Sleet Banshee by S.J. Tilly

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

SEBASTIAN

What the fuck is wrong with me? Lunch?

Lunch is too… something. Too intimate? Too comfortable? Too much like a date you’d go on with someone a year into a serious relationship? But can it really be called a date when it’s at a damn grocery store and it wasn’t planned?

Scooping more grilled chicken onto my creation at the salad bar, I realize just how far off script my day has gone.

When I left my brother’s house this morning, the plan was to stop here, grab a pile of food big enough to last the day, then go home and veg out. Today is the team’s rest day and I usually take full advantage of that. Though I can’t really claim that walking around the store for the past hour with Banshee has been taxing. It hasn’t. It’s been… nice.

Fuck, I’m such a tool. If people could hear my inner monologues, they wouldn’t think of me as a smooth-talking player.

But today has been nice. And I feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest. Honestly, I haven’t felt right since I snapped at Banshee after our loss a week ago.

I’ve picked up the phone to call her so many times, but I always backed out. I’d been such a dick, and I didn’t know how to ask her forgiveness. And - with my overly strong attraction to Meghan - I honestly wasn’t sure I wanted her to forgive me. I want her more than I should. More than I should want anyone. I’m happy with my life the way it is. I need to focus on my game. I can settle down and do the whole domestic bliss bullshit when I retire. But even telling myself that, I couldn’t let go of the guilt that I felt.

I spotted her the second I walked into the store. There she was, sniffing a pineapple, and I knew I had to go to her. I needed her to understand how much I regretted the words I said to her. I needed her to forgive me. I needed to feel right again.

And I was immediately reminded why I call her Banshee. Meghan earned that name with her spitfire personality, take-no-shit attitude, and infectious wild energy. I may have dulled that during our last interaction, but today she came at me full-fucking-force. Calling me a dickhole and startling a cranky old lady. She had every right to be mad at me, so I had to hold back the laughter that wanted to burst out. I needed to take her insults. It was the least that I deserved.

When I was finally able to get her to stop and listen to me, it was easier to find the right words than I thought it would be. She just opens something up inside of me. For whatever reason, I feel like I can be honest with her. So I was. Dropping to my knees and pressing my face into her glorious tits was an improvisation. But it worked. And it felt great.

Thinking about the feel of her against me has me reaching down to adjust myself. Wow, I’m disgusting. What sort of sexual deviant has to pause at a salad bar so they can rearrange their hardening dick?

I’m putting the finishing touches on my lunch when I see Meghan pushing her cart my way. She’s so cute in her oddball hippie outfit. Cute, and sexy-as-fuck. Not sure how she accomplishes both, but I won’t question it. I’ll just enjoy it.

“Ready?” she asks.

“Yep.” I see her lunch container on top of the pile in her cart. I reach for it. “I’ll buy our lunches.”

She jerks her cart away from me before I can grab it. “What? No. I can buy my own lunch. Actually, you should just put yours with mine. I have to check out anyway.”

“Uh…” I think my brain misfires, because I can’t think of a single thing to say in response.

I don’t think a woman has ever, like never-ever, offered to pay for my meal. I’m not saying every girl I’ve been with has been a gold-digger, but this is a brand-new situation for me.

While I try to remember words, she tugs the container out of my hands and puts it in her cart.

She’s already in line, unloading her groceries onto the conveyor belt, when I snap out of it and catch up.

Meghan glances up at me and smirks. “Did you decide to do some mediation back there, or were you having a seizure?”

This girl doesn’t miss a damn beat.

I gesture back to where she’d left me, “I was suffering from a system reboot. I guess a pretty girl offering to pay for my lunch causes my speech program to shut down.”

She rolls her eyes at me for the hundredth time before handing the cashier her stack of cloth bags.

Watching the total tick up, I start to feel guilty about letting her pay for me. “Okay, Banshee, I appreciate the gesture, but let me at least buy my own lunch.”

“Sebastian, it’s already rung up. That ship has sailed. But if it’d make you feel better, I was planning to grab a coffee from the kiosk over there.” She nods towards the coffee counter I spotted earlier. “You could get that while I check out here.”

“Deal!” I perk up like a goddamn puppy, now that I have a task to focus on.

I start to walk away before realizing that I don’t know what she wants. I spin around to see she’s watching me with a knowing smile.

I try not to show how dumb I feel. “So, was that just a normal coffee?”

Meghan nods. “Dark roast with a splash of cream, please.”

I give her a slight bow. “As you wish, my little B.”

She snorts.

Adorable.