Sebastian muttered something about how everything always came back to the pinny.
“Then,” Abby concluded, “I will have dinner with you. As a friend. If you still want to have dinner with me.” It isn’t going to happen, Abby told herself. Either he’ll come to his senses, or he’ll be in the hospital, being treated for a concussion, which he has, and which is the only reason he’s being nice to me.
“Deal,” said Sebastian. He stood up and pulled off the green rain jacket he’d torn in the fall and the short-sleeved white cycling jersey underneath it. Abby tried not to look but ended up looking, and immediately regretted her lack of willpower. In the rain and the dimness, he looked just as good as he’d felt in the dark, with a chest and upper arms that a sculptor might have molded, and just the right amount of chest hair. Mark had his chest waxed regularly, which Abby thought might have had less to do with the hair and more to do with a distaste for anything unruly or out of his control, anything that signaled that his body, not his brain, was running the show.
She didn’t want to think about Mark.
Sebastian wriggled into her shirt, which didn’t look as ridiculous on him as she’d thought it might. A little short in the arms, a little loose in the chest, but it did not look like he’d pulled on a pup tent, which had been her fear.
“I like this,” he said. “It smells like you.”
Concussed! Abby thought, as loudly as she could, as Sebastian sat back down with his back against the tree. He spread his legs and patted the soggy ground between them. “Come sit.”
Abby pictured herself sitting between his legs, leaning back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her, and felt her entire body flush with longing. “Yeah. No.”
“We have to keep warm,” he pointed out.
“I’m okay,” Abby said, even though she wasn’t. Her teeth had started chattering, and her toes and her fingers were both numb. Fuck it, she thought, and carefully lowered herself onto the wet ground, not between his legs, but close beside him.
Sebastian made an amused, huffing noise. He slung his arm over her shoulder and pulled her against him, so every inch of her side was pressed up against the warmth of his torso, and her own dry shirt.
“There you go, my little lemon drop,” Sebastian murmured.
Lemon drop? Abby thought. Sebastian had turned himself toward her. He slid his left hand up her neck, cupping the base of her head, rubbing gently. With his right hand he reached over, pulled one of her curls out straight and let it boing back into place.
CONCUSSED, thought Abby. And, Mark. She thought about her boyfriend, back at home; her mother, just a few dozen miles away. And, finally, she thought, Oh, I am in so much trouble. She let herself lean into him, feeling his warmth, inhaling his scent. With her eyes closed, she could almost pretend she was dreaming as his left hand slid down around her shoulder, as he tilted her face up and brought his mouth down to meet hers. His face was wet, his cheeks were cold, but his lips, when they pressed against hers, were the warmest thing in the world.
“Abby,” he murmured. She could feel his thumb, stroking her cheek, then, featherlight, rubbing over her eyebrow as his other hand changed the angle of her head, letting him deepen the kiss. For a moment she felt his tongue slip against hers, then he pulled back to nibble at her lower lip. Oh, God, he’s so good at this, she thought, and let herself be greedy for a minute, letting her hand drift over his shoulder, then up and down the broad, strong planes of his back.
Sebastian made a low, pleased noise and settled one arm around her shoulders, the other around her waist, lifting her until she was practically in his lap.
“You’re cold,” he said, and started kissing her neck. Abby felt gentle suction, flickers of his teeth, the warm brush of his tongue, and, oh, she was melting, melting like sugar in the rain, like the Wicked Witch of the West. Sebastian tilted her head back, exposing more of her neck to his ministration. “Gotta warm you up.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against the relative dryness of her own shirt.
“Abby,” he whispered, and brought his mouth down against hers again. Abby felt herself softening, her body warming, like candle wax, as her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, pulling him close.
They were kissing when a horn honked. Abby jerked her head backward, jumping to her feet as she saw Jasper behind the wheel of the van. He pulled up close and rolled down his window. “Well, don’t you two look cozy!” he called.
Abby, who’d secretly been hoping that Jasper would get lost, or that the sag wagon would break down, bolted away from Sebastian, hurrying over to the sag wagon and leaning into Jasper’s open window.