8. Marcus

8

Marcus

A horn blares outside my flat at six a.m. I grab my bag and bolt down the stairs to where Saskia’s Range Rover is waiting by the curb. She winds down the window and gives me a large, anticipatory grin.

“You ready for the road?” she asks.

“I was born ready,” I say. I open the boot of her car and throw my canvas duffel bag next to an extraordinarily large suitcase.

“How much stuff do you need for one weekend away skiing?” I ask as I climb into the front seat.

“A girl’s got to be prepared for every contingency,” she says.

“It looks like you’re prepared for the zombie apocalypse,” I say.

She shrugs. “If the zombie apocalypse happens, I’m sure you’ll be the first person grateful I packed my GHD hairdryer.”

I laugh as she pulls away from the curb.

“I thought we’d head to Neet’s first and then swing back and grab John,” she says as she hits the one-way system surrounding Dunedin’s CBD and abruptly swerves into another lane. Saskia drives like she does everything in life, with complete confidence that the world will bend to her will.

“Taylor pulled out at the last minute because she’s sick, but I found a replacement.”

I’m already fumbling in my phone to pull up the playlist I prepared for the trip. “Who’s the replacement?”

“Seb.”

Fuck.

“Sweet,” I say a beat or two too late, and Saskia glances over at me.

“A condition of him coming with us is he has to be our sober driver on Saturday night. It will save us a fortune instead of Ubering from town.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, that’s good. I’m all about whatever saves me cash.” Shit, I’m really not doing a good job maintaining my usual cool here.

Why am I freaking out? Okay, I’ve hooked up with the guy twice now, but Seb’s a smart guy. He’ll know there’s no way we’re hooking up again right under Saskia’s nose.

But even as we pick up Neets and John, I remain on edge.

When we pull up outside Saskia’s parents’ house and I see Seb dressed in a navy-blue puffer jacket, jeans, and sneakers, that tuft of his curly hair sticking up in the back, and an eager smile on his face, I realize why I’m feeling unsettled.

I feel weirdly…protective of Seb, in a way I’ve never felt for any of my other hookups.

Seb lacks the layer of cool everyone else naturally has. It’s understandable why I feel some level of protectiveness for him. The world isn’t kind to people who wear their hearts so close to the surface.

I know that only too well.

Seb throws his duffel in the boot and climbs into the back seat.

“Hey.” His voice squeaks. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hey.”

Neets and John greet Seb normally.

“How’s it going, Little Kleggs?” I manage to make my voice smooth.

“Good. It’s going good,” Seb says. I flick a glance back at him. His cheeks are tinged with color.

“Right, let’s hit the road,” Saskia says. “Mountains and snow, here we come.”

I cue the first song on my road trip playlist, and “Born to be Wild” blasts through the car.

It’s a three-hour drive to Queenstown, and Seb’s quiet the whole way. I suppose it’s natural when he’s surrounded by Saskia’s friends, all of us two to three years older and far more outgoing than him. We slide into our usual game, telling funny stories with a sarcastic tone, talking over each other, competing for who can be the most amusing, the most charming, the most entertaining.

Just who can be the most.

Maybe because Seb is super-secure as Saskia’s only sibling, he doesn’t feel the need to compete for the spotlight.

The rest of us don’t have that luxury.

When I look back at him, he’s pulled out a battered copy of The Alchemist and has lost himself in the pages. His face lights up at something he’s reading, and he seems oblivious to the swirling conversation about the latest law school drama.

“All right, place your bets. Who’s going to score the summer internship at Chapman Tripp?” Saskia asks.

“My money’s on Emily. She’s practically married to the library,” I say.

“Nah, I reckon it’ll be Zack. His mum’s on the board of half the companies in the NZX 50,” Saskia says.

“What about me?” John pretends to be affronted.

“I’m not sure if the ability to recite the entire Crimes Act after three Heinekens is what the partners are looking for,” I say.

