Page 27 of Last Man Standing

She blindly snatches up the television remote and pauses her movie.

“What are you doing?”

Fuck me. I’m not sure I’ve heard her voice yet today.

“Stoking the fire.” I ignore the alarm bells ringing in the back of my brain and go about my business, crossing the living room and lowering into a crouch in front of the fireplace. Fuck her for making me feel like the piece of shit I’ve spent years pretending to be. “Watch your movie, Princess. I’ll only be a minute, then I’ll leave you alone again.”

She doesn’t. The screen remains paused, the room, silent. The warmth of her stare prickles the back of my neck, which is the same damn prickle I feel when a motherfucker has me in his scope.

I don’t think she has a gun.

Probably.

“I’d like you to stop calling me Princess.”

I cough out a soft laugh and break the remnants of the last log apart, opening it wide and creating a base of glowing coals, then I trade the metal poker for our next log, tossing it in and catching a tiny, runaway ember before it burns the floor.

“Sebastion?”

I hear her behind me, shuffling on the couch, setting her feet on the floor. I absorb every single breath she takes. Even the waft of her shampoo as her hair falls forward to curtain her face.

But I don’t turn around.

Doing so would be bad. For both of us.

“Sebastion?” She repeats my name on a frustrated huff. “I’m speaking to you.”

“I heard you, Princess.” If I could leave this room without looking her in the eyes, I would. If I could escape without facing her, I’d do it. I might be a soldier, but I’m not a machine, and my need to piss her off wars with how often my attempts make her cry.

The first is fun. The second… not so much.

I straighten my legs and set my hand on the mantel. Staring down at the fire, I lick my lips and consider my hesitance preparation. It might even be a kind of desensitization. Exposure therapy, in a way. Because finally, when I can’t drag the moment out any longer, I turn on my feet and lock eyes with a shade of blue I see even in the dark. I look her up and down and paste on my most irritating smirk. “I heard you. I just don’t feel like discussing the things you can’t control.”

Her cheeks glow a pretty pink. “Excuse me?”

“Well…” I fold my arms. “See, you can ask me to do something or, in this case, not do something. You can even ask nicely. But unless I’m inclined to follow your orders, you won’t actually get that thing you asked for.”

Her eyes narrow to dangerous slits.

“I don’t wanna stop calling you princess, because…” I shrug. “I don’t wanna. And since you can’t actually stop me, I figure I’d save us both the back and forth.”

A soft growl vibrates along her throat.

“You asked. I answered. End of conversation.”

The fire crackles behind me, toasting the backs of my legs as the new log catches alight and Scarlett’s jaw grinds. Her dimples tease. Her eyes blaze. And then… she drops her proud chin in a nod. “Fine. You’re right.”

Mild panic sets off explosions in the back of my head, but I press a hand to my heart anyway, and flash a wide grin. “It turns me on when women say those words.”

“But since we’re on the topic…” She snatches up the remote and unpauses her movie. “I assume it’s cool that I give you a cute little pet name, too? Boot, maybe.”

My brows sling high on my forehead. “Boot?”

“Mmm. Like, bootcamp.” Leaning forward, she snags a half-full cup of tea and settles back against the cushions. “Men like you pride yourselves on the epic examples of masculinity you’ve achieved, no?”

“Men like me?”

“Oh! Maybe I could call you Grunt.” She takes a smiling sip and goes back to watching her movie. “I’ll think about it overnight and let you know tomorrow. But seeing as how we’ve already had this conversation—ya know, like Person A asks Person B not to use a certain name, and Person B considers but, ultimately, does what they want anyway—I figure we could skip all the back and forth and get on with things.” She lifts her feet back onto the couch and balances her teacup on her upturned knee. “We can’t control others, right? Only ourselves.”