Page 22 of Flagrant Foul (Totally Pucked #3)

Sev Delorean

“What do you mean you’re going to seduce me?”

There’s a clear, warbling whine of panic that causes my voice to lilt up unpleasantly.

The expression on Teddy’s face does nothing to set me at ease.

His hair is standing up at the back of his head, mussed as though he’s either been scratching his head or tossing and turning in bed.

His cheeks are pink and his eyes spitfire blue.

There’s something unfamiliar in them that lights a fuse of dread in me.

I thought I knew him well enough that I was familiar with all his moods, but I haven’t seen him like this before: so irrational that he’s crossed into an eerie state of calm. That, along with what he just said, scares the unholy crap out of me.

“Well,” he says matter-of-factly, “it’s really quite simple, handsome.”

There’s something a little off about the way he says handsome. Like it’s an insult more than a compliment. Like it’s a way of talking down to me rather than praising my looks. My dick doesn’t care. It’s into it.

“You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. The only problem is that you’re too dumb to know it.

I’ve been patiently waiting for you to figure it out for most of my life, but unfortunately for you, you just ran out of time to work it out on your own.

” He points to the door with meaning. “That little stunt with the blond got on my last nerve. It used up my last minuscule drop of patience. I literally felt it evaporate out of me. You can act surprised all you want, but know this: you brought everything that happens next upon yourself.”

There’s a deep churn in my belly. A sharp twist. A flurry of worries. It isn’t like me. I’m usually a pretty chill guy. I’m usually the one acting like Teddy is acting right now. Calm. Cool. His face is unbothered. Features relaxed. Arms crossed over his chest, loosely, not tightly.

I don’t like it.

I raise both hands in a desperate attempt to reason with him.

“Let’s all try to calm down,” I say, despite the fact that I’m the only one panicking.

“I have a better idea,” he replies without pause. “How ’bout you get some rest. Sleep it off, sweetie. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow.”

He says sweetie the same way as he said handsome, but worse.

I feel rough as a bear’s ass. I didn’t close my curtains all the way last night, and there’s light streaming into my room, hitting me in the face. It’s a rude awakening on top of a well-deserved hangover. Jesus. That was way too much booze.

I fucking hate alcohol.

The events of the night come in thick and fast. Foggy and a little disjointed.

Best I can tell, there was some dancing.

There was definitely some oversharing. I met Whatever-His-Name-Was at the third bar I went to.

He was as drunk as I was and on the same wavelength as me.

I kept talking about Teddy, and how he’s the best, and how he used to be all sweet and then got all angry and spiteful, which somehow makes him even hotter, and Whatever-His-Name-Was took it into his head that we should call Tee and ask him to come out.

It seemed like a great idea at the time.

Oh shit .

My phone.

The calls.

The voice notes.

We tried calling Teddy last night, and when he didn’t answer, we sent voice notes. So many voice notes.

I lean over the edge of the bed and scramble to find my phone in the heap of clothes on the floor.

My head pounds like a drum.

Oh God.

Two outgoing calls and five voice notes sent.

Five? Come on, man, get it together. To make matters worse, there are two blue ticks next to each message, so I know Teddy has listened to them now.

He hadn’t last night. He must have had his phone on downtime.

That’s why we thought it was a good idea to come back to the apartment.

Ugh.

I sit up, hanging my head in my hands and massaging my temples as I wait for the worst of the dizziness to pass.

By the time I make my way into the living area, the smell of cooked bacon greets me. My insides quiver as the delicate equilibrium between nausea versus hunger tips the scale this way and that. When the matter is decided, the scale settles on hunger, and my stomach pangs deeply .

Teddy is at the stovetop, showered and dressed. He’s wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt that’s a few shades darker blue than his eyes. He looks like he’s been up for a while, but the citrus and leather scent of his body wash still clings to him.

Another pang hits me. Deeper and lower down than before. My heart begins to beat in time with the dull thud in my head.

Teddy has a set of tongs in his hand, and he’s using them to nudge slices of bacon around the pan. When he sees me, his top lip stiffens slightly, and he turns a piece of bacon over in a way that’s so pointed it’s clear to me immediately that it’s an action laced with a threat.

He looks better than he did last night, but still not what I’d call well rested.

There are faint circles under his eyes, but what worries me more is his demeanor.