“My money is actually on you, Marcus. All you’ll have to do is bat those long eyelashes, and you’ll get whatever you want,” Neets says.

“I’m not applying for any internships,” I say.

“Marcus and I are going on a road trip across America this summer,” Saskia reminds them. “Well, it’s a winter road trip because it’s the Northern Hemisphere, but you know what I mean.”

“Fuck. The poor guys of America. They won’t know what’s hit them with the two of you on the prowl,” John says.

Saskia laughs. “Yup. That’s the plan.”

I huff a laugh but can’t help throwing a glance back at Seb.

He now has his book on his lap and is looking out the window at the mountains of Queenstown coming into view through the foggy windows. He reaches out, his fingers tracing a pattern through the condensation on the glass.

Queenstown bills itself as the adventure capital of the world, with bungee jumping, jet-boating, parasailing, and skydiving among the thrills it offers. But today, we head straight to the Remarkable ski field. The wind whipping off the mountain carries the promise of fresh powder.

“You’re going to do the Casterway with us this time, Marcus. No excuses,” Saskia says as we’re putting on our ski boots.

Fuck.

Unlike these South Islanders, I grew up in Wellington with no ski fields nearby. The last time I came on a ski trip with Saskia, I was a novice skier, and I’d stuck to the beginner slopes, where there was the magic carpet and one low chairlift.

But now she wants to take me to the top of the mountain.

I lean down to adjust my ski boot so I can hide my face.

When I straighten, I flash Saskia my trademark cocky grin. “I eat black diamonds for breakfast.”

Saskia laughs. “I think it’s more likely you choke on cheap quartz crystals.”

I turn to see Seb clicking into his bindings. He glides off, then effortlessly turns around to face us as he waits.

I don’t know why I expected Seb to be a bad skier. He had the same childhood as Saskia. But somehow, his confidence in the snow doesn’t match the bumbling guy off skis.

Standing feels like I’m balancing on two very uncooperative planks. I edge forward and my skis have a mind of their own as I awkwardly pizza my way toward the chairlift and join the queue.

The line inches forward, and Neets, John, and Saskia laugh and chatter. Instead of joining in, I focus on keeping my balance.

The attendant waves us forward.

Saskia, Neets, and John glide out to get into position for the chairlift. I try to join them, but my skis cross, and I stumble, barely catching myself before I fall.

I suddenly realize Seb hasn’t joined the others but has hung back to wait for me.

“Last one down buys the first round tonight!” Neets calls as their chairlift becomes airborne.

Fuck. It’s just Seb and me to catch the next chairlift. Being alone with Seb is the scenario I’m trying to avoid this weekend, and I’ve already failed.

“You ready?” Seb asks as the attendant waves us forward.

“I’m always ready.” I manage to awkwardly maneuver into position, and then the chairlift scoops us up, the attendant lowering the bar to hold us in place, Seb’s shoulder nudging mine.

But as the chairlift takes off with a lurch, I’m not worried about Seb’s body pressed against mine. I’m too busy concentrating on not looking down. I clutch the chairlift bar like my hands are frozen solid on it.

Shit.

Panic tightens my chest and I try to focus on my breathing, but it comes in short, sharp gasps. The wind whistles past us, and every creak of the chairlift sends a jolt through my body. My eyes are locked straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge the vast emptiness below us.

“Marcus.” From the worried tone in Seb’s voice, it’s not the first time he’s said my name.

My gaze flies to his.

He’s pushed his goggles up so they’re positioned on the top of his helmet, and he’s looking at me with concern etched into his forehead.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah…” I clear my throat, trying to make my voice sound normal. “I’m just not a fan of heights.”

Seb immediately looks down, which is a bad move because it has me wondering what he’s seeing. How far up are we right now?

“Did you know that for the majority of New Zealand’s geological history, we had no mountains?” he says to me.

I blink at him. “What?”

