Page 2 of When We Ignite

He was short—at least compared to me—but that worked in my favor. A strong little thing—my favorite kind. As they approached, I estimated I had a foot on him.

“Sebastian!” Charlotte held out her hand with a warm, practiced smile. “So glad you could make it.”

She was always the picture of perfect manners, effortlessly polite. And every time we crossed paths, she looked genuinely happy. If she ever felt dismissed by me, she never let it show.

I took her hand, clasping it in mine before brushing a kiss over her knuckles. “The lovely Charlotte. How many times have I asked you to call me Ash? We’re practically family,” I said, laying on the charm.

She grinned, but before she could respond, Oliver cut in. “Don’t fall for it,” he warned, pressing a kiss to her cheek before turning to pat her younger brother’s shoulder.

“Hey, E,” he said, and I waited.

He glanced toward me again, softly rubbing his knuckles on the underside of his nose in what looked like a nervous gesture.

“This is my brother, Ethan,” Charlotte said quickly.

I extended my hand to him. He placed a tennis ball in his pocket before grasping it, his grip firm.

“Sebastian Langley. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I told him, offering a more controlled version of my smile.

“Ethan Bennett.”

He had a great voice—low and husky, probably made more so by exertion. He must sound like a dream getting fucked.

My lips twisted into a smirk, and Oliver’s elbow found its way to my ribs.

“We’re going to our usual table. I’ll see you both up there in half an hour,” Oliver said.

Charlotte nodded. “See you in a bit!” she called cheerfully.

“Can’t wait,” I answered, looking at Ethan.

He rubbed his nose again, and they both walked back to the court. Turning to Oliver, I bit my lip.

“You stop that, Ash. Stop it right now,” he warned, though I could see he was trying not to smile.

I laughed as he began scolding me in earnest before catching me up on the inner workings of our new family. Apparently, Ethan wasn’t gay, and he’d just turned nineteen in December—neither of which made a difference to me. Nineteen was legal, and being straight was always up for debate. He was still too young to cross every item off the menu.

We sat at our usual table on the terrace of the restaurant, waiting for them to arrive. When he walked in, Ethan looked fresh out of the shower. His blond hair tousled, between wet and dry. He was effortlessly attractive.

Charlotte sat by Oliver, and Ethan followed. I slipped into the seat next to his, carrying my glass. Oliver gave me a warning look, and I tried not to smile. We had a pleasant conversation, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off Ethan. He was quiet, but something about him made me think he wasn’t always this reserved.

I ordered another glass of whiskey, raising it to my lips and leaning back in my chair. While Oliver and Charlotte talked, I took advantage of the distraction.

“How old are you?” I asked Ethan, making an attempt at small talk to get him to loosen up.

He turned to me, surprised, his baby-blue eyes captivating. “Nineteen.”

“Is that why you’re not drinking?”

“Yes,” he answered simply, but I noticed the slight upturn of his lips, hinting at a suppressed smile.

“Order something. They’re not going to deny you anything.”

He shrugged, glancing at my glass before asking, “What are you having?”

I offered it to him. “Hibiki. It’s Japanese.”

He took the glass and sipped, his expression unchanged except for a slight nod of approval as he handed it back. Either he had impeccable taste for someone his age, or he was very good at faking it.