“How about we ask someone to take a photo instead?” Maddox offers.
“Seriously?” All three of the fans light up at that. “That would be fucking awesome.”
“Yeah, of course. Why don’t you guys grab someone to take a photo and squeeze in on the sides?” Maddox waves at a server who hurries over. After he asks her to take a few photos, the three fans squeeze in at the sides of the booth. Their excitement is contagious, and we all smile and laugh as the server takes a handful of photos.
“Thanks, guys.” The tipsy fan tucks his phone back into his pocket. “We’ll leave you alone now. Go, Rogues.”
The rest of the bar joins in and shoutsGo, Rogues!and while there are plenty of other curious glances and looks of admiration thrown our table’s way, no one else bothers the players. I sag in relief, resting my head on Sebastian’s shoulder as I get lost in the joyful banter between everyone. Everyone includes Lola and me in conversation, but I enjoy observing them as much as I do joining in.
They’re all so close. A family, even if they’re not tied by blood. And as much as I’m enjoying this proximity to their bond, I can’t help feeling a twinge of regret that I wasted ten years because I ran. I was too scared to hear Sebastian tell me I wasn’t enough, so I ran, and not only did I cheat us both out of that time together, I’m pretty sure I cheated myself out of this too.
Life doesn’t often give second chances, so I can’t waste this one.
No matter what happens, this time, I won’t run.
twenty-eight
INDIGO
As much asI wish I was doing a better job of hiding my nerves, I don’t think I’m succeeding. Bash may not know that my stomach is doing a full-blown gymnastics floor routine right now, but there’s no way he’s missed my quick, shallow breathing or the way my hand has gone clammy in his.
You are not playing this cool, Indigo.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you home?” Bash squeezes my hand as he steals a glance at me before returning his attention to the road. “I know it’s late. It’s okay if you’re tired.”
Tired?Ha. I’m more wired than I’ve ever been. Pretty sure even a horse tranquilizer couldn’t knock me out right now.
“I’m not tired. I’m good, I promise.”
His lips twitch, but he fights the smile. “If you say so, Rosebud.”
“Just drive.”
Sebastian barks out a laugh as he navigates what I’m sure are beautiful neighborhoods. But it’s dark, and I’m distracted by histouch and thoughts of what I hope is going to happen tonight, so I don’t really notice.
Trying to calm myself, I quietly fill my lungs. It’s almost a mistake, because it means I get a deep breath filled with whatever cologne Sebastian wears. It’s spicy and masculine, and I’m tempted to ask him what it is so I can buy a bottle and spray it all over my pillow like a weirdo.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, slowing the car in front of a beautiful Craftsman home.
I stare at it as he pulls into the driveway. This is his house.
“No,” I say, a bit breathlessly. “I’m not hungry.”
At least not for food. Suddenly, I’m hungry to learn everything there is to know about the last ten years of Sebastian’s life. When did he buy this house? Did he decorate it himself? Did anyone ever live here with him, or has he lived alone all this time?
Some stupid, masochistic part of me wonders if this is the house we would have chosen if we’d stayed together? Would we have toured just a few, or would we have argued over things like how large the kitchen is and whether we need that extra guest room?
“This is me.” Sebastian’s quiet words pull me out of my head. He pulls into a two-car garage and turns off his SUV.
I’m stuck in place. The what-ifs are so heavy, I’m glued to the seat.
Sebastian’s eyes bounce across my face when he opens the door for me. He nods at whatever it is he sees and, leaning into the car, he unbuckles my seat belt for me. My breath catches as his cheek brushes mine, and when he turns to look at me, our lips meet. He doesn’t kiss me, though. What he does do is smile and whisper, “Are you going to stay in the car or come inside with me?”
My cheeks heat as he chuckles and presses a kiss to my forehead before straightening to his full height and offering me his hand. I take it, allowing him to lead me into his house and toward whatever comes next.
Heart hammering, I find myself in a large, modern kitchen when Bash flips a light switch. The cabinets are navy blue with gold hardware, and both the countertops and backsplash are a clean, gleaming white. A fancy espresso machine is tucked into a corner of the counter, and a bowl of fruit rests on a decently sized island with a butcher-block top.
“Sure you’re not hungry?” he asks again, kicking off his shoes and toeing them into a little nook by the door to the garage. I follow his lead and take off mine.
