She waves it off with a laugh. “People like that make life interesting, don’t they? And you know me, the more the merrier. That room is yours for as long as you want it.”
I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I could get used to rooming with Dakota, despite her questionable choice in dinner guests. And I know the offer will still stand even if she figures out that, while she was smoking a joint with her homeless friend, my bare ass was on her bathroom sink, next to her toothbrush, last night, when I was getting nailed by Sebastian. God, he was something else. Spending hours working on—and admiring—his body the day before did not prepare me for the nerves I would feel when he pulled those doors shut.
And then he took off, like a convict on the run.
“What are you and your Navy SEAL doing today?” Dakota asks, pushing the spout of a watering can into one of her plants. She must spend hours every day tending to her plants.
“I am going to start bagging all the trash in the house.” I climb out of the chair. “And I’m sure that last night was the last time I’ll ever see him.” Saying that out loud gives me a small twinge of disappointment, but I’m no idiot. He got what he wanted, and it was off-the-charts amazing. Let’s be honest—I got what I wanted last night, too.
The problem is, now I want more of it. I can’t remember the last time I actually missed a man after he left. Jesse, maybe, but that was completely different. Jesse was a high school junior, I was a gangly sophomore, and that little fling of ours lasted only a couple of weeks before he broke it off for no good reason. And we never slept together during that time. Sometimes I think my hurt feelings were more about my own ego than my feelings for him, even though they were strong.
But Sebastian . . . I already crave the feel of his hands peeling away my clothes. I crave the way he so confidently took my body. I crave the sensation of his all-consuming presence.
For the short time that we were within the walls of that bathroom I didn’t care about anything else. I focused on nothing but him.
And then he ran.
I’m not stupid enough to believe that he’s going to ring this doorbell at ten a.m. today. In fact, I’m going to leave early.
“Hmm . . .” She frowns deeply, her eyes glued to the lemon tree.
“Hmm . . . what?”
She doesn’t respond. That’s not surprising, though. Dakota can be spacey at the best of times.
“Dakota!”
“He’s very guarded, isn’t he?”
“Understatement of the millennium.” I grab a blueberry-and-God-knows-what-else muffin from the plate she brought out. Given that she bakes almost every day, I’m going to put on weight living here. That’s probably a good thing, though.
“The aura that surrounds him is”—her face pinches up; here we go—“dark and troubled. He’s not at peace with himself.”
I’d love to dismiss what she says, but at the same time, I like getting someone else’s take on this odd bodyguard who strolled into my shop and insinuated himself into my life. “He was a soldier. He saw terrible things that he probably can’t forget.” Just like I saw a terrible thing that I can’t forget. “He served two tours in Afghanistan, and he’s got some nasty scars. So I’m not surprised if you think his aura is troubled.” I hear enough in the news about PTSD and other challenges for these soldiers who return. In fact, the common message seems to be that they never come back the same person they were when they left.
There’s this ginger-haired guy, Ross, who hangs out a lot on the corner near Pasquale’s sometimes. He was in the army. I don’t know what he was like before the Iraq War, but I’m guessing he wasn’t the angry drunk Fez occasionally gives free slices to now.
Sebastian’s much more put together than Ross, though. Aloof, yes. Closed off, yes.
But he also seems to be operating with principle, and purpose.
Right now, that purpose is me. At least it was, until last night when I let him fuck me.
Am I regretting it? No, that’s not what this is.