Page 13 of BounBound By Scars

I stepped back, putting distance where I suddenly, desperately needed it.

“Take me out on a date.”

His head tilted, amused. “Excuse me?”

“You and me. Date.”

His frown deepened, but I powered through. “Fake date.”

His expression shifted. From amused, to something colder.

“I don’t fake-date women who have feelings for other men, Amelia.”

“Oh? What happened to ‘sweetheart’?” I smirked, goading him. Wrong move.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, looking at me like I was a petulant child. “Use your words. Full sentences. And then properly explain to me your request, motivation, and intention.”

Okay. So. I didn’t know why, but that wasgloriouslysexy. Apparently, I had just learned something new about myself. I liked men who were communicative.Effectivelycommunicative.

And I, Amelia, actually found Sebastian attractive. My feelings for Kabir may have been way more. But my plan with Sebastian wouldn’t be too hard to execute.

I exhaled sharply. “I want to pretend to date you so that Kabir, who—frankly—is already acting jealous, gets jolted out of his self-sacrificing, non-communicative, stupid… martyrdom.”

His lips twitched, but he stepped closer, invading my personal space. “Sorry, sweetheart. I can’t pretend to date you.”

My shoulders slumped.Shit.

“I can, however,” he continued, voice lower, lips brushing against my ear, “actuallydate you.Youcan keep pretending.”

My heart slammed against my ribs.

“Also,” he added, like this wasn’t already derailing my life, “I could use your help with something.”

I blinked, leaning back, and took a second to process that last part. “My help?”

He nodded solemnly. “I need to fire Logan.”

I jerked back. “What the fuck?”

Sebastian chuckled. “Logan has decided that his life mission is to rid me of my alcoholism. I need him fired from that position. I think I’d respond better if a beautiful woman such as yourself… I don’t know… scolded me?”

My eyes widened. “Alcoholism? You’re… an alcoholic?”

Sebastian shook his head before giving me a small, sad smile. He gestured for me to sit back down, reclaiming his seat opposite me.

“Not really. I was an addict as a teenager,” he admitted. “When I was rehomed to your neighborhood with the Blackthorns, I made sure to stay away from that stuff. You and Dylan? You guys were a big part of helping me with that. Even though you didn’t know it. Talking to you both, hanging out with you, even the mundane stuff… kept me away from it. I had relapses. But, I never told you.”

I must not be hiding my sorrowful, stunned expression well, because a second later, he was beside me.

“I’ve been sober from hard drugs for over seventeen years, Amelia. But with everything that happened—Logan dying, coming back, almost dying again—I picked up alcohol. I never drank every day like this before.”

He exhaled slowly. “Now, I appreciate Logan being concerned. I love him for it. But I can’t stand the look of disappointment on his face. The same face I see dying over and over again in my nightmares. The nightmares that keep me up. The insomnia I try to cure with alcohol.”

He reached out, fingertips brushing my chin, tilting my face toward him. “You get me?”

I nodded, barely breathing, before forcing out, “I know we’re talking about something very serious. But, why… uh…”

God, why was it so hard to breathe with him so damn close?

---