“I’m saying you wouldn’t have had this problem if we’d been here five million years ago before the Pacific Plate started crashing into the Australian Plate and pushed these mountains up.”

“Five million years ago is still a long time,” I manage to say.

“Not in the scheme of our geological history. It’s been over eighty million years since New Zealand separated from the supercontinent Gondwana.”

Seb’s eyes are so blue they look like they’ve taken color from the sky. I focus on them, and somehow, his eyes are an anchor point.

“Really?” I say.

“Yes. Our country was once just a swamp off the side of what became Australia, but then Gondwana started to break up.”

“Gondwana decided it was time for a divorce?” I manage to say.

Seb smiles. It’s a sweet smile, one that brings out his dimples. “Yes. And New Zealand decided to take a chunk of continental crust for a joyride across the ocean.”

Focusing on Seb, on his random geology lesson, seems to have lessened the panic inside me.

“We’re almost at the top. Are you going to be okay getting off?” he asks softly.

“I normally have absolutely no problems getting off, as you know,” I say with a wink because I want to reestablish the dynamic between us. I want to be fun and flirty Marcus, not the guy who melted down on a ski lift.

Seb flushes at my innuendo.

He pulls his ski mask back over his face, hiding most of his blush.

The chairlift slows as we approach the unloading area. We push the safety bar off us, and suddenly, the ground lurches toward us.

Seb pushes off, his movements fluid and graceful. I follow, trying to focus on his technique and not on how his ski pants hug his ass.

Attempting to mirror his movements, I manage two decent turns before I overcorrect and nearly faceplant.

Seb’s there in an instant, steadying me with a gloved hand.

“Just don’t overthink it,” he says. “Trust your instincts.”

I throw him a smirk. “I normally have no problems trusting my instincts.”

Fuck. Flirting with Seb is something I’ve been doing for years, and I find it hard to turn it off, even when it now runs contrary to what I’m trying to achieve this weekend.

But who am I if I’m not Marcus, the outrageous flirt and charmer? What is left of my personality if I turn that part off?

It’s not something I want to spend time contemplating.

Seb ducks his head slightly. He coughs lightly, then straightens his posture.

“Right, so, um…let’s focus on your form.” His tone gradually steadies as he slips back into instructor mode. “You need to bend your knees a bit more and shift your center of gravity forward.”

Seb is cute like this, his forehead furrowed above his goggles like nothing is more important than me making it down the mountain.

I follow Seb’s instructions, and my movements become smoother and more controlled. I find myself actually enjoying the rush of sliding down the slope. When we pause at a flat section, I take a moment to absorb the pristine snow, the jagged peaks, the endless sky.

It’s breathtaking.

But it also makes me feel small and insignificant. Like I could disappear into this vast whiteness, and no one would notice.

Saskia and the others haven’t bothered to wait for us at the bottom of the run. So, on the chairlift returning up the mountain, it’s just Seb and me again.

This time, Seb talks to me about the ecology of alpine environments and how different species have adapted to cope with the harsh conditions. He shares with me how New Zealand has the world’s only alpine parrot, the Kea, and how some insects have evolved antifreeze proteins to survive freezing temperatures.

And focusing on Seb’s animated voice and expressions manages to keep my panic at bay.

With Seb’s continued coaching, my next run down the mountain is even smoother, the crisp mountain air filling my lungs as I carve through the snow.

Seb gives me a triumphant smile at the end. “You’re getting so much better.”

“It’s all thanks to my brilliant ski instructor,” I say as I push my goggles off my face. The cool wind immediately nips at my skin.

He meets my gaze for a few heartbeats before his eyes dart off. “Maybe you can think up some ways to pay me back later,” he says softly.

Fuckity. Fuck. Fuck.

I’m struggling to conjure a reply when I hear my name being shouted.

I’d recognize Saskia’s voice anywhere.

She looks like an advertisement for a winter sports magazine as she skis over to us, her cheeks flushed and hair windswept. She pushes her ski goggles off her face.

