Page 51 of Season's Schemings
There’s definitely nothingcuteabout Seb’s big, manly, athletic body. It’s a landscape that should most definitely be appreciated in all its natural glory.
I wonder at what point in the night he ended up shirtless. Not that I’m complaining. When we were getting into bed, he told me that he sleeps hot, but I wasn’t really listening. I was much more focused on making sure that I donned my huge, inherently non-sexy flannel PJs, wooly socks, and a sleeping mask. And building the pillow wall between us as high as I possibly could.
Not because I was worried abouthimtrying anything… I actually thought that sleeping next to all that hotness—especially after he insulted Adam’s, ahem,pickle—might make me do something crazy. Like try to kiss him.
He’s been such a gentleman about making sure that I feel safe and comfortable. Meanwhile, I’m reeling myself in from jumping the poor guy’s bones.
But I’m not sure that it’s only my husband’s attractiveness that’s making me feel this way—I’ve always thought that he was gorgeous. He’s always made me blush with his inappropriate jokes.
This feels… different than simply lust. It’s more like an invisible string pulling me into his orbit. The way he knows if it's a hug or a joke that I need to feel better. The way we’ve been here for only one night and he defends me before I even know I want to be defended. The way that, for the past couple of weeks, I’ve been excited to come home every night and spend time with him.
I swallow.
Frick.
The last thing I need to do is catch freaking feelings. There is no place for feelings in this marriage. It’s strictly business, with a side of ogling appreciation for the particularly spectacular specimen of the male human form that is Sebastian Slater.
That’s it.
I swallow and reach for my water bottle on the nightstand. Drain it. Because yes, I’m freaking thirsty right now.
I slip out of bed as quietly as possible. The closest bathroom is across the hallway, so if I play my cards right, I’ll be able to creep over there, brush my teeth, do all my skincare and my hair, and then slide back into bed and pretend I “woke up like this.” With dewy, plump skin, sleek hair, and fresh, minty breath.
Probably the same way that all the women Seb has shared a bed withactuallywake up.
But, I’m not going to think about them right now, because it’s Christmas Eve. AndI’mthe one waking up next to this glorious sight.
Fa la la la la la la la la.
I tiptoe across the room and let myself out the door. I’m practically prancing across the hallway, high on the beauty of this particularly festive season, when a big, muscled, tattooed arm shoots out and grabs me. Drags me into the bathroom by the buttoned-up collar of my flannel PJ shirt.
“Hey!” I squawk, glaring up at Jax, who’s dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt. His eyes are bright and his cheeks are red from the cold. My guess is that he’s been up for hours—by choice—for an early morning hike in the snow. By choice.
Like I said, my brother is a total weirdo who makes very questionable life choices.
“What the hell is going on?” Jax demands, glaring down at me like I’m the Grinch who stole Christmas.
Although, on second thought, he would probably high-five the Grinch—he’s a bit Grinch-y himself with his lack of holiday enthusiasm.
“Well, Iwason my way to brush my teeth. But then, some jerk pulled me into the bathroom and started hassling me.”
“Ha ha,” Jax deadpans. His face is a mask of complete and total unfunniness. Closer to fury, really. “I got in late last night and found your mom still up, pacing the floors in her nightgown like some kind of Victorian house ghost, and she told me that you’re here with yournewhusband,Sebastian Slater. And now, she’s upset because you won’t try to win Adam back like you planned.”
Wow. There is so much to unpack in that sentence.
I start by rolling my eyes. “Likesheplanned.”
“What?” Jax hisses.
“Momplanned for me to try and win Adam back. I never wanted to win Adam back.”
He nods. This is believable to him. He fires the next question, “And you got hitched to Seb Freaking Slater how, exactly?”
I hate lying to Jax. So, I stick to whatactuallyhappened. “Drunken night in Vegas.”
“WHAT?”
“Yup.” I try not to smile at how positively flapped my entirely unflappable brother is right now. “Elvis married us, so it was all very official. We woke up the next morning and decided we’d give it a try. At least, for a while.”