My arms stilled around Des, and I felt every hair on my body stand on end.
Shit, shit, shit.
SebastianfuckingCovington was at my door.
***
My eyes flew open and spotted him over Desmond’s shoulder. He was standing in the partially open doorway, the hand he’d raised to knock drifting slowly back toward his side. His glaring eyes were, for once, not directed at me, but were locked on the back of Des’ head. With my eyes on Sebastian, I pulled out of the embrace. Desmond’s arms dropped away from me, and he turned to face the man who’d just appeared in my doorway.
“This was a mistake.” Sebastian’s eyes were wide, his tone incredulous. “I just can’t seem to stop making those with you. I shouldn’t have come here.”
Desmond looked from me to Sebastian, then back to me. “This the guy?” he asked.
Iglanced at Sebastian, who’d turned to go but halted when he heard Desmond’s question. When Bash’s eyes met mine, I nodded reluctantly.
“Seems like a dick,” Desmond muttered. One corner of my mouth twitched and my gaze returned to Des.
“Actually, I’m pretty sure I’m the dick in this situation,” I admitted. I could sense Sebastian’s presence by the door, where he stood paralyzed with momentary indecision — to stay or to go. As much as I was worried about another confrontation like the one we’d shared earlier, the curiosity of why he was at my door — hell, of how he’d even tracked down my apartment and gotten inside without buzzing — was tearing me up inside.
“You gonna be okay with him if I leave?” Des asked. I smiled softly at him before my eyes drifted over to Sebastian. He was watching me closely and I saw something flare in his eyes when I nodded my head.
“Yeah,” I said, my gaze steady. “Yeah, I’ll be fine with him.”
“You need me, you call.” Des took hold of my chin and turned my face back toward him, so I was looking into his light blue eyes rather than the hazel ones that had a tendency to ensnare me.
“Thanks, Des,” I whispered. “You’re the best.”
“I know that, babe.” His grin was cocky. “I’m just waiting for you to catch up.”
I laughed as he dropped a light kiss on my forehead, turned for the door, and came face to face with Sebastian — at which point all levity was sucked from the room and my giggles died in my throat. Des drew himself up to full height and made sure his not-insignificant muscles were on display as he leaned toward Bash.
“Do not upset her.” His tone was surprisingly cordial, even if his stark order left something to be desired.
To my surprise, when Sebastian responded it was with equal civility. “I won’t,” he promised.
“Good.” Des nodded, then turned back to look at me. “Bye, babe!”
With a final wink, he was gone — leaving me not only in the company of my ex, but also wearing a ridiculous silk freaking pajama set and three sheets to the wind after downing two brimming glasses of wine.
Perfect.
I stared at Sebastian. Sebastian stared back at me.
When neither of us spoke, the tension grew into a living, breathing entity — coiling around us like a dark, malevolent snake. With each passing second, the cobra constricted more tightly, its deadly embrace squeezing until the strain of simply staring at one another became too much to withstand. I cleared my throat, sick of this silent stalemate, and gave in.
“Well.” I stepped back into my apartment so the doorway was clear. “I guess you should come in.”
He took a step inside and shut the door behind him with a soft click that, for some reason, sounded more like a jail cell locking into place than a thin piece of particle-board closing on crappy hinges.
I walked over to my kitchen area and immediately topped off my wine glass, taking a healthy gulp for strength. When I turned back to Sebastian, his eyes were sweeping my small space in an intense but not altogether critical evaluation. They lingered for a moment on my wall of notes, photos, and mapped locations, his brow crinkling in confusion and curiosity as he took in the sight.
“Wine?” I offered. He shook his head.
I walked over to my couch, skirting him with several feet of safe distance between us. Settling into the cushions, I turned to look at him. He hadn’t moved much past the doorway and his gaze now seemed to be locked on my bed, examining the rumpled comforter and widely strewn throw pillows with more than cursory interest.
“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.” He spoke the words with indifference, still refusing to look at me.
I rolled my eyes. What was this — jealousy?