Page 10 of Strings
“Scared her away?” I attempt to finish his sentence.
“Yes. Definitely.”
“Look, Bash. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“You didn’t. I know she didn’t expect that. It’s just…”
“What?”
“Remember when I was listing my flaws? Well, I also told her I was horrible in bed.”
I snort-laugh. There’s a loud cranking noise and the baggage belt begins to turn.
“You find that funny?” he asks.
“Yes. Did you lie about everything?”
“What makes you think I’m lying about that?”
I roll my eyes. “You seem like the kind of guy who cares. You probably wouldn’t stop until a girl was completely satisfied.”
His lip curls slightly on one side, but he hides it quickly as he stares into my eyes. “I actually am I decent cook.”
“Not surprising. And I’d bet money you’re also a neat freak. I’m guessing you wash your dishes right after you use them.”
Bags start tumbling down and I search for my luggage.
“I guess you think you have me figured out.”
“There!” I point to a big black duffel bag with a red bow. “That’s one!”
Sebastian grabs a hold of it as it passes by. “Jesus, Talia. What do you have in here? A dead body?”
“Huh?” I question nervously.
“It’s heavy. Did you pack everything you own in this one bag?”
I grab it with ease and relax when I realize what he meant. “It’s not that bad.”
“You said two, right? Is that the other?”
A black suitcase with another red bow comes into view. “Yep!”
He grabs that one and doesn’t struggle at all this time. “Your shuttle awaits. Are you ready?”
I glance around for Bella, hoping she left and I can take an Uber instead. But there she is, watching us from the other side of the belt. Dammit.
“Yeah, I guess. But if you kill me, I’m going to come back and mess up your apartment for the rest of your life.”
“Deal.” He takes the heavier bag along with his. “This way.”
I follow him to the parking garage, glancing over my shoulder to see if Bella is following us. She is. That girl needs to get a life.
We get to a black Mercedes SUV and the trunk opens with a push of a button. He places my bags inside then goes to open my door. “What?” he asks when I don’t move.
“Um, license and registration please, serial killer?”
He rolls his eyes as he leans into the car, opens the glove box, shuffles stuff around, and stands with a piece of paper in his hand.
