Page 40 of Sebastian

Christian’s smiling at me as I babble on, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Done?”

“Um, yeah.”

“I’d love to go to the Grabby Awards with you.”

I gasp. “Really?”

That soft and tender expression comes over his face again. “Of course. With you? Anytime.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHRISTIAN

The restaurant Sebastian picked gives me serious date vibes, which, you know what, I’m completely on board for. After our little heart-to-heart on the bench in the park the other day, I’m definitely feeling some kind of way about Sebastian and I’d bet a month’s worth of client tips that he feels the same way.

He’s so damn hard on himself when he has all the reasons to be proud of what he’s accomplished. Seeing him talk about himself like that, like he isn’t one of the most impressive people I’ve ever met, it grates at me. Like I told him, I don’t like it. No one has the right to disparage him and his achievements—not even himself.

Sebastian sent over the media queries last night. He compiled a huge list of questions and wrote up a short paragraph to respond to each. I had to chuckle while reading it—how could anyone question their own competence when they can whip up something like that in one afternoon?

The overarching theme of the questions were: where has Chris Preacher been all these years? Why did he leave? Why is he coming back? And reading through Sebastian’s responses made me realize something. Sebastian and I are a lot alike—we’re both really good at shortchanging ourselves. My reasons for getting back into the game, how I second-guessed my decision over and over again. It’s that inner self-doubt that we all have and I’ve let it push me around a lot recently.

I wanted to prove to myself that I could perform again, that I wasn’t this old, washed-up has-been. I wanted one last taste of fame and glory, of the accolades and the public validation. I wanted to stroke my ego again. All for the same reason that Sebastian is so self-deprecating. We’ve just compensated in different ways.

The host at the front of the restaurant waves me through and I find Sebastian at a little table in the corner. The lighting in here is dim, with candles and flowers in the middle of each table. Most of the diners are in pairs, all hunched over and whispering to each other like no one else in the world exists.

Sebastian stands as I approach. He’s wearing a pair of slacks with a dark blue, short-sleeved button-down that shows off the tapered upside-down triangle of his body. I pull him into a hug and close my eyes to savor the shape of him against me.

“Hey,” I whisper into his ear.

“Hey,” he whispers back.

I trail my hand down his arm as we pull away from each other, and our fingers catch each other’s as we take our seats again. My knees bump against his under the too-small table, but I don’t mind. I just hook my ankles around his and flatten our palms together.

He gazes are our hands and his lips part. When his eyes meet mine, my heart skips a beat. I don’t know whether we’ll ever shoot another video together. I don’t think I care either way. But I do know that I want to take Sebastian to bed again. I want to kiss him everywhere and lick every inch of his skin. I want to sink into his body and feel him clench around me. I want to watch his eyes as he comes on my cock. I want to see that look of wonder and surprise as his pleasure overtakes him. Then I want to hold him afterward and bask in the way our bodies come together so perfectly.

“You keep looking at me that way and I might burst into flames.”

If he meant that as a discouragement, it’s not going to work. “What if I want you in flames?”

Sebastian’s tongue sneaks out to wet his lips. “Christian…”

“Hmm?”

He swallows and sucks in a breath like the air has suddenly gone a little thin.

Someone clears his throat next to our table and I reluctantly pull my gaze away from Sebastian to find a waiter standing there, a pad of paper in hand.

“Oh!” Sebastian extricates his hand from mine and fumbles with the menu. “Sorry, can you give us a couple more minutes? Sorry about that.”

“No problem. Take your time.”

“Um…” Sebastian stares at the menu, eyes darting back and forth so quickly I doubt he’s actually reading anything. “I don’t know what’s good here.”

“Do you want to ask the waiter to come back and give us recommendations?”

“Huh? Oh, no, that’s okay. I’ll just, uh, have the lasagna, I think.” He reaches for his glass of water and downs half of it in one go. “It’s really hot in here, isn’t it?”

It is warm, but I think that has more to do with us than the restaurant’s temperature settings.

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