Pink Shades of Words: Walk 2016 (30 page)

I was so distracted by my interior musings that I barely even noticed my grandmother sitting in the middle of the front yard, in a lawn chair she must have dragged around from the back, her hands in their normal state—full of a drink and a ciggie. I stopped short, trying to process the sight. She wasn't even facing the street, which would have made some sort of weird sense. Maybe that would’ve meant she was relaxing and watching the neighborhood go by. But, rather, she had angled the reclining garden furniture so that it was facing the front door.

The fuck?

"Hey, Grandma. What are you doing?" I asked carefully. If this was indicative of the first stages of dementia, I didn't want to freak her out by overreacting.

"Hey, doll. How you doin', baby girl? Look who stopped by." She made a sloshing upward gesture with the hand that held the drink.

I followed where she’d indicated with my gaze, trepidation filling me as panicked thoughts raced through my brain.
Is she talking about God? Or an alien? If she's losing it, how am I going to handle that by myself? I'm just a kid!

By the time my gaze reached its destination, though, I knew I wasn't going to have to worry about any of that. What I saw as I inclined my neck was the one and only Sebastian Winters. Up on a ladder. Painting my grandma's second-floor shutters.

Without his shirt on.

Swoon.

"Hey, Miche." He grinned brightly.

Oh, God. How could I be expected to think clearly while those rippling, defined abs were on such glorious display? To add insult to injury, he had adorable—no, make that
sexy
—flecks of paint all over his bare chest and his torso.

Holy. Shit.

Somewhere, there might have been some girl who could have kept an even head in the face of a paint-splattered and half-naked Sebastian Winters, but I was certainly not that girl. Not even close.

"Hey," I breathed. "What are you doing?"

"Well, I remembered you said you were comin' over here this morning to help with chores, so I thought I'd pop by and help. Then Trudy told me—"

"I told you, doll. Call me
Grandma
Trudy."

"Sorry. Grandma Trudy told me that her shutters and trim needed a fresh coat of paint real bad."

"Grandma, you didn't!" I cried, my stomach clenching.

She shrugged. "It isn't every day I get able-bodied young men showing up on my doorstep out of the blue, offering to help me with chores. What am I, an idiot? I may not know what you actually do with a gift horse, but I know what you
don't
do, and that's look it in the mouth."

"But, Grandma, he was just being polite," I growled through gritted teeth.

She repeated the shrug and then gestured up at him again, her drink sloshing around the glass. "Clearly not."

Sebastian climbed down from the ladder and came over to join us. "Seriously, Miche. It's no trouble. I'm glad to do it. Your grandma is great."

"Thanks, doll. You're pretty swell yourself."

My brain felt fuzzy and disconnected, and I was afraid I might pass out. Shit! I was so tired of feeling out of control where he was concerned. There was no other option, I had to get to the bottom of this.

I grabbed him by the arm and dragged him around the side of the house and to the backyard. "Come on. We need to talk."

"That's what I've been saying for a while now." He grinned.

"Grandma, we'll be back in a second!" I called over my shoulder.

She raised her glass to me and nodded before taking a slug of the whiskey. When Sebastian and I reached the side gate, I unlatched it and pushed him through. Then I led him to the porch swing on the back deck, which faced the meadow and lush grove of pine trees my grandmother's house backed up to.

We sat in silence for a moment, listening to the early morning birds chirp as I tried to collect my thoughts. I was surprised to see how quickly the momentum I had marched him back here with had fizzled when it came to the point where I actually had to say something. Coming up with the right words was a lot tougher, it turned out, than just making a grand pronouncement about the need to "talk."

Finally, he broke the impasse by brushing a stray chunk of hair behind my ear. "You're adorable when you concentrate," he said.

When I turned to face him, I saw that expression I loved—that
I've never seen anything as cute as you are in this moment
expression that made me feel like the prettiest, and luckiest, girl on the planet.

I closed my eyes. "What is this?" I whispered.

His voice was even, unruffled. "This is Saturday morning chores, darlin'."

It seemed like nothing ever got to him.

