Sebastian
PS: you’re fucking adorable when you sleep. You snore.
Fuck.
Fuck.
FUCK.
FUCK!
I remembered everything. All at once, like a freight train of heartache and embarrassment.
The video on Eric’s phone of Michael drilling Tawny from behind in the dressing room, minutes before he was supposed to say “I do” to me.
Getting obliterated with Dad’s cop buddies.
Literally jumping on the first airplane going anywhere, and offering the pilot all my cash to take me wherever he was going.
Which turned out to be somewhere called Ketchikan, Alaska.
Stumbling half-drunk, half hung over, and all pissed off into some shitty dive bar on the docks, and getting wasted all over again with the sexiest motherfucker I’d ever laid eyes on.
Who had poured me scotch.
Fed me delicious food.
Carried me out of the mud.
Undressed me.
Put me in the shower.
Put me in bed.
And hadn’t taken advantage of me.
Even though I had told him, I was pretty sure, that he probably had the hugest cock and that I wanted it inside me.
And then—and then…he’d left me water and aspirin and a cute note.
And gotten my dress dry-cleaned.
And provided real clothing for me.
And was going to make me breakfast.
It was probably the hangover, but I could have cried at the thoughtfulness and care he’d shown me.
I worked on sitting up, which took a few minutes because moving was hard, and being awake was hard, and being alive was hard and everything hurt like hell, but most especially my head and my heart ached in different but equally excruciating ways. I twisted the top off the water, took four huge slugs of the still-cold water, and then chased the aspirin down with more water. Then finally took a good look around me. The room was spare, sparse. The bed I was on was nothing but a mattress and box spring on a frame, no headboard or footboard. Plain white sheets and a thick gray quilt. There really wasn’t anything else in the room except a side table on my left, which had the water on it, the note, and my phone, with my charger cord connected to a wall plug. He’d even plugged in my phone.
There was a window, so I gingerly stood up and walked stiffly across the small room and looked out.
Jesus.
Ketchikan was gorgeous. The view from the window showed docks extending along the shoreline with boats of all kinds moored to them, and then the sea rippling with whitecaps and dotted with sails and fishing boats and a massive cruise liner off in the distance approaching the shore. Then farther to the left side of my view the hills were carpeted in green trees, a leaden gray sky above, and colorful houses climbing up into the hills, and a mountain off in the distance, white-capped.
I’d picked a beautiful spot to run away to, that was for sure.
I turned away from the view and noticed a pile of clothing on the foot of the bed: a pair of jeans, a pair of black yoga pants, two V-neck T-shirts—one black and one white—a hooded sweatshirt, a thick cable-knit sweater, an unopened three-pack of plain cotton underwear, a sports bra, two pair of thick wool socks, and a used but expensive-looking pair of hiking boots.
My throat felt thick and hot, for some stupid reason.
It was just clothing.
But…he’d thought of everything. Even a bra and underwear, and had made sure the underwear weren’t second-hand. The bra, too, still had the tag on it, which had been scribbled over with a sharpie and a second-hand price handwritten on the back. I put on the underwear and the bra, both of which fit, although the bra was a little small. The jeans were exactly my size, so I put on those along with a T-shirt and the hoodie and, let me just say, being dressed in warm, clean clothing felt like a luxury after the events of the day before.
My hair was a disaster, though. I discovered that after peeking into the bathroom. I finger combed it out as best I could, which didn’t do much for the tangles, but at least now it was kind of less fucked. I turned to leave the bathroom, and that was when I saw the damaged doorframe, and had a mental flashback.
He’d reached for me, as if his self-control had finally fizzled out, had his hand on my naked hip, and I remembered feeling his hand being so warm and strong, cupping the generous curve of my hip like his hand was made to mold to my curves, and then he’d spun around and punched the doorframe so hard the molding had splintered, his fist leaving a crushed indent in the wood and plaster.
Shit, the man could hit hard.
I was delaying, I realized.
I had to leave the relative sanctuary of this room, had to go downstairs and face Sebastian and his supposedly ugly douchetard brother.
Enough of the sissy shit. It was time to woman up.
So I tugged the hood over my head, pocketed my phone, twisted open the doorknob, and left the room. There were two other bedrooms in the hallway, both doors closed, the hallway opening into an expansive great room. The kitchen area was separated from the living room by an island counter with stools on the living room side, and the sitting area featured two overstuffed armchairs, a mismatched leather couch and loveseat, a battered coffee table, and a small flat screen TV mounted on the wall opposite the couch. Windows let in natural light, and revealed breathtaking views of the harbor and the green hills.