“There you are. I thought you’d gotten lost on the mountain.”

“The ski gods weren’t smiling on me today, so we’ve been taking it pretty easy,” I say.

Saskia’s gaze flicks between Seb and me. She gives me a conspiratorial smirk.

“I see you’ve had a helper.”

I don’t want to encourage Saskia’s usual joke about Seb’s crush on me, so I keep my expression neutral. “Yep, Seb’s been giving me some tips.”

“I’m sure he’s been very helpful,” she says, her smirk still lingering.

“Where are John and Neets?” I ask.

“They’re doing a run together. I decided to give them some space.” She wriggles an eyebrow suggestively. “I think something is going on there.”

“Really? He’s finally given up on you then?” It’s been no secret that John has had a massive crush on Saskia for the past two years.

Saskia shrugs. “I think they’ll be good together.” She pulls her goggles back over her face. “You want to do a run with me?”

“Sure.”

She skis off, and I follow her. Seb also trails after us into the ski lift.

The ski lift starts to ascend, and I stiffen.

I turn to Seb. “Are you going to finish telling me about the Kea?” I ask.

Saskia’s forehead crinkles.

“I can tell you about the interesting research on their intelligence if you want,” Seb says. “Did you know studies have shown that Kea will outperform gibbons in some intelligence tests?”

“Oh god, Seb, you really know how to make friends and influence people,” Saskia says. She turns to look at me. “Has he been boring you talking about science the whole time?”

“Nah, it’s been interesting. And if I ever want to impress someone with my knowledge of mountain parrots, I’m now fully armed and prepared,” I say.

“Welcome to my world. You would not believe the boring crap I had to put up with growing up. When Mum and Dad took us to New York, we had to spend a whole day in the Museum of Natural History instead of shopping.”

“It was one day out of seven, and we pretty much did everything you wanted on the other days,” Seb replies.

It’s interesting seeing Seb push back against Saskia. He’s not quite the pushover I’d expect with his sister.

Saskia gives me an exasperated look. “You’re so lucky being an only child.”

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing the air from my lungs. My hands inside my gloves clench involuntarily.

“Yeah. I’m lucky.” The words feel choked in my throat.

Saskia luckily takes over the conversation, talking about the powder and whether the weather will stay fine for another day skiing tomorrow.

I focus on her rather than looking down.

When it’s time to get off the ski lift, I concentrate carefully and make it off without colliding with Saskia or Seb, which I take as a win.

We all stop at the top of the run.

“You don’t have to come with us,” Saskia says to Seb.

Seb hesitates. He throws a look in my direction, and fuck it, I can’t help intervening.

“Seb’s been helping me make it down the mountain in one piece.”

“I’m fairly sure I’m up to that challenge,” Saskia replies. She turns to Seb. “Now’s your chance to have a fast run. I did the fall line in under eight minutes. See if you can beat that.”

She’s effortlessly maneuvered Seb into a position where he can’t really disobey her.

One thing is for sure. Saskia’s going to make a great lawyer.

Seb doesn’t offer any protests. With one last glance at me, he heads off down the other run.

I watch his back for a few moments, feeling a pang of regret.

“You’re welcome,” Saskia says once Seb has disappeared.

“What?”

“I managed to detach your shadow from you. I hope he hasn’t been too annoying.”

“Nah, he’s been great. I’m never going to turn down free ski lessons.”

She gives me a grin. “I’m sure you wouldn’t. Right, you ready to show me what you’ve got?”

Skiing down the run with Saskia is a different experience than with Seb. We have more laughs, but I miss the intensity in Seb’s gaze as he watched me ski like nothing was more important than fixing my technique. I miss the way a blush trekked up his cheeks every time I said something to fluster him.

Saskia and I ski together for the remainder of the afternoon before we bundle back into the car and head to the Kleggs’ holiday home in Arrowtown.

Seb stands back as everyone calls dibs on the bedrooms until he’s left with the worst room.

