Page 29 of The Flirty Forward

Sunday morning, I find myself pacing my living room, having a conversation with myself.Will he come? Will he not?I pick up my phone for at least the tenth time before putting it down again. “I amnotgoing to call Brielle.” I just wish I actually knew if he was really coming to my house to pick me up or not. I mean the man doesn’t even know my address. Of course, he could have gotten it from Aiden. “Ugh.” This is why I’ve been pacing since ten. I’m frustrated and irritated with Sebastian, and he’s not even here!

I debated all morning whether or not I should get dressed and ready like I was going to brunch or just stay in my pajamas. I finally decided to get dressed...just in case. But I didn’t dress up. I'm wearing my dark wash boot-cut jeans with my brown boots that have a heel on them. I’m wearing a bright pink sweater, and I left my hair down. I paired my outfit with my small gold hoops and my gold heart necklace. When ten-thirty comes and goes, I shake my head and drop onto my couch, irritated. I can’t believe I wasted so much of my morning. I huff and stand up, ready to take off my boots when a knock sounds on the door. I march over to the door and open it. Sebastian leans against the frame, looking as relaxed as he ever is. He looks over my outfit and whistles. “You look gorgeous, Doll.”

“You’re late.”

He pushes off the doorframe. “Relax, Doll. I was getting you a coffee.”

I notice the coffee cup in his hand for the first time. It has an Anna’s label on it. “It’s from Anna’s?”

“Yep.” He hands it to me and walks past me, not that I invited him in. “She said it’s one of your favorites. This is a great condo,” he says, looking around at my place. “But it’s small; you should move in with me.” I choke on the sip of coffee I just took and end up coughing like I’m dying. “You okay?”

I nod, blinking furiously. When I finally have myself under control, I lift my head. “Why in the world would you think I would move in with you? What is the matter with you?”

He shrugs. “We’re going to get married, and you’re going to live with me eventually. Might as well get a head start.”

I shake my head. “You are unbelievable.”

He beams at me. “Thank you.”

I take a drink of my coffee, thankfully not choking this time. “All right. Time for you to go. Thank you for the coffee, but it’s time for you to go.”

He grins. “Nice try. Come on. You’re coming with me. We’re going to my parents’ house for Sunday brunch.”

“I’m not going to your family’s for brunch, Sebastian.”

His smile doesn’t waver. “Yes you are, Doll.”

I stand tall, throwing my shoulders back. “No. I’m not.”

His grin widens. “You are so sexy when you fight me.” He doesn’t leave me even a moment to processthatcomment. “And you’re coming with me because we’re working on your image. Remember?”

I scowl at him. “I’m pretty sure I’m not the one that needs to work on their image,” I say pointedly.

“Me? I hate to break it to you, but I have a great image.”

I ignore his comment. “How does my going to your family’s home help with my image? It’s not like the media is going to be there to take pictures.”

“No, but I will be there. I’m going to take a picture of us with my family. It will show that you’re not actually as bad as people have made you out to be. Of course, if you don’t want to, you can hope that people will just let all this go. Maybe they won’t show up at your school anymore. Maybe they won’t post memes anymore about how awful you are to say no to me, calling you theBword. Maybe—”

“Okay, I’ve got it,” I say cutting him off. “Fine. I’ll go. But just this once and just so we can get a picture.”

“Great!”

“But I’ll drive myself.”

He puts his hands up in surrender. “Fine.”

I stop a moment and take a good look at him. “You’re really going for the casual look.” He’s got a cap on backwards and is wearing a t-shirt that looks so old, it’s threadbare. He’s completed the look with a pair of old gray sweats. “It’s brunch at my parents; there’s no need to dress up.”

I scowl at him before grabbing my purse and my phone. I usher him out the door and lock the door behind me. I stop at the top of the steps. “That’syourcar?”

He glances behind him. “Yeah.”

“You have a C8?”

He gives me a slow smile. “You know your cars.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Don’t give me that. It’s a Corvette; I love Corvettes. And it’s a C8?” It’s the car I've dreamed about owning, but I don’t tell him that. “My grandpa loved his corvettes,” I say by way of explanation. I stare at the bright blue corvette, trying not to drool.

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