Page 72 of Worth Every Moment

“I got you something,” I say, keen to shift the conversation away from his bedroom and the awkwardness that just descended. I dig into my bag and pull out the slim rectangular gift I wrapped this morning. “As a thank you for doing this for me.”

He takes it, shooting me a bemused glance. “You didn’t have to do this. I didn’t get you anything. Can I open it?”

“Yeah. Please,” I say, but he’s already tearing the paper, revealing a dark leather frame containing a black and white image of us from the photo shoot. Me, on his lap, my head tilted back, and him, gazing at me like… well, like hewantsme. Seb’s expression is unreadable as he stares at it, causing a swell of unease to rise in me.

Maybe it was a stupid gift.

“I thought you should have a copy, in case anyone comes to visit,” I blurt. “You need at least one picture of me in your house to make this relationship more convincing. If you liked someone, you’d put up a photo of them, right? If you were in love with them, you’d probably have at least one photo of them in your house.”

His eyebrows rise as he keeps staring at the picture. Warmth blossoms in my chest, rising up my neck. “I guess I would have one,” he mutters, still not looking at me.

“You can get rid of it as soon as we end things. Think of it as a prop. You can keep the frame if you want and ditch the picture when all this is over. You could hardly bring another woman over with that sitting around. I wouldn’t expect you to keep it.”

He lowers it, meeting my gaze with his earnest one. “I’m not gonna get rid of this. Are you kidding? It’s beautiful. I love it.” He runs a hand through his hair and glances at it again, huffing tohimself. Then he grins, eyes flashing at me with the promise of a taunt. “I look really hot here. Thanks, Lefroy.”

My laugh takes me by surprise.

“Seriously,” he says, his tone ringing with authenticity as he steps up to me and pulls me into a hug. “I can’t remember the last time someone gave me a gift as thoughtful as this.”

He presses a kiss to my hair, and the gentleness of his touch nearly overwhelms me. He’s done so much for me. He’sstilldoing so much for me. All these years, he’s been here for me to lean on, sending his stupid GIFs. But have Ireallybeen a good friend in return? I’ve teased him, mocked him, called him a manwhore, and thrown him out of my apartment. Regret spirals through my chest, and I feel so unworthy that it makes me want to cry. I swallow the sensation down. I don’t want to get weepy on my first day living with him, and in its place a heat rises through me that has me wanting to cling to him and beg forgiveness for any time I’ve ever said a hurtful word to him.

“You’ve been so good to me,” I whisper, my voice almost breaking. “Thank you.”

He pulls back to look at me, and his eyes—so blue—suck me in. I’m drowning in them. My body is hypersensitive, the places where he’s touching me aching for more. His lips part, his tongue running over them as his gaze slips to my mouth.

In the back of my mind, a chorus starts up.Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him.

I sink into the present moment. Seb’s holding me in it, and it’s simultaneously terrifying and beautiful, and I don’t want to ruin it. I don’t want to move towards him or pull away, because whatever has us bound now is so fragile, it feels like if I took a breath, it would shatter into a million pieces.

A rough sound rumbles in his chest. An aching noise that means more than words. More than my name. It sounds likewant.

My want. His want. His awareness of them both.

We’re teetering on the edge of a precipice.His lips. My lips. And the bed, just over there. Two steps and he could have me on my back, deep in the sheets.

Stop it, Erica.

This is fake. He’s your friend. You can’t hop into bed with him like it means nothing, not when you’ve never done that with anyone before.

It would ruin everything.

He steps back and gives me a casual smile, and panic slices through me. Did I just imagine the tension? Was that sound in his chest just a rumble of… what? Appreciation? Contentment?

Was that all in my head?

“You don’t need to pretend now,” Seb says, and my stomach drops.He knew exactly what happened, but he thinks I was faking it. “There’s no one here.” He cups my shoulder. “Better than how you stiffened when we started out though. Good work.”

I can’t detect any mockery in his voice, and he raises the picture I gave him, moving on like nothing happened. “Thanks for this. I’m gonna keep it in my bedroom.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to comment that if he takes it to his bedroom, which isoh-so private, no one is going to see it, and as a prop to convince visitors of our relationship, it’ll be useless. But he’s already waving me off, wishing me a good day, and leaving the room.

When the door closes and I’m left alone, the most acute sense of desertion I’ve ever experienced washes over me, and an unsettling ache takes hold in my heart.

Am I making a huge mistake?

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