Sebastian shakes his head. “The workload won’t be on me. It’ll be on him.” He jabs a thumb back at Jack.
Jack nods slowly, taking a deep breath. “I guess I’d better get started.”
Seb turns to me, light shining in his eyes. “Me, too. I’ve got a lot to learn.”
I smile up at him. “Don’t worry. I’m a great teacher.”
Forty
Beth
After that, everything changes.
Apparently, all Sebastian really needed was to make a solid decision about what to do with Cami, because as soon as he decides that he’s going to be her dad, he goes at it full-force. He doesn’t just want me to look after her anymore; he wants me to teach him how to be a parent. And he’s a natural. Every morning, I get in at eight to find him in bed with her, bleary-eyed and yawning as he gives her a bottle. I take over and go through my normal routines, bathing her, making her food, doing activities with her—but now, every so often, he pops up to watch me, asking questions and making notes in a little notebook he’s started carrying around. He always comes with me on our afternoon walks to the local park, and most evenings he puts her to bed.
That’s not to say that everything’s easy. He’s still nervous around Cami. His least favourite task was learning to bathe her. He had some odd idea that he might accidentally drop her, and she’d crack her head against the side of the tub. It pisses me off to no end, that his parents instilled this idea in him that he can’t help hurting people.
Really, nothing could be further from the truth. The more time we spend together, the more he lets go of his tightly-wound self control. It turns out, when he’s relaxed, he’s a genuinely sweet, gentle guy. Every day, I like him more and more. After a full week of walks in the parks and bedtime stories, I can barely look at him without butterflies exploding in my stomach.
I might be seeing more of Seb, but I’m definitely seeing way less of Jack.Wayless. He’s working pretty much non-stop, from the morning to late in the night. He doesn’t eat. He doesn’t do laundry. Cyrus assures me that he has a mini-fridge, a kettle, and a lifetime’s supply of ramen in his room, so he won’t actually starve to death, but I can’t help but worry about him.
On the seventh day of his self-confinement, I decide to take matters into my own hands. I’m already cooking lunch for myself and Seb anyway, so I throw together a bowl of chicken pasta salad and knock on his door.
“Yes?” He asks, after a moment.
“Open the door, please.”
“Beth.” There’s a sigh, and then he pulls the door open, sticking his head out. “I’m busy, sweetheart.”
I offer him the bowl. “I made you lunch.”
He blinks at the pasta like he can’t remember what real food is. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know. That’s what makes me so nice.” He takes the bowl, and I use the opportunity to slip past him, following him inside his room.
If it was cluttered the last time I was in here, now it’s practically a minefield. There are empty coffee mugs everywhere, papers overflowing off the desk and onto the floor, and his bin is piled full of empty energy drink cans.
He groans. “God, don’t come in here. I look like a slob.”
“No, you don’t. You look like a very stressed, busy man who’s pulling too many all-nighters.” I reach up to trace the blonde stubble growing out on his jaw. It doesn’t look like he’s shaved all week. “I like this. Suits you.”
“Thanks, love.” He sighs as I press a kiss to his cheek. “Beth… I’m really sorry, I just don’t have time for this. Trust me, there is nothing I want more in the world right now than to just turn off the computers and spend some time with you, but—”
I reach up and wrap my arms around him. He’s still for a moment. Then he pulls me in close, hugging me tightly.
“You’re doing great,” I murmur in his ear. I figure he probably needs to hear it. His breath hitches in his chest. He nuzzles into me.
“You’re the sweetest woman alive,” he mumbles against my cheek.
I smile. “Prove it.”
“Excuse me?”
I flatten my hands on his shoulders and push him down onto the chair, straddling him. He looks up at me, his blue eyes wide. I’m not surprised. This isn’t my normal style atall—but hey. I’ve learned a move or two from Cyrus. There’s nothing like fucking a stripper to boost your sexual confidence.
I push my face into the crook of his neck, feeling him swallow against me. “Taste me,” I breathe in his ear, rubbing my lips over his thrumming pulse.
He groans like he’s in physical pain. He might be; as I readjust my weight over his hips, I can feel him stiffening under me. “I don’t havetime,” he moans, tightening his grip on me. “Fuck—”