Page 31 of In the Net (Sin Bin Stories #5)

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, Sebastian sidles 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?

Far too domestic. The kind of thing couples who’ve been together for months would do. The kind of thing couples who live together would do.

But before I can think of a reason to object, Sebastian already has hold of a shopping cart and is pushing it past me, out of the vestibule and into the shopping area.

“Hurry up, dear,” he calls over his shoulder in a sing-song voice.

I’m surprised how the sarcastic term of endearment hits me, like a pleasant hum. I’ve never been into pet names with any of the guys I’ve actually gone out with. Dear might be old-fashioned, but I kind of think I wouldn’t mind a guy I’m dating calling me that.

A guy I’m dating for real, that is. A guy who definitely isn’t Sebastian.

Admitting defeat, I follow him.

Sebastian makes a beeline for the frozen food section. “We have a decent stretch of time without a game coming up, so me and the guys at the house are treating ourselves to a real delicacy for dinner tonight.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

Sebastian pulls open one of the freezer doors and grabs four frozen pizzas, depositing them in our cart.

I fix an unimpressed look at him. “You are such college guys.”

A smirk makes a dimple dig into his left cheek. “Guilty as charged.”

“Aren’t athletes supposed to take care of their bodies?” I quip as we walk down the aisle.

“Don’t get haughty on me, dear.” There’s that word again. “Don’t tell me you haven’t enjoyed the temptation of a frozen pizza for dinner now and then.”

I eye our cart. “Not the extra-large mega-meat lover’s triple-stuffed crust.”

“Don’t knock it ‘til you try. Maybe for one of our date nights you can come over and I’ll make one for us.”

“Pass.” I lower my voice to say, “Besides, that wouldn’t even be in public. It would defeat the purpose of a date night.”

A shade of disappointment crosses his upbeat expression. It doesn’t take him long to shake it off, though.

As we keep shopping, Sebastian seems to have a comment for everything I put in our cart.

Why does just thinking those words— our cart —make the back of my neck feel hot?

“Tuna? Yuck,” he says as I pick up two cans.

“I like to have it with my pasta,” I say.

“Your whole-grain pasta?” he asks, sliding his eyes to the carton of it I picked up in the last aisle.

I lift my chin. “Something wrong with that?”

He just laughs, shaking his head. “Are you on a soccer team or something and you’ve never told me? You’re eating cleaner than any of the guys on the team.”

I just flash him a prim smile and keep walking. “Food fuels your brain, too,” I say, a sanctimonious ring to my voice.

Even though my back is turned to him, I can visualize the way he rolls his eyes. “Cheesy,” he scoffs.

We pass an area in the back of the store where there are home goods for sale. I stop when a big box catches my eye.

“Oh, that would be perfect,” I say to myself.

“What?” Sebastian asks.

I’m looking at a self-assembly kitchen island table that seems perfect for our kitchen.

“The girls and I have been meaning to get one for our kitchen, since there’s so little counter space, but a big empty spot next to the refrigerator.”

Sebastian steps forward and effortlessly lifts the large box that I wouldn’t be able to dream of carrying. He has it hoisted and resting against his shoulder like it’s nothing. “Let’s get it, then.”

I give him a pointed look like he’s missing the obvious. “I could never carry that thing home.”

The whites of his teeth flash. “That’s what you have a big, strong boyfriend for.”

Protesting was futile.

We’re back at my house. Sebastian carried the table the whole way. He wouldn’t even let me carry all the grocery bags, insisting he haul more than half of them in his free hand.

He was showing off.

He’s still showing off. Instead of dropping off the table and going back home, he’s insisted on assembling it himself.

His pizzas are in my freezer to preserve them while he sprawls out on the living room floor for space, directions open and tools and parts from the box spread out.

The other girls aren’t home right now. I wish they were. Because going on a shopping trip with Sebastian, followed by being alone with him in my house while he assembles a piece of furniture for me—now that feels way too domestic.

“I really can do it myself,” I protest for the umpteenth time, bringing him a glass of water.

He just waves me off, his tongue peeking from between his lips as he puzzles over the next step on the directions sheet.

Even though he’s kissed me twice, even though I almost had a freaking orgasm all over his leg, I still haven’t felt that tongue.

I wonder how he would use it during a kiss. I have an idea. Hungry, searching, dominating. His tongue would press past my lips and take exactly what he wanted.

Another question fires through my brain like a chain reaction. What would Sebastian be like in bed?

Even if he’s usually selfish and lazy, with me, I bet he’d be good.

He’d be smug and haughty. In peak form, making sure I come multiple times, just so he’d have something to hold over my head. Just so he’d have one more thing to be cocky about, one more thing to tease me about.