I take my bag from the car to my assigned room. It’s not until I spot a stack of well-worn fantasy novels, a collection of Magic cards spread across the desk, and a vintage Star Wars poster tacked to the wall that I realize exactly whose room I’m in.

I return to the hallway to find Seb carrying his duffel bag up the stairs.

“Hey, sorry. I didn’t mean to nick your room,” I say.

“It’s okay. I’m fine with you having my room,” Seb says hurriedly, a blush trekking up his cheeks as he retreats into the smallest room.

Fuck. That blush. It’s my kryptonite. Maybe because I now know how it extends down his creamy skin onto his chest. I know what it feels like to chase that blush with my lips.

I don’t notice Saskia standing in the hallway watching our exchange until she lets out a tinkling laugh.

“I’m pretty sure my brother would give you his left testicle if you asked for it, Marcus.”

I’m supposed to laugh, and I do, but I can hear the hollowness in it.

“I’m not sure what I would do with your brother’s left testicle,” I reply, and she giggles some more.

Fuck. This is bad.

I try to calm myself as I get dressed for the night ahead.

I’m the last one to arrive in the living room, and my eyes, by default, find Seb.

He’s dressed in a neatly ironed blue button-down with dark trousers and a pair of clean Converse. His usually messy hair is combed neatly to one side, though a stubborn tuft still sticks up at the back.

It would be so much easier if Seb wasn’t so cute.

And it would be so much easier if I didn’t have the memory of how it feels to kiss him.

I walk over to where all the drinks are spread out on a table and make myself a Jim Beam and Coke.

I pretend not to notice Seb’s eyes on me as I sit back down.

“We’re about to order pizza. Anything you want?” Saskia asks me.

“Nah, I’m easy.” I give her a wink.

Saskia doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s what all the boys say.”

I smirk and lean back in my chair. “What can I say? I’m a people pleaser.”

“Okay. Seb doesn’t like olives or onions, so are you okay with a pizza without those? Or else I can order Seb a separate pizza.” Saskia’s in big-sister mode, fussing over Seb like he’s still a picky ten-year-old.

“I’m fine with that,” I say.

John and Neets are so wrapped up in each other on the couch that they don’t seem to care about pizza toppings.

Saskia doesn’t seem bothered about the loss of John’s affections. It’s one of the things I like about her. She doesn’t need to boost her ego by ensuring all the male attention is focused on her. Instead, she seems genuinely happy for John and Neets, giving me a secret smile over the top of their heads.

As Saskia orders the pizza, I throw down the dregs of the Jim Beam and pour myself another, pretending not to notice Seb’s eyes on me.

My bladder eventually protests the liquid diet, so I head to the restroom. Stepping back out, I nearly jump in shock.

Only a few feet away, Seb is leaning against the wall, waiting for the restroom.

My heart hammering, I keep my voice calm and composed. “It’s all yours.”

“Thanks.”

But he doesn’t move. Instead, he stays there like being in such close proximity to me has frozen all his limbs, and his gaze falls to my lips.

And the memory slams into my head. Seb’s lips on mine. The intensity with which he kisses, the warmth of his mouth, the sweet taste of him that lingered long after our kiss ended.

For a second, all I want to do is push him into the bathroom and kiss him again.

But I stop myself.

Instead, I give him a half-smile, which I’m fairly sure is mostly a grimace, as I move past him.

Shit.

That look of hope on Seb’s face…

I have the potential to hurt him. And I don’t want that on my conscience.

I have enough things there as it is.

This is my fault. I started this by hooking up with him after Saskia upset me. And now we’re here with a simmering attraction between us that isn’t going away.

The problem is my attraction isn’t just physical anymore.

Which means I really need to stop this. Now.

After I stagger back to the living room, I grab my phone and start thumbing through my contacts.

Last time I was in Queenstown, I hooked up with a cute French bartender called Louis. We had a fun night together though I barely remember the details now, just fragments of skilled hands and whispered French endearments that lost their meaning by morning.

