Sleet Banshee by S.J. Tilly

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

SEBASTIAN

“D

ude, you look fancy,” Zach says as he smacks me on the back.

“Yeah? You look like a waiter.”

Zach laughs. “I see you still have your panties in a twist.”

I clench my jaw. He’s fucking right, I have been in a mood. But that ends tonight.

“Have you seen her yet?” Zach asks.

I ignore him. I know he’s talking about Meghan. He’s been hassling me about her all week. When I didn’t see her last weekend, the one night over the past two weeks I was home, he asked if I fucked it up already. I punched him on the shoulder and told him he was dumb. But now, I’m not so sure. I might be the dumb one.

Everything was good between Banshee and me. I mean, yeah, I’ve been on the road pretty much non-stop, but that’s not my fault. I knew she was going to be busy the night of our one home game. But I was a little annoyed when I found out she was at a bar drinking afterward, rather than at my house, fucking. But after about two seconds I realized I never actually told her I wanted to see her. I never asked. So that was my bad.

But it was also my sister’s fucking bad. What the hell was she thinking? To say I chewed her out the next day would be an understatement. As always, she had an excuse for everything. She was curious to know more about the girl that Samuel claimed I was swooning over and then she was suddenly in need of an event planner so who better to ask than Meghan. And gee, could I blame her for the coincidence?

The answer’s yes. Yes, I can blame her.

Because now I’m in a tough ass position. I need to tell Meghan that Annabelle is really Anna, my sneaky little shit of sister. If I don’t tell her, and she finds out another way, I’m sure it will mean hell for me.

I’d have gladly blown Anna’s cover right then and there, but they were both too drunk for me to attempt to unravel that over the phone. I called Meghan the next night with the full intention of telling her, but we ended up deep in conversation and I forgot all about it. Then I swore to myself that the next time I talked to her, I would tell her.

But there hasn’t been a next time. I haven’t talked to her since last Saturday. She’s replied to my texts, but she’s been different. Brief. And I swear she’s been screening my calls. I don’t know if she’s just been busy with wedding stuff, or if she’s been avoiding me. But I’m finding out tonight. And I’m putting an end to it.

Zach pushes a glass into my hands.

It’s something brown on the rocks. Good enough.

I take a drink. “Thanks.”

“Anything to get you to loosen up.” He clinks his glass against mine. “Here’s to drinking, eating, and sleeping with beautiful women. And most importantly, to our day off tomorrow.”

I take another sip. I’ll drink to that.

“Speaking of beautiful women, where’s yours?” I ask.

Zach shrugs. “I’m assuming she’s in a back room somewhere doing whatever the hell women do to get ready for a wedding. I love her. I really do. But I can only listen to so much wedding talk before my mind goes to sleep.” He gestures to the giant dinosaur skeletons around us. “When we arrived, she told me to come down here. And that she’ll find me before the ceremony.”

There are several rows of black chairs facing the dino duo, with an aisle down the middle. I remember Meghan saying something about 100 or so guests, and the number of chairs looks to be about that. Lining the aisle are tall, heavy-looking vases filled with some sort of wild grass. I’m not a florist, so I have no idea what it is, but it’s natural and bold while still being classy.

Centered in front of everything is a small area that’s been lined on three sides with the same tall grass. With the right camera angles it’ll look like they are standing in a field with the dinosaurs. It’s brilliant. It’s Banshee.

“When we get married,” Zach’s words pull my attention back to him, “I’ll let Izzy do whatever the hell she wants, but I’m gonna insist on a pre-ceremony bar. This is genius.” He takes a sip from his glass.

The little bar down here really is a nice touch, but that’s not the part of his statement that I care about. “You’re planning to marry Izzy?”

He looks at me like I’m dense. “Of course. She’s fucking perfect. That woman is it for me.”

I guess I should’ve known that. He’s been head over heels for her since day one.

My face pulls into a frown without my permission. Why does that make me feel so… off?

Zach steps closer. “Don’t worry man, you’ll find someone who makes you feel that way. I didn’t mean to push you before. It’s okay if Meghan’s not it for you. You’ll find the right one eventually.”

I take a large swallow of my drink. Then another.

I’m not worried that Meghan isn’t the one for me. I know that she is. I think I’ve known since the grocery store. When I got home that day, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I couldn’t stop thinking about how much fun I’d had with her. How I wanted to go shopping with her again. Grocery shopping. The best date I’ve ever had involved buying grapes and ended with a brief kiss in a parking lot. Ridiculous, but true.

So no, I’m not worried about Meghan being my One. I’m worried that I’ll fuck it up, or that I already have. And regardless of my hesitations, I need to let Banshee know how I feel. Maybe I’m not ready to make proclamations of forever, but at the very least I need to ask her to be my girlfriend. I made a mistake when I told her I didn’t want a relationship. It was a lie then and it’s a lie now. It’s time for me to set things straight.

I open my mouth to reply to Zach, but movement on the stairs catches my attention.

It’s Meghan.

My Banshee.

My sassy little firecracker.

She’s coming down the main staircase, one hand on the railing, one hand gripping the skirt of her dress, with her eyes focused on the steps in front of her.

She looks like a fairytale. Like a dark mermaid. Like everything I’ve ever wanted. And everything I’ll ever need.

I remind myself to breathe.

Her hair is tamed into perfect curls, with the top half pulled away from her face. Her eyes look darker than normal, and I want to see them up close.

I take my time slowly soaking her in, burning this image into my memory.

Her sexy curves are draped in a soft material. The top connects behind her neck, leaving her shoulders bare. There’s no exposed cleavage, but somehow that’s even more enticing because I know what’s there. The black fabric clings to her before flaring out at her waist. At her thighs, the material slowly morphs from black to red, so by the time the hem of the dress brushes the floor, the fabric is a deep maroon. A color that perfectly matches my tailored button up shirt. A shirt that’s surrounded with an impeccable black suit.

A smile pulls at the edge of my mouth. She’s been pushing me away all week, but somehow, we look as though we planned this.

My mind flashes to a fantasy so crisp, I’d swear it was a memory. Banshee discussing fabrics with my clothier to find the perfect selection. Her asking for my input then ignoring me entirely, doing whatever the hell she wants anyways. Her keeping her dress zippered up in a bag in our closet and telling me not to peek. I peek. Of course, I do. And I run my fingers over the material, imagining what it will look like on her. I tell myself to act surprised when she puts it on for me. But I won’t have to act. The sight of her in it will stagger me. It will be so much more than I’d pictured. And she’ll have to smack my hands away to keep me from taking her right then and there.

I take another large pull from my glass.

“Never mind,” Zach’s chuckle brings me back to the present. “Clearly I had it right the first time.”