Page 63 of The Great Dating Fake Off
“You’re no better than my sister and mother,” he grouses, but his lips lift up as he turns back to his computer screen.
“I’m different because you can fire me or ignore my calls without me getting mad at you. Okay, new plan: why don’t you do whatever you want this morning, but we take a brief break for breakfast after my shower?”
He nods appreciatively. “Now we’re talking.”
…
That shower was the reset I needed to face the day.
Goodbye, Cowboy Pillows, Daisy Dukes, and smoky eyes. Hello clean jeans, clean white peasant top, and a bare face.
With my hair styled in two French braids, Benji and I head to the elevator.
I press the down button. “I’m getting excited about August at the store. I already have some idea for fall displays.”
“I bet they’re needlessly elaborate.”
“They are.”
The door opens and the smile falls off my face.
Sebastian stands alone inside, his head tipped down as he reads a book called Grand Strategy. His hair is wet and he’s in glasses.
Reading glasses and actual books? Really? As if I needed to find one more thing sexy about this man.
“Are you going to walk?” Benji asks.
Sebastian’s gaze snaps up at the sound of Benji’s voice. He removes the glasses from his face and tucks the earpiece into his collar. “Morning.”
I force my legs to move. “Hi.”
Moving as far away from Sebastian as possible in the tiny space, I cross my arms and hug the wall. He seems to have the same impulse, shifting to the opposite side.
Benji stands between us, hands clasped in front of him in a loose fist.
Sebastian clears his throat. “How are you feeling this morning? Any regrets?”
My gaze cuts to his as my pulse trips over itself.
“All those Long Island Iced Teas,” Sebastian continues, gaze firmly fixed on Benji. “Figured you’d be hungover.”
Right.
“I’m fine. Nora bought me vitamins last month, so I took a few of those. Hoping for the best as the morning progresses.”
“Vitamins, eh?” Sebastian rubs his neck with the same fingers that were inside my bra last night. I remember exactly how they felt. “That was thoughtful.”
I spend the rest of our descent analyzing the tops of our heads in the mirrored ceiling.
Maybe the spa has deep tissue massage appointments available, because this much tension in my body can’t be healthy.
We’re not even over the threshold of The Dawdling Deer lounge when the fighting hits my ear. It spills into the hallway, a tangled mess of voices.
“Please tell me that’s not my dad yelling,” Benji mutters.
I go first and the men slowly follow, as if unsure whether breakfast is worth it.
Ro and Enzo are squared off with their dads, Giuseppe and Vinny. Pointer fingers are flying. The dads are pointing at each other, Ro is pointing at Enzo, and Enzo is pointing at himself.