I need him to come out with us tonight. I need a buffer between Seb and me.

Because I don’t trust myself around Seb and his hopeful eyes.

I can explain away twice as a mistake, but a third time would turn it into a pattern.

After a decent amount of preloading, we head into town.

The pub is crowded with tourists and locals alike, all vying for the bartenders’ attention.

We queue up for drinks, then manage to find a free booth in the back. Saskia and I slide into one side of the booth while John and Neets squeeze in next to Seb on the other side.

I don’t pay much attention to the conversation swirling around me. Instead, I watch the door.

And there he is. Louis. He’s all lean muscle and sharp angles, with a dragon tattoo that snakes up his neck, its scales catching the light. His crisp white shirt under a leather jacket marks him as a tourist. Kiwi guys just don’t have the same sense of style.

He glances around, his eyes fixing on me, and a predatory smirk comes over his face.

“Marcus.” Louis greets me with a kiss on my cheek, sliding into the booth next to me. He’s wearing an overpowering cologne, and the scent of cigarette smoke clings to his clothes.

“Hey, you,” I give him a flirty wink. “Everyone, this is Louis.”

And fuck, the look on Seb’s face now is exactly why I’ve done this. He looks like a wounded puppy.

“I think I recognize you from seeing you sneak out of my place a few months ago,” Saskia says.

Louis snaps his fingers at her. “The girl who was making pancakes and offered me coffee, right?”

Saskia laughs. “Yep, that’s me. You looked like you needed some nourishment.”

Louis sneaks me a dirty smile. “I definitely did after that night.”

“I think we both did,” I say, and John gives a low wolf-whistle.

I avoid looking at Seb.

“I’ll go get a drink,” Louis says. “I’ll be right back.”

Saskia raises her eyebrows at me after Louis leaves. “It’s not like you to have a repeat.”

Fuck. Those words feel exposing, especially with Seb listening in.

“What can I say? I was in the mood for something exotic tonight.”

She just raises her eyebrows. “I think I’m in the same mood.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yep. I’m pretty sure there’s a ski instructor around here dying for an authentic Kiwi experience.” She tosses her blond hair, then throws me a grin. “Right, tell me what nationality I’m hunting?”

“Austrian,” I reply.

Neets is shaking her head. “You two.”

She glances over at Seb, who’s watching the whole exchange with a furrowed brow.

“It’s the game these two play sometimes. They set each other challenges for the guys they can pull. It isn’t just nationalities. Sometimes they go for quirky character traits,” Neets explains.

“I’ll never forgive Marcus for the time he made me find a guy with a unibrow,” Saskia says.

“It’s much harder for me than for Saskia because there are fewer gay and bisexual guys than straight guys,” I say.

Saskia snorts. “Yeah, whatever. I remember that night in Wānaka when I set you the challenge of South America. You did the rounds of the pubs and could only find that one guy from Brazil, remember? I’m pretty sure that guy was at least a negative two on the Kinsey scale, but you still convinced him to mess around with you.”

“It must be so hard being so irresistible,” Neets says.

I shrug nonchalantly. “It’s a cross I have to bear.”

“Do the guys know they’re part of a game?” Seb asks. His voice is so low it just penetrates the noise of the crowded pub.

I snap my head up to look at him. He’s staring back at me.

“Shit, Seb, you sound like Aunt Mildred,” Saskia says. “Marcus and I never hook up with someone without their full consent. Stop being so judgmental.”

Seb flushes. Even in the dim light, I can see the blush climbing into his cheeks.

Luckily Louis returns with a round of the bar’s infamous Ski Slope Slammers, neon-blue concoctions that are more alcohol than mixer. His eyes gleam with mischief as he hands them around.

Then he settles into the booth next to me.

“You look like you need some loosening up,” he whispers into my ear, his hand lingering on my thigh.

“Are you telling secrets over there?” Saskia asks.

