Page 67 of In the Net
“I’ll be there,” I say.
“Great.” Sebastian’s smiling even more now, the apples of his cheeks looking warm. “He knows all about our arrangement, so don’t worry about having to explain.”
A question hits me. “Sebastian?”
“Yeah?”
“You really couldn’t have just texted me this question?” I ask.
Even in the low resolution of his camera, I can spot a gleam sharpen in his eyes. “What can I say? I wanted to see my girlfriend.”
27
HARPER
I’ve decided that I might need to put some distance between me and Sebastian.
I came to that conclusion last evening, when the memory of the way we danced together in the club was so vivid, and had so much sharp arousal roaring through me, that I couldn’t resist sinking my hand into my shorts and getting myself off to it—for the third time this week.
Not to mention the tender feeling that pangs between my thighs when I recall the demanding tone in Sebastian’s voice when he told me to put his jersey on at the arena. Also something that I’ve been dwelling on far too often this week.
It’s clearly not healthy for me to feel this way about memories involving Sebastian.
I know what I need is a full Sebastian detox. Of course, that’s not really plausible. But at least I can limit how often we interact outside of our weekly public dates. And him sitting next to me in our Short Fiction class.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that as soon as I start thinking that I need to spend less time around him, Sebastiansidles right next to me as I’m walking down the sidewalk on the way to do some grocery shopping.
Funny joke, universe.
“Well, then, where is my girlfriend off to this fine afternoon?”
The way my stomach dips is exactly why we need more distance between us.
Physically, distance is the last thing we have right now. Sebastian’s so close that his arm brushes against my own, giving me a staticky feeling all over.
“Have to do some grocery shopping,” I say, keeping my voice clipped. Luckily, the grocery store is right ahead of us, providing the perfect moment to take my leave of him.
Or so I think. I say goodbye and walk through the automatic doors into the supermarket, but Sebastian’s still glued to my side.
I give him a glare as I pick up a basket. “I told you I’m going shopping,” I say.
He beams an affable grin. “Yeah, I know we are.”
He wants us to go food shopping together?
My stomach tilts, but at the same time, there’s a strange speck of warmth in my chest, almost like a feeling of comfort.
Going grocery shopping is too intimate. Too domestic.
But it’s not like I can make a fuss and tell him no. Sebastian can’t go anywhere in this town without at least a few pairs of nosy eyes pointed at him. We’re supposed to be a happy couple. The last thing I need is a rumor spreading about us having a fight at the grocery store. There’s no doubt it would get back to my cousin. She’d wield that knowledge like a knife.
Sebastian dips down to pick up a shopping basket, too, but midway, he freezes. There’s a mischievous look in his eyes.
“Hey!” I protest as he snatches away my own basket, setting it back in the rack.
“Instead of both carrying baskets, we should share a cart. It makes more sense.”
That warm feeling expands in my chest. So does the unsteady feeling in my stomach. Sebastian pushing around a shopping cart as we stroll through the aisles, filling it with our selections, our stuff intermingling?
