Page 74 of Trust Fund Baby

But he heard it. Of course he did. His hand brushed my arm, halting me mid-step. The contact seared, a live wire sparking under my skin. My whole body went rigid, traitorous, caught between the urge to run and the pull to fall back into him.

I cursed him silently—how he could unravel me with the lightest touch.

“Don’t think you can follow me to the bathroom and then bolt,” Sebastian said, his voice a low scrape of heat. “That’s not how this works.”

I barked out a laugh, sharp and bitter. “How what works, exactly? You and me? Sebastian, there is no you and me. There never has been. All we’ve ever done is destroy each other.”

His jaw flexed, green eyes narrowing like I’d struck a nerve. “I know.” The words left him raw, scraped bare. “I’ve done nothing but screw it up with you. From the start.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, a shield against the pounding in my ribs. “Then maybe you should’ve stayed gone.”

But he didn’t back off. His stare dragged me straight into the past, summers by the water, nights when he was the only one who saw me for who I really was. Memories I should have buried years ago.

“I’m through with you, Sebastian.” My voice betrayed me with a crack.

The corner of his mouth twitched, but it wasn’t a smile. “You keep saying that, yet you followed me back here, Rox. Please tell me what you were going to say when you found me.” His tone was a murmur, intimate, like he was whispering a truth I didn’t want to face.

The air thickened, pressing in.

“Why aren’t you drinking?” I blurted, desperate to shift the ground beneath us.

He blinked, startled. “What?”

“You heard me.” I tilted my head toward the bar where he’d left his glass of water. “Everyone in this city knows your reputation, and I know you better than all of them.”

Something unreadable passed over his face, and his hand dropped from my arm. He leaned back against the doorframe, shoving one tattooed hand through his hair. “Maybe I got tired of living up to other people’s expectations.”

I scoffed. “You and I both know that answer is bullshit.”

His mouth curved, but there was no amusement there. “Maybe it is. Or maybe I just don’t need to explain myself to other people anymore.”

The words landed like a punch. God, he was infuriating. Always spinning half-answers like he was still that boy who thought charm could patch over every wound he caused.

“Of course,” I snapped. “That’s classic you. Deflect, smirk, say just enough to keep me wondering, then disappear before the smoke clears.”

His eyes darkened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Roxie, did you ever think I might have changed? That I’m not the boy you used to know anymore?”

“Oh no,” I bit back. “I figured you out a long time ago. You set fire to everything and walk away while the rest of us choke on the ashes.”

He flinched—barely—but I caught it.

“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was gravel, rough and low enough to rattle through me. “You think I don’t wake up every damn day knowing I ruined the only good thing I ever had?”

The confession stunned me into silence. Because Sebastian Whittaker didn’t do confessions. He did bravado. He did games. Not this. Not words that made my chest ache and my knees unsteady.

“You don’t get to say things like that,” I whispered. “Not after everything.”

He stepped in, closing the gap until I could smell the clean bite of mint on his breath, the faint trace of cedar clinging to his shirt. His voice dropped, dangerous and quiet. “And yet here you are, in a bar bathroom with me, telling yourself you’re done but still looking at me like you’re not.”

My stomach flipped violently, traitorous. “You’re delusional.”

“Then prove me wrong,” he said, his lips hovering a breath from mine. “Walk away, Rox. For good this time. Because we both know that I will never be the one to do it.”

I should have. God knows I should have. But my feet wouldn’t move. My pulse roared. And before I could stop myself, my hands were fisting in his shirt, dragging him down to me.

Like a spark to gasoline, the kiss was an instant explosion of heat, a collision of rage and desire. His lips collided with mine in a rough, desperate kiss, which I returned with the same passion, matching his every move. His fingers gripped my waist, as if he needed to confirm I was there, unsure whether to pull me near or keep me at a distance. I leaned into him, the doorframe digging into my back as he pressed me against it, but I hardly noticed. The only things that mattered were the taste of him, the scratch of his stubble, the way his teeth snagged my lip, and the gasp I let out as he kissed me like no one else could.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t safe. It was a collision, a fight neither of us intended to win. As his palm moved up my spine, pulling me close, I felt his heart pounding against my chest, mirroring the chaos within me. My nails dug into the thin fabric of his shirt as I dared him to let go, daring myself not to.