“Perhaps,” Louis says with a tilt to his lips. “I was just telling Marcus about my newest tattoo.”

“Where is it?”

Louis gives a wink. “Part of the fun for Marcus is to find out.”

“I’ve been thinking of getting a tattoo,” Saskia says. “Something classy though, maybe my zodiac constellation in tiny stars across my shoulder blade.”

“Mum and Dad will freak out if you get a tattoo,” Seb says.

Saskia gives him a withering look. “It’s not their decision.” She turns to me. “What about you, Marcus? We could get one together in the States over the summer.”

The idea of permanently putting something on my skin freaks me out. Whatever you choose to put on your skin gives people a hint at what’s most important to you, and that feels too…exposing.

“Nah, I never want a tattoo.” I give a nonchalant shrug. “Why mark a perfect canvas?”

Saskia snorts. “Should we start a petition to have you hung in the Louvre?” She slips a glance at Louis. “It appears the French like you.”

“The Louvre? Please, I’m more of a modern art installation,” I say.

“I think Marcus needs to be seen in motion to be appreciated,” Louis says, putting a proprietary arm around me, and Saskia, Neets, and John laugh. Seb doesn’t.

Louis regales us with a story about getting his first tattoo, a poorly thought-out Chinese character he got in Bangkok that was supposed to mean strength but actually translates to dumpling.

As he talks, his hand finds its way to the back of my neck, fingers playing idly with my hair.

But I can’t relax and enjoy his story. Instead, I’m acutely aware of Seb watching Louis and me from across the booth. His gaze makes me feel self-conscious in a way I don’t usually.

The conversation moves on to other people’s bad mistakes, and Louis leans in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “I think we need to get you out of this booth, chéri. You still look far too tense. You want to dance?”

Fuck yes. I think I’d agree to almost anything to get away from Seb’s stare right now.

We weave through the crowd to find a spot on the dancefloor. The beat of the music is low and sultry. Louis’s arms encircle my waist, his hips grinding into mine, slow and deliberate. One hand slides up my chest, coming to rest at the base of my throat, while the other dips dangerously low on my hip.

John and Neets join us on the dancefloor, and Saskia’s at the bar, tossing her hair over her shoulders, leaning in close to a tall, blond guy. She laughs at something he says, touching his arm lightly.

If I was a betting man, I’d wager my life savings on the guy being Austrian.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, she cuts through the crowd with the blond guy trailing her like an obedient puppy.

“Stefan has invited me back to his place. He’s got a hot tub, apparently.” She waggles her eyebrows suggestively.

I detach from Louis so I can pull her close for a quick hug. “Stay safe.”

She gives me a wolfish grin, her eyes dancing between Louis and me. “You too.”

I turn back to Louis, and we return to dancing.

His hands slide down my back, coming to rest just above my waist, one thigh slipping between my legs as we sway to the beat.

“We appear to have an observer,” Louis breathes in my ear.

I glance at the booth, and sure enough, Seb is sitting there by himself, staring at us.

My stomach twists uncomfortably. I don’t want to look too closely and see the expression on Seb’s face right now.

“Let’s give him a show, oui?” Louis says.

I quirk an eyebrow. “What kind of show do you want to perform?”

“I was thinking it should start with your lips on mine.”

“Well, you guys did invent the French kiss,” I say as I lean in to kiss him.

I’ve kissed Louis before, and it was good, but right now, kissing him feels wrong. His lips are wrong. The way his tongue slides against mine is all wrong.

He isn’t Seb.

I draw back, weirded out.

“I need to head to the restroom,” I mutter.

I make my way through the throng of dancers, the bass pounding in my ears, matching the erratic beat of my heart.

Once I reach the safety of the restroom, I grip the sides of the sink, staring at myself in the mirror. What the fuck am I doing? I’ve got a gorgeous guy to flirt with, potentially go home and hook up with. That’s what I wanted.

