Page 29 of The Boy Who Loved Wicked
“We’re going to race down this hill.”
“What—?”
And then I was gone, his incredulity floating on the warm wind. I was transported back to my time with Dad at the park. In my mind’s eye, a little boy with golden blond hair rolled down a similar hill, laughing until breathing became imperative. Grass stains coated the knees of his light blue jeans because he’d already rolled down too many times to count.
I ran my hands through the strands of Sebatian’s grass, taken back to those sunny days where I couldn’t pry my eyes open if I wanted to because its glare was that bright. I laughed remembering my father shouting “I’m gonna win this time!” knowing he wouldn’t. He never did. I pictured the wind picking up my hair, sun burning life into my skin, and joy exiting and entering my lungs. And right before I’d reach the bottom of our hill of laughs and love, he’d yell, “‘Be as you wish to seem.’” In other words: be happy, be hopeful, be me.Socrates.
Leveling out at the bottom of Sebastian’s hill, my eyelids shook with the force expended to keep them closed. I dreaded taking in the world again. The loss of a fond memory. Only, I had a new one now. I had expected to see Bash still at the top, looking down at me as if I’d lost all sanity. Instead, I found myself nose-to-nose with him. Panting, eyes wide and alive. “Did...did you fall?” He couldn’t have willingly come down. I scanned the top of the hill for answers, and his breath puffed over my cheek as he laughed.
“No, Phoenix.” He brushed my lips with his. “Though I have a feeling, where you’re concerned, falling isn’t an option.”
He crawled on top of me, watching the whole time to be sure I was okay with it. He came down, crushing me, giving a tentative cant of his hips and mine instinctively followed.
Kissing and humping at the same time proved to be a challenge due to our drastic height difference, but we made it work. “Sebastian.” Every part of me blazed, my back scorched the earth.
He readjusted, aligning us perfectly, and I let out a sound that should have embarrassed me had it not turned him on. His fingers fluttered at my throat, asking for approval. I nodded, and he ground harder onto me at the same time that his hands wrapped around my neck. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, kissing me wherever he could.
I clutched his arms. “God,” I groaned out as I came, and he wasn’t too far behind me.
I tugged on my pants and cleared the fog from the bathroom mirror with a swipe of my forearm. Sebastian was off showering in the guest room. I leaned in, pulling the skin down below my eyes, taking in how vibrant my pupils were. I touched the swell of my top lip and then the bottom, smiling against my hand remembering what made them that way. Standing straight, I tugged at a curl near my ear, it tapped out against my shoulder. It was time for a trim. I trained a critical eye on my chest, or lack thereof.
Arms wrapped around me, startling me out of my cataloging of flaws.
“You’re perfect,” Sebastian breathed from behind.
I met his gaze in the mirror, fighting the urge to cover myself. “If heroin chic is your thing.” Putting my insecurities on display wasn’t easy, but giving him access to all sides of me only served to grow and strengthen our relationship. We were doing enough hiding out in the world. Together we needed to be able to let everything go.
“Your shoulders are rounded and lean.” He cupped them. “You have natural definition here”—he brushed my triceps—“and here”—he circled under my pectorals. “Your legs are long and strong. You have a runner’s legs.” He pecked my head and rested his chin on it.
I loved seeing myself through his eyes. “I skateboard sometimes. More so when I was younger.” I shrugged at his surprised look. “I wasn’t making it to the Olympics or anything, but I didn’t always have a car.” I circled in his arms and kissed him. We stayed there like that for a while. Strands of his hair twisted between my fingers, and his lips pressed to the skin above my brows. “When’s the last time you played?” I asked, still in disbelief that this sophisticated, bespoke-suit-wearing man with the body of a gladiator followed me down a hill.
He snorted, the sound new to my ears, and he pulled my head back by my hair. “Play?”
“Yeah, you know, have fun. Live on the wild side.”
He bit at my nose, and then clucked his tongue when I failed to hide my shock at the playful gesture. “Am I that bad?” He headed for the living room.
“You’re pretty intense.”
He fiddled with the fireplace, pausing to consider me on the couch. “There were always expectations growing up in my household. My father didn’t thinkplaywas as important as being able to hold an articulate conversation with members of his cabinet. At age nine.” To himself he mumbled, “Always being groomed for something.”
“So, how’d you end up teaching if your dad wanted you to go into politics?”
“I changed my major after enrolling in graduate school. I’d be a terrible politician.”
“And your father wasn’t around to disagree.”
“Correct.”
“You would’ve loved my father.” With the fire lit, he inched in behind me, my back to his chest. Sebastian played with my hair as I told him stories from my childhood.
“Do I remind you of him?” he asked.
I heard the real question. I faced him. “It would be hard for you not to in some ways. But you two aren’t some unidentifiable obscured line.” He needed to know. I couldn’t stand it if he held back, or worse, changed his mind because he thought this was some sick fantasy of having my father back. I swallowed my panic at the thought. “You remind me of him, yes. Mostly, you remind me of what I’d been holding my breath for all these years. A deep connection.”
He watched me patiently. Giving me time to find my strength on my own.
“Danny and Theory are great, but they mostly tolerate my ramblings.” I shrugged. He sat up then, dropping his feet to the floor and urging me to straddle him. “With you I’ve found someone to share in what makes me, me.” My father and Sebastian were both giants in size and presence. My dad was bright to Sebastian’s darkness. He lit up every room he entered. Sebastian commanded every space he stepped into. “He taught me things. You teach me that what I need is already here”—I tapped the side of my head—“and here”—then my heart. The difference between them couldn’t be more clear.