I opened my eyes and looked straight into his. "No. I mean...what is this, all of this, about? Why are you here? Is this about flirting with me? Is that what you're doing?"

"Darlin', if you're not even sure if I'm flirting with you, then something is most definitely wrong. I haven't been exactly subtle. But let me make it even clearer for you: Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes. As in, yes, I am flirting with you. Yes, I want to get to know you better. Yes, I am smitten as hell with you. And, finally, yes, I am definitely going to kiss you right now."

My eyes widened, and my mouth went dry. "Really?"

"Most definitely."

With that, Sebastian leaned his head down and gently pressed his lips to mine.

My brain exploded into a thousand sparkles as his mouth moved against me. Heat flashed through me from head to toe, and I was overwhelmed with sensation. I slipped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer to me as I lost myself in the sweetest and most mind-altering kiss I had ever experienced.

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C
HAPTER NINE

Sebastian

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I
pulled back from Michelle's sweet lips and stroked her hair. Her eyes were wide, and her face was flushed. She was breathing hard and trembling. Fuck, she was beautiful. I loved her toughness, but I especially loved the moments when her vulnerability peeked through. That was special because it wasn't something she let just anybody see.

"God...why do you like me?" she blurted out. She reeled back, stunned, as if she had shocked herself by saying it.

I laughed a little, thinking she must have been joking. "Why
wouldn't
I like you?"

"Because...look at you. And look at me. Guys like you are not generally attracted to girls like me. Is this some kind of bet or dare? Because I've seen that nineties teen rom-com in all of its forms, just like everyone else."

Whoa. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had been under the impression that she felt like
she
was too cool for
me
—not the other way around! "No! God! It's nothing like that. Why would you even think that?"

"Okay, well, then is it some kind of librarian fetish? Like, you think one day I'm going to shake my hair out and take my glasses off and be instantly transformed into the gorgeous supermodel that was somehow always hiding underneath my bookish façade? Because I've seen that porn, too. And, frankly, if that's what you're waiting for, you're going to be waiting a long time. That's not real life."

I brushed her hair out of her face. She closed her eyes and drew in her breath sharply.

I leaned close to her and whispered, "Not only do I not fantasize about you taking your glasses off, I kinda think you should leave them on. Don't get me wrong. You're cute as hell without them too. But I see now that I never gave them proper credit for how hot they are. They're very you. And you're sexy as all get out.”

I rubbed my thumb against her cheek as I spoke. When she tilted her head to the side, almost imperceptibly pressing her face into my hand, I knew I was getting through to her—even if it was just a little bit. So I pressed on.

"Now, I'll grant you this: Girls like you don't usually end up with guys like me. But that doesn't make one tiny bit of difference to our situation. You know why? Because I'm not 'guys like me.' I'm just me. And you're not 'girls like you.' You're just you. And 'just me' thinks 'just you' is pretty damn spectacular."

She opened her eyes and looked pleadingly into mine. "But that's the thing. That's my question. Why?
Why
do you think that? I'm being serious!"

I nodded. Insecurity simmered behind her eyes, making her vulnerable. She had never shown me that side before, and I was willing to bet that she rarely showed anyone that side. It broke my heart and made me want to protect her from anything or anyone who might hurt her. I needed her to know that, as long as I was around, no one would ever have the chance. They'd have to go through me first.

I dropped my default teasing tone. "All right, then. A serious question deserves a serious response. Reasons Why I Like Michelle: Part One. Note: The creator of this list reserves the right to add to it on a daily, if not hourly, basis. Number one: the most unpredictable damn things come out of your mouth. Ninety-nine percent of the world is as predictable as if they were reading a script, but
you
are one of a kind. And it gives me an actual physical craving, like a hunger, to know what the next thing you're gonna say will be that absolutely knocks my socks off.

"Number two: I've never seen anyone light up about anything the way you light up when you talk about books. The way your eyes spark with fire from inside when you recommend a story to somebody in the library or even just talk about what you're reading to someone when we're in class. Your skin glows with it. You're so alive at that moment that it makes me feel more alive just to see it.

