Page 59 of One Week Wingman

I gasp. “Sacrilege.”

“The two of us were too far gone to drive, and somehow, we wound up passed out in the backseat of a minivan with the UPenn’s women’s soccer team. Go Quakers,” he adds. “But Dash managed to get hot and heavy with their star striker, and somehow, we were kicked out before we even reached Massachusetts. Hence we hitchhiked back. And had a mighty fine breakfast, right here,” he gestures grandly.

I shake my head, laughing at his exploits. “Wait, this was before Dash was with Callie?” I check.

“God yes,” Seb exclaims. “These days, he’s a one-woman man. Him, and Charlie and Grace,”

“And Austin and Jenn,” I point out. “The Maverick bachelors are dropping like flies.”

Our order is called, so Seb goes to collect it—not commenting on all his friends being newly-committed and in love. I wonder if he has any real desire to settle down himself, or if his new, serious ambitions only reach as far as the Modesto vineyard.

Would I want them to reach further…. Say, to me?

I know it’s foolish to think this way, I mean, Seb just told a story that revolves around his debaucherous ways—and I’m sure he has a hundred more to go along with it—but I can’t help myself. What I told Natalia is true: I’m discovering a whole new side to Sebastian, one I never expected to see, and I can’t help imagining what it would be like if this fake boyfriend gambit was actually real…

Waking up with Sebastian every morning, laughing together as I run boring errands, talking over late-night French toast… and waking up in his arms.

“The hunter-gatherer returns!” he appears with grease-spotted bags of food.

I snap back. “You know, that’s all been disproven by scientists,” I tell him, as we head down a rickety wooden staircase to the empty beach. “Women hunted and gathered just fine on their own. We didn’t need men for that.”

“So, we had to earn our keep in other ways, hmm?” Seb waggles his eyebrows playfully, and I laugh.

“Like cooking and cleaning and emotional maturity? Sure.”

It’s windier down here, closer to the ocean, so we find a spot in the hollow of the dunes, and huddle together for warmth, eating with our fingers and trying to keep the sand from flying everywhere in the food.

“I’ve been thinking,” he starts, eating a handful of French fries.

“Uh oh,” I laugh, and he gives me a playful nudge.

“I’m more than just a devastatingly sexy body you know, I have the occasional flash of brilliance, too.”

“You’re right,” I grin. “Go on.”

“Well, we have that stage at the bar,” Seb continues. “And we’ve hosted live music events before. I could talk to Charlie about staging an open-mic night. Or some kind of showcase, where you could sing.”

I tense. “I don’t think so,” I say immediately. “Thank you,” I add, “It’s a really sweet thought, but… Nope. No way.”

“Why not?” Seb asks, looking confused. “You were incredible at the bar the other night. And it was a tough crowd,” he adds.

“It was a drunk crowd. And so was I,” I correct him. “Daisy bullied me into it. I told you, I’m just not comfortable up there, with everyone looking at me.”

“You told me that you love music,” he says gently. “And that performing makes you feel the most like yourself.”

“I was drunk,” I argue, feeling self-conscious. “You can’t hold that against me.”

Sebastian studies me for a moment, and then gives a shrug. “It was just a thought,” he says, giving me a light kiss on the cheek. “Forget I said anything.”

“Thanks.”

I settle back against him, just watching the waves, but inside, my emotions are swirling. Being supportive of my dreams, and perceptive, but also knowing when to back off?

It’s like he’stryingto make me fall for him.

But I know I can’t. Because for all our chat and banter (and breathless moans) over the past couple of days, not once has Sebastian said anything about dating for real. This is a fling, nothing more.

And if I hope for anything else from him, I just know, I’m headed for trouble.

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