Why am I overthinking this? Why the hell can’t I get Seb’s face out of my mind? Why can’t I stop his words from earlier circulating in my head?

Do the guys know they’re part of a game?

I just need to stop thinking.

I come out of the restroom, scanning the dancefloor for Louis.

But he’s not on the dancefloor anymore. Instead, he’s over at the booth talking to Seb.

Immediately, my shoulders seize and I’m stalking through the crowd toward them before I can stop myself.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

Louis raises a perfect eyebrow. “I’m just talking to your friend’s little brother. He’s telling me he’s at university and wants to be a biologist.”

Affection swirls inside me. But the warm feeling dies abruptly as Louis looks between us and speaks. “Why don’t you both come back to my place for some fun?”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I say as I grab Louis’s arm and pull him away from Seb.

“What’s the problem with my suggestion?” Louis tosses his head, smirking as I drag him back to the dancefloor. “Your friend’s little brother seems up for it. I think we both could have some fun with that green ass.”

I stop still, rage flooding through me.

“Leave him the fuck alone,” I growl.

Louis’s eyes widen. “Ah…you do not like to share. Is that the problem here?”

Holy fuck, I want to clock the guy. Which is a new emotion for me.

I don’t do jealousy. I’ve always adopted a “the more, the merrier” policy when it comes to sex. Watching other guys hooking up when I get to play too has always been high on my list of fun times.

But the thought of Louis’s grubby hands on Seb, of Louis getting to see that blush lighting up Seb’s creamy skin, of Louis getting to kiss Seb’s lips, sets off something almost primitive inside me.

“He’s your boyfriend, then? Is tonight just about trying to make him jealous? Is that the game you’re playing?” Louis asks.

Game .

There’s that word again.

The word pulls me up short. Because I can’t deny I’m someone who likes to play games.

But nothing about tonight has felt like a game.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I manage.

“Ah, but you want him to be, right? You’ve spent half the night looking at him.”

“I don’t do boyfriends,” I reply.

Louis raises an eyebrow. “So you’re just trying to make him jealous for the sake of it?”

“No…I’m…”

I’m what? I’m trying to protect Seb from me. I’m trying to show him exactly who I am so he’ll stop looking at me like I hung the moon.

Because the last person who looked at me like Seb looks at me…I failed them completely.

My chest tightens, and all of a sudden, I can’t breathe.

Louis’s eyes narrow as he stares at me. A flash of irritation crosses his face before it settles into a mask of indifference.

“Look, Marcus, I came here for a good time, not to be caught in some drama. Au revoir.”

He turns his back on me.

Fuck. I don’t bother to watch him walk away. Instead, I stagger back to the booth, my mind reeling.

Seb is waiting there. Seb, with his carefully styled hair, with the tuft at the back that refuses to stay tamed.

“I’m going to go home.” Seb stands abruptly. “If you want a ride home, this is your chance.”

A heartbeat passes. Then another.

This is where I should plaster on a roguish smile and tell Seb I want to stay and find someone else to play with.

But I can’t do it. I just can’t.

“I’ll come home now,” I say woodenly.

Seb’s Adam’s apple bobs. “I’ll just go and see if Neets and John want a ride.”

I nod.

Thankfully, Neets and John are ready to head home, so it’s not just Seb and me alone in the car.

Neets and John laugh quietly together in the back seat while I sit wordlessly in the front. Seb takes driving us home very seriously, carefully slowing down before every red light.

It’s a starry night, and with the full moon, you can see the jagged peaks of the Remarkable Mountains, sharp edges and deep shadows against the night sky.

Seb parks carefully in the driveway.

I get out of the car as soon as it stops, heading straight to my bedroom.

Inside, I sit on my bed, my head in my hands.

Fuck. What a fucking mess.

A few minutes later, there’s a knock on my door.

Fuckity fuck. Fuck.

I close my eyes.

This isn’t a good thing.

Yet I can’t help standing and opening the door.

Sure enough, Seb is there, a determined look on his face.