“Of you,” I reply honestly.
I bravely pull my gaze up to look into those unbelievable blue eyes. He’s staring back at me through those dark glasses with such a heated gaze. I can’t help but wonder if he’s doing it on purpose, like it’s some act, or if he really, truly wants me so much that it just emanates from him. I want it to be the latter so badly it scares me. He’s a fucking hockey player with a past that exemplifies all my fears.
“I’m not just in your head,” he replies in a rough whisper. “I’m deeper than that. I’m in your veins. I’m in your blood. You can fight against it all you want, but I know you know it’s a losing battle.”
I pull my lips into my mouth, mostly to keep them from connecting with his, which are precariously close to mine. “We have to see where this goes,” he continues, his breath warm and inviting against my cheek. “Tu sais ça.”
“What?”
“You know that.”
“How is it that something as simple as those three words sounds like you’re asking me to take my clothes off?” I mutter back softly, trying to be my usual flippant self but feeling a little light-headed. “French is such a deceiving language.”
He smirks at that. It’s deep and playful and does even more to the space between my legs than his native tongue does. “I always want you to take your clothes off, no matter what language I’m speaking.”
He makes me feel so sexy and desirable and…did Dawn feel this way too? Andie? “When did you break up with Dawn?”
He pauses and pulls back the slightest little bit. “Are you going to let me take you on that date I’ve planned or are you just going to go home alone?”
“You’re not answering my question.”
“I’ll answer your question if you get in my car and let me drive us to the date I planned,” he replies firmly.
I sigh. I can always jump out of the car at a stoplight or make him drive me home if I don’t like where this conversation goes, I think. So I shrug and turn toward his SUV. He follows beside me, his wide hand pressed to my lower back, just a fraction of an inch above my ass, and I find myself wishing he’d let it slide lower.
He opens my door, then gets in on the other side. As he starts to pull away from the curb I can’t help but ask. “What about chili night?”
“Fuck chili night and fuck Avery Westwood,” he grumbles. I can tell there is more to this than just his captain’s silly superstitions. I wonder what happened after I left the kitchen.
“So when did you break up with Dawn?”
“Before I met you,” he replies casually, but his brow is knitted behind his glasses and his full lips are almost pulled down in a frown.
“Okay. How long before you met me?”
I watch him as he concentrates on the road. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, hard, but he doesn’t respond. I’m thinking he’s not going to reply at all and the silence between us is growing thick. Finally he answers. “You think the answer is going to change how you feel about me?”
“Maybe.”
He lets out a hard huff of air through his nose at that and pushes his glasses up even though they weren’t sliding down his nose to begin with. Must be a nervous habit. He shakes his head. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you. Or what I feel for you.”
He still doesn’t answer the question and I glance out the windshield to assess where we are and how far I am from my neighborhood. Can I walk from here or do I need to call a cab? We’re down by the waterfront, near Pike Place Market. He slows to a stop at a red light, and he must know I’m about to bolt because his right hand leaves the steering wheel and lands on my upper thigh, clutching it firmly.
“You already know the answer or you wouldn’t be asking,” he says quietly as his fingers spread over my jeans, his pinky finger moving up, very close to the center of my body. Very close. “And you’re still here. Because it doesn’t change how you feel. It’s not making you any less drawn to me. Hearing me say it won’t change anything either.”
“I don’t know when. Ainsley just said—”
“Of course Ainsley is to blame for this.” Seb groans as he pulls forward as the light turns green, his hand still pressed to my inner thigh. “I’m so thankful that Chooch is finally ridding our lives of her.”
“So you’re all for just giving up and walking out on a serious relationship?”
“Don’t twist this around, Shay,” he warns as he pulls into a parking lot that borders the pier. He lets go of my thigh to pay the attendant and my leg suddenly feels cold. “I believe in long-term relationships. I want one. I just don’t believe in staying with someone who is a vicious bitch and makes you miserable.”
I say nothing as I watch him slip his wallet back into his jeans and maneuver the car into a parking spot. He jumps out and has my door open before I can even undo my seat belt. He wants to take my hand, like I’m some damsel who needs help getting out of the car. I swat his outstretched hand away and jump down of my own accord. Undaunted, he grabs my hand anyway and steers me to the back of the truck. Leaning down close to my ear, he whispers, “Always so feisty” before he opens the trunk and pulls out a canvas bag. I try to glimpse what’s inside, but he yanks it from my view and gives me a wink.
An internal debate wars inside me. He was with Dawn probably within days of taking me on the dryer. Hockey player or not, any guy who jumped that quickly from one relationship to another would make me want to avoid him. Was I supposed to be rebound sex? I guess even if that was the first intention, it didn’t exactly turn out that way, since I’m letting him lead me toward the pier, which is dark and looks abandoned. Even the big Ferris wheel at the end, a tourist trap, isn’t lit up.
Just as the realization passes through my brain, the wheel comes to life, the neon lines outlining it, glowing a bright, dazzling blue like his eyes. A guy is standing at the base of the wheel, where tourists usually line up for rides. He smiles at Sebastian and suddenly my step falters.