"Number three: well, damn. I was about to talk about how gorgeous your eyes are, but then I thought...no, her dimples are my favorite feature. But the thought of your dimples brought to mind your smile, and of course, then I thought that was my favorite. But, just as I was about to settle on your smile, I remembered your long, graceful fingers and how, every time I look at them, all I can think about is you touching me and what that would feel like and look like. That, of course, made me realize I hadn't added all of your, shall we say,
sexier
parts to the list of my favorite attributes. So, now, I'm realizing I should just go with...number three: you are one helluva beautiful woman, and I'd be honored to have you by my side." I gave her my best devilish smile. "Or in my bed.

"Number four—"

I never got a chance to tell her what number four—or any of the rest of the numbers up into the thousands—were. She stopped me by pressing her lips against mine and kissing me in a desperate frenzy, those beautiful, elegant fingers buried in my hair. And, before too long, I couldn't even formulate that list anymore if I'd been asked to. It flew right out of my brain.

That wasn't important though. The only thing that mattered was that it was still written in my heart, and nothing could ever change that.

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C
HAPTER TEN

Michelle

––––––––

"S
o, holy shit. You've been talking to Sebastian Winters!" Sandy burst out before I had even fully walked through their door.

Wow. Welcome to ATB.

"Damn, Sandy. At least let her set her books down before you pounce," their roommate, Cat, laughed as she cleared a place on her desk for me to set my messenger bag.

"I honestly don't know why you persist in the fiction that we are actually going to study here by lugging that heavy messenger bag to our room every time you come over," their fourth roommate, Evelyn, dryly observed. "At this point, we don't really need to pretend that this is a study group. You can feel free to accept the fact that the studying part of this is out the window and we’re just hanging out."

"I just like to keep my options open," I protested. "We always meet up in your guys' room because you have one of the super suites and it's so much more comfortable. But that means that, if we did suddenly decide to study, you'd all be prepared. And I wouldn't. And I really like to be prepared."

"Agreed," Brandy said solemnly.

"This whole 'preparedness is next to Godliness' philosophy must be a library-employee thing," Sandy blithely observed. "Now, let's stop talking about boring old books and talk about what we really all gathered here tonight to hear about: Sebastian. Freaking. Winters."

This whole line of questioning really made me feel put on the spot. After all, even the talking (and making out) in Grandma Trudy's backyard yesterday hadn’t completely rid me of the sensation of waiting for the other shoe to drop where Sebastian was concerned. I still felt like, at any moment, I was going to wake up and find out that this had all been an extremely pleasant but singularly unrealistic dream. Talking about it with Brandy had just seemed like chatter. Talking about it with all of these girls? That would make it real. And real was scary.

"I don't really know what there is to talk about," I hedged, pulling my legs up in the chair and tucking them underneath me.

"Classic evasion," Evelyn noted.

A theater major, she wanted to be a classically-trained New York theater actress. She made it her business to study body language and connect it with the internal story that it told. After all, she’d pointed out, if she wanted to be able to embody other people on stage, to understand and portray their motivations and their emotional landscapes, she had to be able to interpret what those landscapes were by observing them. She had to pay attention. And she had gotten unnervingly good at it.

I sat up straighter, attempting to make my face and my demeanor as blank as possible so that she couldn't read me. "I don't know what you mean," I said in as neutral a voice as I could manage.

All of the girls burst out laughing. I looked around, my brows furrowed. What was so funny?

Finally, Cat took pity on me and said, "Sorry, Michelle. It's just that we've all tried that 'blank slate' routine with Evelyn at one point or another. Trust us. It doesn't work."

Evelyn nodded slightly, her eyes narrowing as let her laser-focused gaze travel up and down the length of me. "The flat, monotonous tone. The shrug. The going-for-blasé-but-not-quite-getting-there face. The downward rounding of the shoulders as the legs are tucked out of sight. Yep. All of these conspire to indicate that someone is trying to deflect attention. To hide. And what that tells me is"—she smiled wickedly—"this is someone who
has
something to hide."