Page 68 of Sebastian

Christian puts his hand on my chest, on top of my heart. “Maybe. But if there’s a chance that it’ll make life easier for you, then I want to try.”

The guilt stops squirming, smothered by the love Christian’s pouring into me. I mimic his position, putting my hand over his heart. “Thank you.”

I kiss him, slow and sweet, nothing rushed or frantic. Like the earth is standing still, giving us all the time we need.

“You’re going to have to teach me about social media,” Christian says against my lips. “I don’t know how you keep up with it all the time.”

I snort. “We’ll set some ground rules. I don’t want you relapsing because of me.”

“And I don’t want you working yourself into anxiety attacks.”

I roll my eyes because Christian’s got a point. “Fine. Neither of us will work too hard. How’s that?”

“That’s good.”

“And we might want to consider upgrading your phone.”

“What’s wrong with my phone?”

“It could use a better camera.”

Christian huffs. “Does this mean we’re officially number sign Chastian?”

I pull back far enough to frown at him. “Hashtag.”

Christian’s lips quirk into a smile.

“But you knew that.”

“I have to live up to the old geezer image, don’t I?”

“Jesus, what have I created?”

“You love me.”

I gaze into Christian’s eyes and feel that love well up inside me. It fills every nook and cranny, every dark corner, and every forgotten recess. “I do.”

“Christian!”

We both turn toward the front desk where Sawyer’s waving him over.

“Shit. I’ve got to go. My next client’s probably here.”

I reluctantly slide off his lap, but I can’t bring myself to pull my hands from him. They linger on his chest, his stomach, his waist. “Come over after you finish work?”

Christian bends to plant a quick kiss on my lips. “I’ll pick up dinner on the way.”

He takes my hand and holds on to it as he walks backward away from me. We don’t let go until both our arms are outstretched with only our fingertips touching. When he disappears around the corner, I catch Sawyer rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

“Jesus, the two of you,” he says with a smile. “I’ll get a cavity just watching you.”

I smile back at him. “Then don’t watch!” Because I have no plans of dialing down the lovey-dovey with Christian. I only want to dial it up.

I float all the way back to my apartment and when I pull my computer into my lap, it’s like some kind of switch has flipped inside me. I can edit this damn thing all of a sudden. Maybe it’s knowing that Christian is all-in on this venture with me, that we’re doing this together, as a team. I’m seeing all that raw emotion in a different light now. Instead of making me uncomfortable, I find that I can’t tear my eyes away. I linger on the way Christian’s fingers press into my skin, that bead of sweat rolling down his neck. The sound of my gasp tugs at something base and elemental in my gut. This is two people, loving each other, pouring themselves out for one another, leaving nothing in reserve. It’s beautiful. It’s powerful. It’s by far the best thing I’ve ever produced.

I work straight through the afternoon, my fingers flying as I edit. I barely have to think. My brain has taken on a life of its own, operating in some kind of weird trance that completely bypasses any conscious decision-making. I’m deep into it when the buzzer sounds on my door, snapping me back into reality.

It’s dark outside. The only light in my apartment comes from the screen of my laptop. My stomach is grumbling about being ignored for too long. I grab my phone and find a few messages from Christian.

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