Page 37 of The Comeback

Chapter 27

Abby

Sunlighthitsmycheekand I groan and stretch blinking slowly awake. Panic rides me for a second when I realize I’m not in my own room. Where am I? A distinctly male scent invades my senses. The tang of citrus with an undernote of purely male musk. It’s a scent I recognize. Bastian. The grown up version of him that I’m coming to know. Wait, Bastian? The events of the night before flood back, jolting me upright. The tinge of an ache between my thighs confirms that it wasn’t a dream. I slept with Sebastian, and it was freaking amazing.

Panic is warring with the elation. I should get out of here. I did it. It was great. Maybe I can get him out of my brain now. Who am I kidding? Last night. It lodged him even deeper under my skin. I was dying for a taste before and now that I’ve had it I’m craving more. Once was not enough.

Even more reason to cut and run now. I can fight the magnetic pull of his touch on my skin, but if I stay here. If I let him in to my heart, he’ll have the power to crush it under his skate and I would be foolish to let that happen a second time. After all he’s not even here. He must have lit out before he had to face me in the morning.

I manage to use the bathroom in his room, swish some toothpaste around my mouth and yank my clothes on. Each time I pick up a scattered item off the floor, my mind goes back to his hands on me removing said item.

I ignore my rumbling stomach as I tiptoe down the stairs. I don’t know wincing at the creak that groans through the silence when I’m halfway down. The smoky smell of bacon cooking pulls me to the left, but instead I head for my escape route through the tv room toward the front door.

“Morning, Pipes.”

The blond surf god who complimented my singing the other day on the quad has sweat glistening on his shirtless chest as he dips in continuous squats. My thighs are aching just watching him. The last time I got overenthusiastic and joined Lia at an aerobics class, I hurt for a week. The twinkle in his bright blue eyes that matches the curve of his full lips.

I give him a small wave and point at the door afraid that Sebastian will magically appear if I say the words out loud.

“Was Sebastian that bad? Usually he’s the one sneaking out the front door.”

My heart sinks all the way to my toes. Right, he’s a player. He’s got girls hopping in and out of his bed all the time. I’m nothing special.

“Will you shut up, asshole.” The velvety growl sends a shiver up my spine in spite of myself. Stupid body with it’s stupid reactions. “Going somewhere, Fab?” It’s even worse when he directs it at me. His tone goes soft and gentle when he uses the nickname that’s always been reserved for him and him alone. Even Trist never called me that when we were young.

“What? I call it like I see it.” If anything his bright smile grows bigger at the intimidating glower painting Bastian’s sculpted face in shadows.

“Come on. I made you breakfast.” The hand he holds out to me is tempting. Not to mention the smell coming from the kitchen. Does he make breakfast for all his conquests?

“Wow. Is something wrong? You never make breakfast for girls.” I guess not.

“I told you to shut up, and I meant it.” Sebastian tosses out one more threat before he closes the distance between us and grabs my hand. His features soften when he turns to me. “Please stay for breakfast. I made enough for two, and I’m not sharing with him.” Jackson’s smile deflates just a little at the thumb tossed in his direction.

“Awww man. C’mon, I’m hungry.”

“Well you can make your own breakfast. Last I checked your mother doesn’t live here.”

“Nah, I can vouch for that.” A polished looking guy with light brown hair wanders into the kitchen yawning through a grin. Beau? I think?

“Ow, shit!” He throws his hands up to ward off a second punch from Jackson.

“Don’t say that shit about my mom, Asshole!”

Sebastian gives them a shove when their tussle gets to close to me. “Take this outside. Maybe that’ll cool you down.” They scuffle their way out of the big kitchen.

In one smooth motion the hand holding mine slides up my arm and around my shoulder, pulling me in tight to his hard chest. His hard mostly bare chest. A laugh slips out when I realize he’s wearing an apron. I was too stunned when he caught me trying to sneak out of the house and didn’t take a good look at him. His lips tickle my head. “Sorry about that.”

The kitchen is surprisingly clean and homey for a bunch of college jocks. A pine block table large enough to seat several massive hockey players takes up the left half. Sunlight streams through the big windows that overlook it. Shiny grey counters and bright white cupboards take up the right half. The delicious smell is coming from one of the sizzling pans on the stove.

“Take a seat,” he says, gesturing at the table.

I wring my hands together for a moment at a loss totally thrown by this turn of events.

“Can I do something to help?”

“You can grab some forks.” He points to a drawer in the middle of the set up before turning back to his work over the stove.

I pause for a moment to stare at the muscles flexing under his smooth skin as he flips the bacon. Black athletic shorts hang low on his hips tempting me to tear them off to see what’s underneath. That is one fine ass and I did not get a good look at it last night. Reason enough for a repeat? Bad, Abby.

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