Page 120 of Bid For Me

It’s not long before I’m holding onto Seb for dear life, my feet slipping out from under me at least three times in the first ten minutes.

“You’re fine, love. Just relax,” Seb reassures me, laughing as he pulls me back onto my feet.

“I’m not fine,” I admit, my face flushed with embarrassment. “I’m going to fall and break something.”

Seb smirks, skating backwards a few steps to put some distance between us. “You don’t have to be graceful. Just let go.”

I take a deep breath and try to relax, focusing on staying upright. Slowly, with Seb’s steadying hand in mine, I begin to gain confidence, and soon enough, we’re skating side by side, laughing as I finally get the hang of it.

“This is amazing,” I admit, the wind rushing past us.

Seb’s smile softens. “I’m glad you’re having fun. You’re breathtaking when you’re happy.”

As the weeks go by, these dates become more than just fun activities – they’re our way of learning, of growing, of discovering the little things about each other. Every moment spent together builds our connection, deepening the bond between us. I know it’s only the beginning of what we’ll share, but right now, I’m savoring every second of it.

We’re taking our time, and that feels like the most important thing of all. But there’s no denying that there’s something more building between us. A longing.

As the days pass, the quiet moments between us grow more charged. I catch myself lingering in the silence, savoring the way Seb looks at me, like he’s seeing me for the first time all over again each time our eyes meet. His smiles are slow, deliberate, and every word he speaks feels weighted, important.

It’s all so damn beautiful, so different from anything I’ve ever had before. We talk for hours, exchange stories about our childhoods, our fears, our dreams. I get to know him, piece by piece, like we’re building something I’m not sure I ever want to tear down. But there’s this pull between us, something electric that I can’t quite ignore.

The longing builds quietly, steadily, like the tide creeping closer to the shore.

But I can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing. A touch. A kiss. Something physical.

It’s frustrating. We’re close – so close – and yet the space between us feels like an ocean, no matter how many times we reach out.

I notice how his hand brushes mine when we walk side by side, how his fingers graze the back of my neck when he talks tome, how his voice lowers in that way that sends shivers down my spine. But it’s never enough. Not enough to bridge the gap. Not enough to make me feel like I’m not waiting for something that may never come.

And so, I begin to feel restless.

Every time our fingers touch, my heart races, and I want to pull him closer, to feel his body pressed against mine. But I hold back. I know he’s taking his time, and I’m willing to wait – but for how long? How long before the frustration boils over? Before this simmering tension finally erupts?

The thought of it keeps me up at night, tossing and turning under the weight of my own longing. And yet, when I’m with him, when I see the look in his eyes as he listens intently to every word I say, I can’t help but remind myself that this – whatever this is between us – is real. It’s growing.

I just wish it could move a little faster.

Finally, there’s pottery. The studio is small, intimate, and smells like clay and fresh paint. I’ve always wanted to try it, so Seb took the chance to sign us up for a class, taking my creative suggestion a little too literally.

We spend hours at the wheel, our hands getting dirty as we try to make bowls and vases. Seb’s a natural, of course, his hands steady and skilled as he shapes his creation. Meanwhile, I’m struggling to keep my clay from collapsing in on itself.

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” he says, laughing softly. “It’s just for fun.”

“But it’s your turn to teach me!” I pout, glancing over at his perfect pot.

Seb grins, leaning over to help me guide my hands. “Okay, okay. I’ll make you a pro yet.”

And he does. With his help, I manage to create something that doesn’t look half-bad. By the time we finish, we’re both covered in clay, laughing like kids.

The laughter from the pottery class is still fresh in my mind as Seb and I head back home, our hands clasped together. My clothes are streaked with dried clay, and my cheeks ache from smiling, but the energy between us feels electric – buzzing with something unspoken.

We step inside, the door clicking shut behind us. Seb drops his keys into the wooden bowl on the console table, and I glance at him as he kicks off his shoes. The soft light from the kitchen casts shadows on his sharp jawline, and the heat pooling in my chest swells.

It’s been weeks of playful, sweet dates. Weeks of holding hands, stolen kisses, and building trust. But the walls between us are thinning, and my patience is running out. I want more. I wanthim.

Seb turns to me, his smile easy and teasing. “You okay?”

I nod, taking a step closer. “Yeah. Just…thinking.”

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