you have an older brother?” asked Jillian, who was seated across from him. “I went to school with a Malcolm Pryce.”

He nodded. “Yes, that’s my brother. He’s three years older than I am.”

“Does he still live around here?”

“Traverse City. He’s an attorney in my father’s practice, also.”

OK, so far so good. He wasn’t exactly relaxing in his chair, but his tone of voice sounded normal.

Jillian picked up a salad bowl. “Oh, are you a lawyer?”

“Yes.” He swallowed, maybe bracing himself for more questions about his past, and I put my hand on his leg to remind him he had a friend at the table. I wasn’t going to let the conversation go anywhere that would embarrass him. I might not have a college degree but I was a master at manipulating a crowd. He patted my hand, and I smiled at him.