And Sebastian, it seemed, wanted that, too.
While he battled with himself, the door to Callahan’s opened again and he looked up, finding Sebastian there again. This time, Sebastian didn’t say anything. The other man barely spared him a glance. He walked past, stepping over Remington’s stretched out legs, then jogged toward the street, reaching into his pocket.
“You can’t drive,” Remington hollered, assuming Sebastian was going for his keys.
Sebastian skidded to a halt and pulled his phone out of his pocket, holding it up without looking back. Minutes later a car arrived, and Sebastian climbed in, without so much as a parting look.
Remington bristled, knowing he had no right to feel shorted when he’d been the one telling Sebastian no, when he’d been the one with the laundry list of negatives. He didn’t have a place, he thought. No place to tell Sebastian what to do when he’d never actually done anything. No place to ask Sebastian to stop and wait, to come back while he tried to clear his mind.
A Dom was supposed to be in charge and in control, and Remington was anything but. His mind was a jumbled disaster, and he couldn’t pick out a word to describe the way his heart and brain clashed together.
Conflicted.
Belligerent.
Combative.
Confused.
Miserable…
Remington pulled his phone out of his pocket and swiped his screen. The dating app message window was still open, and he looked down at the correspondence between George and Allan. Or rather, him and Sebastian. He recalled the way he’d felt as he typed some of the commands, the way blood had flooded south toward his cock the first time Sebastian had sent him back a picture of his breakfast.
It was such a mundane thing now, but at the time it had been everything. Sebastian, in his acquiescence, had given Remington things he’d only ever dared to dream about. His replies, his concession, had shown Remington there could be a future for him, maybe even for them.
Let me know you get home safe, he typed, hitting send before he could stop himself.
A read alert showed beneath his message, and no reply came. Until one did.
I’m home.
Are you okay? Remington asked.
My pride is wounded, Remington,Sebastian wrote back,but I think I’ll survive you.
I’m sorry. I was just caught off guard. Overwhelmed.
Me too,Sebastian answered him.
Remington stared at his phone, adrenaline crashing the longer he spent alone. It surprised him Jace hadn’t come out to look for him, but equally thankful. He also knew he was being a horrible party guest. Callahan had arranged the gathering in celebration of the funding for his program at the museum, and Remington was outside sulking like a child. He needed to go back inside and get some water, shake the fog out of his brain, and then figure out what to do about Sebastian.
The first response that entered his brain—do nothing.
Quickly followed by—find him and kiss him until he can’t breathe.
Remington scrubbed his hands down his face and groaned, then his phone pinged with another message from Sebastian. Instead of text on the screen, Remington found a thumbnail of a video. Sebastian’s torso filled the frame and Remington pressed play to reveal Sebastian’s trembling fingers start to pluck at the buttons of his shirt, pulling it open and revealing the barest shadow of muscle and a thin spattering of hair leading down into his pants.
Remington’s breath lodged in his throat, and the video ended. His phone vibrated with a follow up message. Two simple words that would send Remington’s entire life into an unpredictable tail spin.
Please come.
Chapter Twelve
Sebastian’s Second First Kiss
Sebastian left the door open and walked away.
He didn’t think he could face Remington after that rejection, and yet he’d asked him to come anyway. He paced the length of his bedroom for what felt like an eternity, even though his watch assured him it had only been twenty-one minutes. He’d spent the first three minutes fighting back dry heaves, then the following seventeen replaying Remington’s words in his head.
