Page 43 of Some Sort of Happy (Happy Crazy Love 1)
She beamed. “You did?”
“Yeah. Along with every other guy there,” I said under my breath. “I had no chance.”
“Stop.” She kicked me gently. “You never said anything about it.”
“How could I? You were surrounded all the time. And I was so fucking awkward and shy.”
“You were shy. You’re still shy. Sort of.”
My face burned. “Yeah. I guess.”
She didn’t say anything for a minute or two, just stared out across the water. I was about to start rowing us back when she asked a question that surprised me.
“Why me?”
“Huh?”
“Why did you have a crush on me? Was it because you thought I was pretty?”
I had to think about it. Of course I thought she was pretty—everyone did. But that wasn’t all of it. “It wasn’t just your looks,” I said. “I was an observer back then, not really a participator, so I saw a lot of what went on without actually being involved. I saw that you were nice to everyone, that you didn’t bully or cut people down, that you went out of your way to smile and say nice things to people. I liked that you weren’t shy about raising your hand in class to admit you didn’t understand something. I liked that you sometimes asked me for help.” I paused to take a breath.
“Wow. That’s like the most I’ve ever heard you say at one time.” Her smile lit up her face. “And I’m totally flattered.”
That smile. It was like a drug—I wanted to say anything, do anything to keep it there. “So yes, Ken—that’s my therapist—told me that if talking to you was a fear, then I had to conquer it.”
She met my eyes. “And you did.”
“I did.”
“So now,” she said, “you’re going to conquer fried chicken, potato salad, and cherry pie with the Nixon family.”
Taking the oars in my hands, I shook my head. “You’re much bossier than you were back then.”
“I’m not bossy,” she said indignantly. “I’m just good at seeing what needs to be done.” She grimaced. “Except when it comes to myself. Then I’m horrible.”
I began rowing us back toward the dock. “I’ll help you. Maybe we can help each other.”
I watched Sebastian row us back toward the cabin, the muscles in his chest and arms working hard. Even though our brief romantic interlude had been a little frustrating, what happened afterward had been good for us. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure what had made me act the way I did, insisting he grab me by the throat—it could have backfired terribly. But I was so sure he wouldn’t hurt me, I needed him to know it. And maybe it hadn’t solved the problem entirely, but I felt like we at least gained some ground.
He was so different—for most guys, it would be the other way around. They’d be all over the sex part, and then when you asked about their thoughts, they’d go silent. Sebastian had those silent moments too, and moments where he snapped, but I felt like I understood him better. He was just so hard on himself.
Now if only I could get him hard on me.
Stifling a smile, I recalled how divine it had felt when he’d let himself relax for a few minutes with me on the bottom of the boat. I probably pushed it too quickly with the hand thing, but I couldn’t help myself—and he’d felt so good beneath his shorts. Thick and long and solid. Lust zinged between my legs and I pressed my thighs together.
Damn. Sebastian needed time to work through whatever had his mind all jacked up when it came to touching me, and I wanted to be patient for him, but lord almighty I had some frustration to work off.
The thought made me wonder what he did to relieve that kind of tension, and right away I pictured him naked, lying in that bed in the loft getting himself off, the muscles in his arms working hard, his abs flexed.
Oh crap. I better look away from him right now.
Maybe I’d get the vibrator out tonight. The way I felt right now, it wouldn’t take more than a minute.
• • •
While Sebastian cleaned up, I sat outside on the patio and tried very hard not to think about him in the shower.
OK, somewhat hard.