He’d bring it up all the time, the way he made me come apart underneath him. He’d use it as a trump card in every argument.

Heat rushes through me, and I shove the thought out of my head.

“Ah, that’s where this part goes,” he says to himself, reaching for one of the pieces.

I allow my gaze to linger on him for too long as he bends over his work.

He took off the hoodie he was wearing earlier, now clad in just a tight white undershirt and his black jeans.

As he turns the tool to tighten something into place on the table, his back muscles swell, rippling against the fabric that’s thin enough for the healthy glow of his skin to show through the white.

He leans further over to put another piece into place. The hem of his shirt rides up, revealing his trim waist. My cheeks heat, and I look away.

“Why don’t you put a show on the TV while I’m putting this together,” he suggests. Then he turns to me, a devilish look on his face. “Or is watching your boyfriend hard at work entertainment enough?”

I didn’t expect that Sebastian would get so much perverse joy from throwing words like boyfriend and girlfriend at me. I guess he just knows they make me uncomfortable, and that’s where the satisfaction comes from.

I pick up the remote and search through the options on one of the streaming services we have.

“Oh!” Sebastian says, glancing up from his work. “Put Frasier on.”

I lift an eyebrow at him. “You like Frasier ? Are you forty-five?”

A knowing smile crooks on his lips. “Don’t even pretend that you don’t like it, too.”

Okay, maybe I do like it, but why would he be able to guess that?

“What makes you say that?” I challenge.

He just shakes his head like he can see through me. “A show where the jokes are all about how much smarter the main character thinks he is than everyone around him? Please. That has my girlfriend written all over it.”

Flutters swirl through my chest. He needs to stop using that word.

“Fine. It’s not bad,” I admit, clicking to start a random episode.

Sebastian chuckles smugly. “Now you’re going to be trying not to laugh for the whole episode so you can keep pretending you don’t love this show. Because you’re too embarrassed to reveal how well your boyfriend knows you.” His voice is full of glee, like he enjoys nothing more than teasing me.

Not as embarrassing as how you have to stand that awkward way with your legs to try and hide your erections when we’re pretending to flirt in public.

That comeback blares through my head, but I clamp down on my tongue.

We get through one episode while Sebastian makes progress on the table. I hit play on the next one. In the middle of the episode, there’s a scene where one character is trying to teach another how to dance, and Sebastian laughs.

“Man, this scene just hit me with deja-vu about how my high school hockey coach made us do a couple ballet trainings. To increase our agility and flexibility, he said.”

“ You did ballet?” I ask, amused.

Sebastian wiggles his eyebrows. “If you play your cards right, I might let you see me do a pirouette.”

All I can do is roll my eyes.

“What about you? Any dancing talents you’re holding out on?”

“Well, I can do the worm. That’s about it.”

When Sebastian doesn’t respond, I slide my gaze in his direction to find astonished delight all over his face.

“You can do the worm?” he asks, like he can hardly believe it.

I tilt a shoulder. “It’s not that hard.”

“Show me.”

A weird feeling curls in my stomach. Letting myself look goofy in front of Sebastian while doing a ridiculous dance move doesn’t feel right. That’s the kind of vulnerability real couples show each other.

“No,” I answer.

“Come on,” he prods in a sing-song voice, like we’re in elementary school again and he’s leading a chorus of peer pressure.

“No.”

“I’ll do an entire ballet routine if you do just one worm.”

The thought of Sebastian’s long, muscle-toned legs and firm bubble butt in a pair of ballet tights seeps into my head, but I chase it away.

“No,” I repeat, stonewalling.

“There’s gotta be something I can do in exchange for you showing me just one worm,” he says.

I side-eye him. “Score three goals in your next game.”

His brows knit. “You mean, like, the whole team scores three goals?”

“No. You.”

His brows unknit only to elevate up his forehead. “You want me to get a hat trick? Do you know how hard that is?”

I grin slyly. “Yes.”

Determination sets in his face. “You’re on. Don’t try to wiggle out of it. Or should I say?—”

“Please, Sebastian. That pun is too easy even for you.”

We settle back into watching the show as Sebastian keeps working on the table.

“Ta-dah!” he announces, stepping back and sweeping his arms to the finished product.

Even though I didn’t ask him to carry it back here or to assemble it—in fact, I asked him not to—I still thank him as he carries it to the kitchen, because it really was helpful. And he spent a lot of time today doing it when he could be doing anything else.

After setting it in the kitchen, he walks back to the living room. I think he’s going to pick up his sweater to leave, but instead he folds himself onto the couch, his long legs sprawling.

“Couple more episodes?” he asks, an eager glimmer in his eye.

“Sure, why not?”

I sit down next to him, so close I can feel his body heat. He picks up the remote and hits play.

So much for putting more distance between us.