Page 72 of Rule 2: Never Join a Christmas Dating Show
I laugh, then carry him to the bed and plop him onto it. He bounces on the bed, gazing at me in wonder. Then he quickly scrambles up, totally professional, and stands on the bed.
“Raise your arms, big guy,” he orders.
“You’ve got it,” I say happily.
Sebastian’s fingers brush my sides as he pulls the sweatshirt up. The worn cotton catches my t-shirt, dragging it higher, and his hands freeze.
Cool air hits my abs, but that’s not why my skin pebbles. His fingertips hover near my bare skin. When I glance down, his eyes are fixed on the narrow strip of exposed stomach, tracking the line of muscle disappearing into my waistband.
He swallows hard, the elegant line of his throat working. A flush spreads from his collar up his neck, staining his cheekbones that perfect pink I’m becoming addicted to. His lips part, and his tongue darts out to wet them.
“I, um...” His voice comes out deeper than usual. He’s still staring at my torso like he’s forgotten how to look away. “I didn’t mean to—the t-shirt—”
“Had to happen,” I say.
He stares at me.
I stare at him.
The world is blue eyes and Sebastian. The world is chiseled cheeks and wide-set eyes and rosy lips and blond-tipped hair. The world is wonderful.
I slide off my sweatpants. My erection strains, and maybe I’m being indecent, but I gotta change into pajamas anyway.
I don’t lose eye contact with Sebastian.
“Luke...” His voice is throaty, wrecked.
He still towers over me, and I crane my head up. “You look like an angel.”
His face crumples. “You’re drugged.”
“No.” I shake my head firmly. “You’re high up.”
His lips swerve upward, and I lift him into my arms, sliding him carefully down over my body so his feet touch the ground. His sweatpants, hockey attendee appropriate, but far less formal than anything he would normally wear, slide against my bare torso. His Jersey—with my number, my name, presses against me, and I squeeze him against me, inhaling his cologne.
When his toes reach the ground, I can feel his hardness against me.
I look down, and he looks down. His cheeks turn pink again. “S-sorry.”
He tries to scramble from my arms, but I’m not having it. He’s hard for me.
“It’s okay,” I say.
“It’s not...”
And I know he’s talking about more than the fact he’s the TV host of the dating show that I’m on. He’s talking more than the fact that millions of people are tuning in each week to watch me. He’s talking about the fact we went to school together. That my brother called him vile names. That he likes me, and maybe my brother wasn’t wrong when he labeled Sebastian as gay and announced it to the whole school, every chance he could.
And I’m not having it.
Sebastian is the most wonderful man I’ve ever met.
And so I kiss him. I pull him toward me, and close my eyes, and then our lips are merging, our tongues are joining, our bodies are taking over, when it knows we don’t have words, only feelings.
And God, it’s good.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Sebastian
