5

tabby

 

“Who is that?” Jess blurted, her gaze still glued to his ass as he jogged across the street.

“It’s a long story,” I grumbled through clenched teeth. It really wasn’t. There was nothing long in simply stating that he was the recently discovered father of Sam’s child. But getting into it meant to further linger on the situation and I had other things to mull over.

Like, how he was exactly what I hoped he wouldn’t be.

“Oh no, Tabs. You can’t have a guy like that walk in here without dropping some details. How do you know him?”

“Sam used to know him,” I loosely explained, heading back into my office.

“Ooh,” I listened to Jess drawl from her desk, bouncing the rubbery eraser of a pencil against the wooden surface. “Yeah, that makes sense. He looks like a Sam kinda guy.”

Truer words had never been spoken.

I wasn’t surprised that, sixteen years ago, my sister had met a rocker with tattoos, long hair and ripped jeans, and had a one-night stand. It’s what she did back then, before having Greyson forced her to slow down a little. But what surprised me was that this guy still had the long hair and ripped jeans. I guess there wasn’t much he could do about the tattoos painting his arms and God knows where else, but there wasn’t much to separate this man from a boy.

What I hated even more, was how good he made it look, how easy. How it was simply a part of who he was, on the road or otherwise. Nothing had forced him to grow up. He was allowed to live in a permanent bubble of adolescence for all of eternity, with nothing but some fine lines at the corners of his eyes to give away the decades of life.

I was jealous. I hated being jealous.

“Okay, but seriously though, Tabs. Did you get a glimpse at his ass?” Jess stood in the doorway of my office, gripping an energy drink in her palm.

“Do I need to remind you that you’re married?” I grumbled, dropping into my office chair and rifling through some papers on my desk.

“My husband doesn’t have an ass like that,” she reasoned, sipping her drink before pursing her lips. “Doesn’t hurt to look, right? You think he’s single?”

“I have no idea, Jess.” I huffed my irritation and pulled out the guest list from the open house.

Eleven people in all had shown up to check out Mrs. Worthington’s house. Several had shown a vague interest in it, and I thought at least a couple of them would call today with an offer. None of them had. The phone had been silent all day save for the call from Sebastian. All wasn’t lost, not yet, but the inkling of hope was fading at a rapid pace.

“I need to sell this house,” I muttered to myself, forgetting momentarily that Jess was still in the doorway.

“Maybe you could give it to Alex?” she offered gently, wincing apologetically. She knew how much I hated to give up, so much that I never had yet. But after more than six months of trying to sell the damn place, I guess she knew as well as I that the clock was ticking. Sooner rather than later, I’d have to admit defeat.

“Maybe,” I agreed reluctantly. “I just can’t understand what’s wrong with this place. I don’t get it.”

“It’s a beautiful house,” Jess sympathized with a slight shake of her head. “I’d offer to give it a shot but—”

Jess didn’t like selling the old homes. There was more convincing involved that she could never handle. Bargaining wasn’t her strong point, and because of this, she stuck with new construction.

“No, it’s okay,” I released a rueful sigh and checked the clock on the wall. “I guess I should head down to the freakin’ coffee shop.”

I hated the tone of my voice. I should’ve been grateful that this guy, a total stranger, had driven all this way to meet with me. I just couldn’t shake that I’d expected so much more from the attractive voice on the phone. Like some initial semblance of maturity upon meeting.

“Okay,” Jess nodded, heading back to her desk as I stood up to grab my purse. “Don’t come back pregnant, okay? Although if you did—”

Groaning under my breath, I left my office, sliding my bag over my shoulder. “You really have no idea how unfunny that really is.”

“I’m just saying, that guy could easily impregnate me by just glancing in my direction,” she defended, holding her hands in front of her chest as she sat down. “That’s all I’m saying.”

 

***

 

Sebastian sat on one of the coffee shop’s puffy leather couches, his knees spread as far as they would go, tapping his fingers against his thigh while scrolling through his phone. I pinched my eyes closed, held my head high and made the decision, once and for all, to be nice.

Walking through the door, I approached him with confidence, outstretching my hand and inclining my head. “Sebastian.”

