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“Nope. Dinner should be ready soon. Help yourself to a drink.”

I hum in response, snatching up one of the cups and making my way to the fridge. I eye the choices—milk, a bottle of orange juice, beer, and a Brita pitcher filled with water. Water it is.

Drink in hand, I take a seat at the counter and try to relax. My body still feels on edge with all the events of the day, and I fiddle with my rings. A habit I’ve had since I was a child. One my father hated. He’d constantly yell at me to stop moving. Tell me I needed to learn to control myself. It took going to therapy for me to learn his reactions were about him and not about me—a child. As I’ve gotten older and surrounded myself with better people, they’ve never mentioned it.

“Dinner’s ready,” Sebastian announces, setting a plate of pancakes on the counter. “Tuck in. How do you like your eggs?”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ears. “Scrambled is fine.”

He nods and turns back to the stove, and I serve myself a couple of pancakes, slathering them with butter and pouring maple syrup on top of them.

I could get used to this.

Nope. No, I cannot. This is only for one night. That’s it.

Chapter three

Sebastian

She practically inhales the food I set in front of her, and I hold back the smirk that wants to break free at how much she’s clearly enjoying my cooking, instead focusing on my own food.

“Thanks for dinner,” she says a few minutes later, standing and grabbing her plate.

“I got it, love. You sit.”

“You cooked. I’ll clean up, or at least load the dishwasher.” She reaches for my empty plate.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to. You were nice enough to take me in tonight and cook me dinner. It’s the least I can do.”

I study her for a few beats, noting the look of determination on her face. She’s not going to take no for an answer.

“Fine,” I finally say, even though I would rather she sit down and let me take care of it.

She carries our plates to the sink where she makes quick work of rinsing them and loading the dishwasher before she grabs the frying pan and begins scrubbing it.

I narrow my eyes even though she’s not facing me. “That’s more than rinsing the dishes.”

She shrugs. “I’m pregnant, not an invalid. I can do a couple of dishes.”

“I didn’t say you were an invalid, but you’re my guest, and—”

She cuts me off. “And I told you, you’re helping me out, and you fed me, so the least I can do is the dishes.”

I run a hand through my hair. My mother would ask me if want to die on this hill, and no, I don’t really want to.

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

Never in a million years did I think I’d finally have Sutton St. James in my house. The literal woman of my dreams. The woman I do dream about. The one who told me in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t interested in dating me last year when I asked her for probably the twentieth time.

I know I should have taken no for an answer the first time, but she never told me why, and I thought maybe she was playing hard to get and I could convince her to give me a shot. But eventually I had to take the hint, especially when she looked me in the eyes and told me she didn’t want to date someone on the team. I still don’t know why me being on the team matters. There isn’t a no fraternization policy. I checked. One of these days, I’m going to ask her why she won’t date me. Just not tonight.

The rejection stung, but I think I handled it well. I’ve tried to be her friend, which is exactly why she’s here tonight, because as her friend I couldn’t leave her crying and distraught in her office, nor could I let her spend her money on a hotel when I have a perfectly good bed she can sleep in. For free. Plus, I can make sure she’s safe.

“So, about the sleeping arrangements,” she says, turning off the water.