“Sure.”
There was movement on the other end. “Darling, are you sure?—”
“I’m getting another call. Talk later,” I said too brightly and hung up.
I exhaled hard through my nose, then breathed in for calm.
One.
Two.
Three—
Fuck calm.
My phone chimed.
My Creep
Can you call me when you’re done?
A pang of guilt flared in my chest, because everything could be true—he probablywasburied in work—but it still fucking stung. Why did it suddenly feel like having sex with me was a chore? This wasn’t another item on his schedule. This was supposed to be ease. Relief. Something we both wanted. So why did it feel like rejection?
Maybe he’d changed his mind. Maybe coming home reminded him that I was still a liability.
Poor Ethan—too many feelings. Always the mess. Always the thing Sebastian had to manage.
I paced.
And of course Henry wasn’t here. Not that I should be telling him any of this, but he was usually good at talking me off the ledge.
But was it a ledge?
Or was it time to force him into having a conversation with me and drop all the bullshit once and for all? Either he was in, or he was out. End of discussion.
My brain tried to rationalize. Tried to be fair.
Anger won.
I grabbed my keys, shoved on my shoes, and headed for his apartment.
The cool night air hit my face the second I stepped outside, sharp and dry in my lungs. It should have helped—given me space to breathe, something—but neither that nor the ten-minute walk did a damn thing.
So when I stopped in front of the familiar entrance, I was still fuming and confused—which the doorman clearly picked up on. He straightened slightly as he called Sebastian, announcing that I was downstairs demanding to be let up.
I rode the elevator, jabbing the button harder than necessary, and waited for it to drag itself up five floors and spit me out at his doorstep, where he was already standing with that slightly baffled little smile that, under literally any other circumstance, would’ve been endearing.
Right now it wasn’t.
“Darling, what—” he started, hand still on the door.
I walked straight past him and into his apartment. It was neat, like his place in New York—but this one actually looked lived in. By a human.
There was an empty cup on the coffee table, the pillows on the couch looked rumpled, the whole place smelled like him. It was one of those old buildings turned modern; beautifully redone, and I might have taken more time to appreciate it, because it really was lovely—but then the door clicked shut behind me, and the sound snapped me back to why I was here.
I turned on him. “Why are you brushing me off?”
Sebastian blinked. “I’m not?—”
