Complicated is an understatement. Ever since she moved in, it’s been like navigating a minefield. The more time we spend together, the closer I come to doing something I shouldn’t.
“No, Tink. I could never regret you.”
Her pupils dilate as she peers up at me expectantly, her breaths shallow. My gaze lingers on her mouth as the tenuous hold on my restraint slips through my fingers. I still remember how every inch of her body felt beneath my hands. How those perfect, full lips taste. And the exact whimper she made when my hand dipped between her legs for the first time.
I would do anything to hear her whimper like that again.
Fuck.
My self-control hangs in the balance, my jaw tight as I fight to steady my breath. I can’t. I shouldn’t. I won’t…
All of the reasons I need to keep my ass in line flash before my eyes. Her brother. The fact she’s living with us. Hockey. This season is critical; one that could make or break my career. After working this hard for this long, I can’t afford to derail my focus with a chick. Casual hookups are one thing—there are no emotions involved. But something tells me I can’t be casual with Sera. When I’m not thinking with my dick, I know she deserves more than that, too.
That doesn’t make doing the right thing any easier.
Even though I know I should, I can’t bring myself to pull away. Instead, I wrap my arms around Seraphina’s small frame to draw her in for a hug. She freezes for a split-second before she melts against me and loops her arms around my back, nestling closer. All of the chatter in my brain falls quiet as I press my cheek to the top of her head, breathing in her scent.
“You’re soaked,” Sera says, but she doesn’t let me go.
“Sorry.”
An indeterminate length of time passes, and neither of us moves. Her chest presses into mine with each inhale, her breaths slow and even. I’m not normally a touchy-feely person, which is why I can’t make sense of how good holding her feels. Why is it so different?
Suddenly, a car door slams in the distance, and I snap out of my Tinker Bell-induced trance. I’m not sure whether it’s Dallas or the neighbors but it’s a good reminder to wrap it up before something else happens.
“It’s late, Ser. We should get to bed.” Letting my hands fall to my sides, I reluctantly release her. Hurt flashes across her face, and I hate myself for it.
“Yeah.” She looks away, wrapping her arms around her torso tightly. “We should.”
CHAPTER 12
50-50
SERAPHINA
“I hate him.”
At the manicure station next to me, Abby glances over with a raised brow. “Do you hate him because you wanted him to kiss you, or because you didn’t want him to kiss you?”
“I hate him because I wanted to kiss him and he hugged me, Abby. Like I was his grandmother.”
It’s been three days since the kitchen incident, and my fragile female ego is still wounded. I know Tyler wanted to kiss me. Hell, he even started to lean in. Then he stopped short like a switch flipped in his brain, and he left me hanging like a fool.
I suspect it all circles back to my older, and decidedly overprotective, brother—despite the fact that who I hook up with is none of his business. Chase is clam-jamming me without even realizing it.
That, or I’ve misread the situation to a catastrophic degree. That can’t be the case, could it? Tyler admitted he still thinks about that night at XS. Unless, god forbid, he was trying to spare my feelings. Usually I’m pretty good at reading guys, but I’m starting to second guess myself.
Maybe I friend-zoned myself when I suggested that the day I moved in. That would be ironic.
Abby shrugs. “No one ever said guys were smart.”
“They definitely aren’t.” Which is why I’ve never wasted much time or effort on them, and also why I’m extra irritated I’ve let that change.
Despite my venting, there’s no denying my stomach does a happy little somersault every time one of Tyler’s messages pops up on my phone. They’re like little dopamine hits throughout the day. I’ve been living for every single text.
Can girls be simps? Because right now, I feel like one.
Abby gives the manicurist her right hand, placing her left beneath the LED light to cure her burgundy nails. “Are you ever going to reaffiliate? I hyped you up to Allie and Gina, and they keep asking me when you’re going to submit your application. Allie is the president, and she’s a third-generation Kappa, which means…”
I try to follow what she’s saying, but it’s hard to make myself care. There are more pressing items on my plate than rejoining a sorority, like picking a major and figuring out what I want to do with my life. Worrying about my mom’s health. Things that have long-term implications.
“Are you even listening to me?” Abby’s voice breaks in.
“Yeah. Um, I’ll try to get that Kappa paperwork done as soon as I can.” I clear my throat. “Just having a bit of a rough time right now, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry, Rob’s party tonight will help you take your mind off things.”
“Hopefully.” I’m not overly optimistic. Not even a fresh manicure is turning this day around. My nails are transforming into the most glorious shade of pale pink, and I’m still grumpy.
I have to find some way to get over it, though. I’m taking my mom to a checkup with her oncologist after lunch, and the last thing she needs is a cranky daughter. It doesn’t help that I’m running on approximately three hours of broken sleep after tossing and turning all night, dreaming up all kinds of terrible hypotheticals. I’m a nervous wreck. What if we get bad news? What if she’s not responding to treatment the way they hoped? It’ll be ten years this spring since my dad died. I can’t lose her, too.
If I’m being honest with myself, I might admit my mood has a lot more to do with all of that. But it’s easier to blame Tyler.
Two coffees later—a decaf white chocolate mocha for me, and a hazelnut latte for my mom—I exit the Starbucks drive-through and head for the highway to her house. It’s an additional twenty-minute drive from town, so I pass the time with more of my audiobook. The hero just angrily kissed the heroine in the kitchen after she was flirting with someone else. Toxic as it may be, I live for a good jealousy scene.
Unfortunately, the story only helps so much. The closer I get to my destination, the harder it is to focus on anything other than what lies ahead. In a way, I just want to get it over with, and I feel bad for that.
Mom climbs in the passenger side, and my gaze lingers on her, concern creeping in. As recently as Thanksgiving, her chestnut hair was thick and wavy, all the way down to her collarbone. Now it’s wispy and short, tucked beneath a blue-patterned scarf. Her already-thin frame is even thinner, too. She’s as beautiful as ever, but she looks fragile.
In the console, my screen lights up with a text from Tyler—or Hades, as he’s listed in my phone—and a tiny thrill runs through me. It’s immediately followed by a whopping dose of guilt. I should be focused on other, more serious things right now.
“You look smitten, Ser-bear. Who’s the guy?” My mother teases me, her tone playful. Her cancer treatments have taken a toll on her energy level, but she still has the same upbeat attitude.