The arctic calm from last night is still present, wrapped around him like a shroud.

His eyes are narrowed like he’s looking into a cold wind.

It's not great, but it’s okay. I know him, and I know the best thing to do when he’s like this is to tackle the situation head-on. Apologize, mean it, and move on.

“Sorry about last night,” I say quickly. “I was out of it, and I guess I thought it was a good idea to call you a bunch. ”

He doesn’t react at all, and that unnerves me. Usually, when he’s angry, he flies off the handle. I’m used to that. I can handle that. This? Not so much.

“The thing…um, that guy, it wasn’t…a thing. It was nothing, honestly. So, I think the best thing to do is just forget the whole my roof, my rules thing and move on.” My chuckle is hopeful, clanky, and so dry it gets stuck in my throat.

“I disagree,” he says mildly.

“W-w-what do you mean you disagree?” I wish to God I were feeling sharper this morning, as this conversation is giving me the distinct impression I need all my mental acuity and then some to come out of it on top.

He offers me a small quirk of his lips, just enough to show a hint of teeth, and shrugs broadly in my direction. The action is clearly and notably devoid of regret. “I mean, the seduction is still on, Sev. That’s what I mean.”

He turns and busies himself at the stove, cracking a couple of eggs into the pan and taking a sip of his coffee as he waits for them to cook. I look on in disbelief. What’s all this about a seduction? I know I’m hungover, but Jesus, have I dropped into some sort of alternate universe?

The hollow pop of the toaster startles me, but not him. He butters four slices of toast, two for him and two for me, and arranges the bacon and eggs neatly on top of them.

He hands me my plate with just enough aplomb that I feel compelled to say something. Before thinking it all the way through, I decide to make light of the situation. A little joke, that’s what we need. A laugh is what this situation calls for.

“Is this part of the seduction?” I ask with a nervous chortle.

He smiles tolerantly, though I can tell he isn’t the slightest bit amused. “Well, you know what they say, handsome. The quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”

My heart drops. Holy shit. He’s completely serious. He was serious last night, and he’s still serious today. What the fuck is happening here?

“But no, this isn’t part of the seduction.

You’ll know when the seduction starts, believe me.

This is merely me taking care of you because you feel like shit, and that’s what people do when they care about someone.

And I do, Sev. I care about you like crazy, even though you might be the biggest ass I’ve ever met. ”

There’s that shrug again. It’s sweeter and even less sorry this time .

It’s so sweet that I forget myself. I forget that he’s Nate’s brother and that I’m trying not to look. I forget that he’s impossible and that I can’t have him. I forget I’m supposed to hold him at arm’s length.

He’s so pretty and I’m so hungover that I forget everything that isn’t him and me and bacon. My eyelids droop as I look at him, and my lips pull back way, way too widely. He meets my smile with one of his own. His is sweet and spiteful with a worrying trace of menace.

Neither of us blinks for two, maybe three, seconds, and I start allowing myself to think that maybe everything will be okay. Maybe his sugar levels are low and this is a blip. Maybe he’ll forget about all this, and we’ll go back to normal after breakfast.

A spark flashes, lighting the shadows in a pair of deep-blue pools and making them glow in a way I’m almost positive can’t be natural.

I’m right. That spark was no ordinary spark.

It was no normal flicker. It was a spark that couldn’t pick normal out of a police lineup if its entire fucking life depended on it.

“Plus”—he drags a hand through his hair in a way I suspect is meant to make him look profoundly reasonable—“I have to make sure you’re strong enough to withstand what I have planned for you, don’t I? ”

I’m not sure, but I think I nod. I hope I don’t, but my thoughts are racing unbridled and my head is throbbing so hard that I can’t say exactly how I react.

He guides me to the couch, remaining standing once I’ve taken a seat.

He watches passively as I take a bite of bacon and toast. It’s perfect.

Perfectly salty. Perfectly buttery. Exactly what my hangover needs.

I take another bite and another one. The entire time I eat, Teddy doesn’t move.

His arms are at his sides, hanging loosely. Hands in a neutral, resting position.

I chew and swallow, chew and swallow until my tongue rebels. Until my pharyngeal muscle goes lax and my mouth goes bone dry.

Teddy raises a sympathetic brow, pads to the kitchen, and returns with a glass of water. He hands it to me.