Page 54 of Late Harvest

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ease up, bitch. You’re killing it, and that’s enough.

Chill the fuck out and recharge.

—From Remy’s Badass Bitch Affirmations

Remy

The surround sound from the Bose speakers vibrated the living room in symphonic harmony with the rumble of elite engines moving into position. This was Remy’s other happy place. Sitting on her couch, watching the Grand Prix coverage, with Chicane in her lap.

Except…with her on said couch was a blockbuster movie star. And nestled in his lap was her disloyal bunny.

Happy place invaded. The thing was…she wasn’t sure she minded.

Remy had been stunned when a glance at her Ring doorbell notification revealed a distorted but still ridiculously handsome Sebastian Wheatley on her doorstep. Even more stunning? Her reaction. A pulse-jittering, heart-leaping, palms-sweating, core-clenching wallop of a reaction like she’d never had before. It had to be the movie star effect, right? Right??

She’d quickly smoothed her clothes, and even put on a dab of the pale-pink tinted lip color she kept in her purse—a recent concession to vanity. A hard examination in her bathroom mirror just before their lunch date last week had revealed a depressing reality—her lips were losing collagen. Remy didn’t consider herself vain, but she’d always liked her lips. Not wanting needles jammed there, she settled for adding a bit of color.

And that impulse vanity purchase had nothing to do with Sebastian Wheatley. Nope. Nothing at all.

“Why are they weaving all over the road?”

Remy looked over and her heart did a crazy flippity-flip thing when her eyes landed on Sebastian’s handsome face as he studied the television, a confused frown in no way marring his devastating good looks.

“It’s the formation lap. They’re warming up their tires,” she explained, tearing her eyes away from him and forcing them back to the screen as she kept her voice neutral. “I know this is new to you, but please hold your questions. I’ll answer them after. I want to focus.”

“Oooohkay, my grump-a-potomus, my queen, my angel. Focus mode…activate!” Sebastian called out, Chicane chittering in what Remy interpreted as lop bunny laughter. Yep, her fake boyfriend had won her bunny over.

“I’m not grumpy,” she grumbled.

“Sssh,” Sebastian chided with a wink. “They’re almost finished the formaldehyde lap.”

“Formation,” Remy muttered.

“Oh, right,” Sebastian nodded, eyes wide in faux innocence. “You seem grouchier than usual. Did my queen not sleep well?”

Remy turned slowly to glare at him. “I haven’t been sleeping well for the past week. I wonder why? Now, quiet.” She turned back to the screen, pretending to ignore the heat of Sebastian’s stare on her face.

It was an uphill battle. He looked decadent—formfitting athletic pants that hugged the very visible muscles of his thighs, a black T-shirt that was unholy in its plain sexiness. And…mother of fucking God…he just put on his glasses.

Remy almost swallowed her tongue, fighting to recover her faculties while simultaneously battling the heat building in her core.

“I—I thought those were for reading.” She tried to sound casual, keeping her gaze on the race that was about to begin. But all she could focus on were those glasses and his thick thighs in her very sharp peripheral vision.

She caught his grin out of the corner of her eye. “Don’t tell anyone, but they’re actually bifocals. The top is for distance, to correct a mild astigmatism. The bottom is for up close. But if you tell anyone, I’ll have to dump you. Because…my image, you know?”

She whipped her head to face him, instinctively licking her lips at the teasing smile dancing on his defined lips. Really, it was unfair how sculpted his lips were. He didn’t appear to be losing any collagen.

“Kidding,” he grinned.

“It’s lights out and away we go!” the commentator announced from the screen, and Remy once again had to force her eyes from his striking face.

“Silence,” she reminded him. “This is my happy place.”

Remy tuned into the announcer, who was expounding on her favorite driver’s streak at pole position and the value of pole. Next to her, Sebastian snickered.

“Position is everything,” the voice on the television intoned, and Sebastian snickered again.