Sleet Banshee by S.J. Tilly

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

SEBASTIAN

I knew Banshee was feisty, but now I know she’s stubborn too.

I know she doesn’t want to see me. I got that hint loud and clear when I didn’t see her, hear from her, or hear of her, over the past three months.

I called once, but I refused to look desperate, so I stopped there. And I’ve been busy. You know, playing major league hockey. But the regular season is wrapping up, and this little firecracker is still on my mind. Constantly. I should be focusing on the upcoming play-offs, but instead I find myself daydreaming about Banshee. Wondering what she’s been doing. Worrying about who she’s been doing. I shake that last thought out of my head. The idea of someone else’s hands on her fills me with possessive rage. I want to reach over and drag her onto my lap. Bite her neck. Mark her as mine. But I’m pretty sure that would get me slapped. Again. I smile at the memory.

She’s done her damnedest to completely ignore me since I sat down. I gotta hand it to her. I’ve obnoxiously reached over her plate to grab chips, hot sauce, a spare napkin, all of which were available right in front of me. And not once did she so much as look at me. Pushing my luck, I let my arm brush against hers a few times. She stiffened, but that’s it. Not even an elbow to the side.

Honestly, her reluctance to react is starting to turn me on. I know, I’m a twisted fuck.

Since tonight is a celebration, dinner is wrapping up with everyone getting a slice of chocolate cake. It’s rich and delicious, and Meghan is making an obscene moaning sound with each bite she savors.

I can’t take it anymore.

Leaning into Meghan’s space, I put my mouth against her ear so every word has my lips brushing against her skin. “I’d rather be eating you for dessert.”

Banshee slowly turns to look at me. I back up, slightly, but our faces are still only inches apart.

Finally, a reaction.

She gives me the most condescending once-over I’ve ever seen. “Even if you were the last man on Earth, I wouldn’t let you put your mouth, or your fat sausage fingers, anywhere near my precious pussy. She has better taste than that.”

This girl. I can’t help myself. I love fighting with her almost as much as I love fucking her.

I smirk. “What’s the matter, Banshee. Afraid you might fall in love with me?”

Her cool expression falters and I swear I see hurt mar her features.

That wasn’t the reaction I expected. But before I can open my mouth to say something else, Banshee stands from her seat, picks up her glass and tosses the ice cold water in my face.

I’m shocked to shit, torn between laughter and apologizing. Clearly, I upset her, but Banshee’s zest is so damn addicting. I love that I don’t know what she’ll say or do next.

While I sit here, brain stuck in a standstill, Meg steps around her chair and strides out of the room.

“Uh, dude, what the fuck?” Zach asks, snapping me out of it.

I shrug, needing to play it off. “Must’ve been something I said.”

I use my sleeve to dry my face, glad she used water and not a salty margarita. Banshee might think she just slammed the door on me, on us, but she’d be wrong. She must’ve forgotten how much I like the chase, the fight, the challenge. Because instead of snuffing out the spark between us, she just threw gasoline on it.

You can run, little Banshee, but you can’t hide.