At the sound of his name, he turned his head and stood up to reach out and grasp my hand. “Tabby,” he greeted me with a nod of his head, squeezing my palm in his. Just firm enough to be assertive and strong. “Sorry about that before.”

I allowed myself a search of his eyes, seeking sincerity in his gaze and finding it within the melted chocolate pools of his irises. “It’s okay,” I replied, my gaze unwavering. “Let’s sit.”

Releasing my hand from his, he waited as I sat down, shocking me with the gentlemanly gesture. I crossed my legs and reached toward the latte he had generously bought for me.

“Thank you,” I raised the cup to him as he sat beside me. Close enough for his knee to brush against mine.

“Oh,” he shook his head, lifting a dismissive hand. “It’s fine.”

Taking a sip, I enjoyed a moment of refreshing silence. A chance to quickly rehearse my next words, and allow myself a few seconds to fall into the calm of the acoustic café music.

“This is a fucking great song,” Sebastian blurted, tearing me from my serene coffee moment.

With a harsh swallow, I put the mug back on the table. “I don’t know it.”

“Mm,” he grunted with a thoughtful scowl, pointing one finger into the air. “This is John Mayer. You gotta know John Mayer.”

With a single bob of my head, I replied, “I do.”

“This one’s called ‘Slow Dancing In A Burning Room.’ I’ve heard this song nearly every fucking night for the past few months,” he informed me, nodding his head to the tune. “It’s a good one, but you know what’s funny about it?”

I shook my head without the least bit of interest in what he was saying. “What?”

With a chuckle that wormed its way through my ears and into every part of my body until it reached my toes, he replied, “Every single night, I’d watch couples in the crowd start making out and slow dancing to this like it’s some beautiful love song. But it’s not. It’s about a relationship that’s falling apart.” He closed his eyes and sang a few lines in a husky voice that made talking feel like sex, then added, “But damn, it’s a fucking great song.”

Clearing my throat, I shifted my thighs, and pushed my brain beyond the focal point between my legs. “You’re a, uh … groupie of his?”

Quickly snapping his eyes open, he shot me a narrowed glance. “A groupie? I told you, I’m a drummer.”

“I know that,” I replied brusquely. “But you said you’ve heard that song every night, so …”

One side of his perfectly symmetrical mouth curled upward as he shook his head. Criticizing me with a smile. “I play for the band that opened for him, sweetheart.”

I wanted to berate him for the bold use of a pet name. His superior tone left a heated dread coiling in my belly, warning me against getting closer to him. But I didn’t scold him; I couldn’t. Not after I’d already acted like a control freak at the office.

Pursing my lips and swallowing the vile words rising in my throat, I tipped my head, eyeing him with intrigue. “What band?”

“Ever heard of Devin O’Leary?”

“Uh, yes, actually. I have,” I widened my eyes, surprised by the strange turn of events. “He’s Greyson’s favorite.”

Sebastian cocked a brow as he leaned forward, pressing his tattooed elbows to what were probably tattooed knees. Eyeing me intently, I imagined him undressing me with those chocolate-covered eyes, peeling back the layers to find the screaming girl inside. I could’ve been dressed in a parka and ski pants and I still would’ve felt naked and vulnerable.

“Get the hell out.”

“Seriously. He loves him. And you’re …” Recollection practically smacked me in the forehead. “Wait a minute. You’re that Sebastian Moore?”

“Is there another I don’t know about?” His teeth sunk into the fullness of his bottom lip, now thoroughly amused by my surprise and amounting excitement.

“No, no, no,” I chanted, shaking my head and pressing my hands to my cheeks. “Greyson is obsessed with you. You don’t even understand. He started playing the drums several years ago because of you.”

Twisting his mouth into a contemplative frown, he slowly bobbed his head. “You’re serious about this?” He lifted his eyebrows with the question.

I nodded eagerly, knowing for certain there was no way I was letting this guy get away. Even if my body did want me to get a restraining order and move two countries over.

“He loves you,” I stated plainly.

“Well, shit,” he replied, stunned and startled. “When the hell do I get to meet him?”