I scowl down at my pizza, trying to work up the nerve to ask the question that’s been niggling at me for days now. “Hey,” I start, tossing my crust aside. “Can I ask you a personal question?”
Georgia, who I know is private, who I know never gives certain parts of herself, answers with a breezy, “Sure.”
I pick at my chipping nail polish—a dark, shimmery silver Georgia had insisted on last week. “So you’ve hooked up with Sebastian, right?”
I can see her jaw falter, mid-chew. “Uh, yeah?”
I nod, having already known as much. “I was just curious—I mean, I was wondering…”
“There’s nothing there,” she interjects, misunderstanding me. “Sebastian and I are just friends. Neither of us wants to go there, trust me.”
“No,” I say, head shaking, “I get that. I do. I was just wondering, like. Uh. You know. What he’s like.”
Her eyebrows climb her forehead. “Oh.”
My face screws up. “Yeah.”
She sits up now, folding her legs beneath her. “You want to know what Sebastian’s like.”
“Yes.”
“Sexually.”
I drag a hand down my face, groaning. “Just fucking kill me.”
“You have nothing to worry about,” she says, slicing her hand through the air. “Sebastian is a great hookup. A little spoiled—okay a lot spoiled. But the guy knows what he’s doing and he’s um, generous.”
I wholeheartedly regret initiating this conversation. “That’s not really what I meant.” One good makeout session with him told me everything I needed to know on that front. Sebastian has experience. He probably makes the heavens sing when he’s with a girl. I bet there are fucking cherubs fluttering around, and fireworks, and sudden cures for terminal ailments. “I was more wondering, in the sense of, you know, whether or not he’s, like…” I rub my hands on my thighs, feeling my cheeks heat. “Rough.”
Georgia coughs, but quickly recovers. “Oh, geez. Bass? No way.”
My responding, “No?” is mostly dubious, but there’s a thread of hope in there, too.
“I mean, if you’re into that, he’d probably be good at it. I mean, he does have that underlying energy, but my baseline read of Bass is that he’s just really…” Her face screws up in thought. She ultimately lands on, “Fun. He likes to have fun.”
Fun.
Sex to Sebastian is fun. Of course it is. I bet he likes that—playful girls who giggle and like to be touched and have a grand old time. I haven’t giggled a day in my fucking life. What the hell does he want with me?
Georgia suddenly looks sick, hand pressing into her stomach. “I shouldn’t be talking about this. I wouldn’t want him telling people about what I’m like when I hook up.” Oh, fuck. She’s going to freak out.
I hastily counter, “You singing his praises about how good he is? Please. He’d lap that shit right up. Probably buy you some earrings to go with that bracelet.”
She only looks mildly mollified, even though it’s true. The man’s ego is already big enough, but I doubt he’d take any issue with seeing it inflated a little further.
It kind of kills the mood of the night, though. Georgia turns in early and I feel a little shitty about it. But I had to know.
I had to know, because a couple hours later, I’m still thinking. Georgia sleeps across from me, mouth parted with her arm hanging off the bed. I’ve learned quickly that she’s a deep sleeper, unlike myself. I’ve tossed and turned since I was a little kid—usually consumed by anxiety about my dad on deployment. Even when he was home, I couldn’t stop thinking about him not coming back home. Then one day he didn’t. And after that, I had a new reason to toss and turn and always sleep with one eye open. I doubt I’ve gotten a full, unimpeded night’s rest in my entire life.
None of that is the focus of my restlessness tonight, though. I’m still obsessing over Sebastian’s offer. And that’s exactly what it is; obsession. He wants one chance to prove himself—an opportunity to show that I can trust him. What does that even mean? I don’t trust anyone. Especially volatile, smug, eighteen-year-old boys who like to have fun in bed.
Although most eighteen-year-old boys do not look like Sebastian Wilcox. They don’t have that wild, caged-animal glint in their eyes. He’s got a need for trouble, and it looks like he’s decided I’m the kind of trouble he wants to get into. I’ve spent a long while avoiding guys, with all their touches and sleazy offers of companionship, but with Bass, it’s different. It’s not just that he’s so attractive. It’s not even his weird, uncomfortable intensity. Just, at some point this sharp, heightened awareness of him became less about being afraid of him and more about….
Something else.
Something that’s almost as scary, almost as painful, but far more appealing.
Reaching under my pillow, I pull out my phone and open ChattySnap, searching for his profile. I open up his page, confirm that Georgia’s still sleeping, and quietly, secretly browse his account.