Stealing Home: A Reverse Grumpy-Sunshine College Sports Romance (Beyond the Play Book 3)
Stealing Home: A Reverse Grumpy-Sunshine College Sports Romance: Chapter 32

“YOU COULD HAVE GIVEN me a head’s up, you know,” Cooper says. He moves away from the refrigerator, beer in hand, so I can get out the ingredients I’ll need for spaghetti carbonara. It’s a little early to start cooking dinner, especially a pasta dish that comes together in less than half an hour, but anything to avoid meeting my brother’s eyes. I’m not necessarily embarrassed by what he walked in on—although I do feel bad for Mia—but I didn’t plan to broach the subject of getting involved with her again like this. “It’s not like I wanted to see her tits.”

I drag my hand over my face. “Don’t talk about her tits.”

He snorts. “I’m not. I’m not going to say a fucking word, ever, about my girlfriend’s best friend’s rack. Although I guess now we’re even.”

“I have tried very hard to erase the image of you and Penny from my mind.”

“You do have a bedroom in this house, you know.”

“Like that stopped you before.” I grab a skillet and slam it on top of the stove. “You got back earlier than we expected.”

When it was just the two of us living here, it was easy to forget about normal life. I could pretend that our playing house would go on forever. I’ve spent the last few days thinking about the moment I woke up from that nightmare. The relief I felt when I saw her in bed with me, safe and beautiful in the moonlight, settled something deep and unendingly restless in my chest. I haven’t been able to focus on a fucking thing but that feeling. I missed her when I was on the road trip. Our phone call was nice, but I wish I hadn’t needed to leave in the first place, right before normal life came crashing in again in the form of my brother.

He settles atop one of the kitchen stools and leans his elbows on the counter. “So, you were going to lie to me.”

I add a couple tablespoons of olive oil and butter to the skillet, turning up the heat. “What? No.”

“Because of her?”

“It’s just not how I would have wanted you to replace out, dumbass.”

He takes a sip of beer. “What is this, anyway? Are you together?”

I can’t meet his eyes right now. I cut an onion in half and peel away the skin. The back of my neck feels hot. “No.”

“So, what was that?” he says. “A bit of casual face-sucking?”

“You did plenty of that before you met Penny.”

He puts his hands up. “I’m not judging what you were doing. Just who you were doing it with.”

“You know her.”

“Yeah, exactly. I know a lot about her. For example, that she walked out on you. But I don’t know a thing about that whole fucking situation except for the fact that I’ve never seen you that upset over a girl, and now what? You’re going back for more?”

I focus on dicing the onion. When it’s ready to go, I move on to the nice slab of pancetta I picked up at the grocery store today. When I planned this meal earlier, I envisioned cooking it with Mia, then settling down at the table, the four of us, to hear about the road trip. I have a nice bottle of Sancerre chilling in the fridge, plus red velvet cupcakes from the bakery in town. I was prepared to put on a show—just friends, nothing more—like we did for months.

Instead, the whole thing is out in the open, and I still don’t know why Mia ghosted me in the first place.

I just hope that she doesn’t use this as an excuse to run away again.

“I asked her out,” I admit. “The day you walked in on us, I asked her to dinner. I asked her once before, but she wasn’t ready. This time she said yes, but the moment she saw you, she backtracked. Fucking left. I texted her about the date anyway, but she stood me up and decided to pretend I didn’t exist.”

He grimaces. “Because of me?”

“Don’t know. Maybe it just got too real. Maybe I did something without realizing it.” I hate the bitter note in my voice, but I can’t help it. “And right now, we’re sleeping together again. Just that. We’re friends. It’s not a big deal.”

“But you still want more.”

I put the onions and pancetta into the skillet. They start sizzling immediately in the butter and olive oil mixture. I’m so familiar with this recipe that I could do it blindfolded, but right now I wish I never planned to make it in the first place. “I mean, yeah.”

“Seb.”

My brother’s voice is wheedling, urging me to look at him. I pour half a cup of cream into a prep bowl. I need to separate the egg yolks so I can whisk them with the cream, grate the parmesan cheese, and chop the parsley for garnish. I always add in peas, too, even though the recipe I work from doesn’t. A recipe like this is easy to navigate. All recipes are, with patience and a bit of skill. I wish I had more to focus on—anything to avoid this conversation. I should have made dessert myself.

“Sebastian, seriously.”

I crack open one of the eggs against the edge of the counter.

“What?”

“She’s just stringing you along.”

I accidentally puncture the egg yolk. It runs all over my hand, mixing with the whites. I throw it out and rinse off my hands. “It’s not like that.”

“You need to get out. End it. She’s fucking with you because she knows you won’t push her away.”

“Did I miss the part of this conversation where I asked for your advice?”

“Dude, come on. If she wanted to be with you, she’d be with you.”

I manage to separate out the yolk this time around, then make quick work of the other two. I give the mixture in the skillet a too-vigorous stir; a couple pieces of pancetta jump ship. There’s a pit in my stomach the size of the moon. “I get it, you’re a relationship guy now. Good for fucking you, but not everyone is so lucky.”

“You could have that with someone else. Sure, Mia is appealing, I like hanging out with her and she means a lot to Pen, but there’s no way she doesn’t know how you feel. She’s ignoring it because she likes fucking you. She’s acting like a—”

“Don’t fucking say it,” I snap. “Don’t do it, Cooper.”

He walks around the counter, jerking his hand through his hair. “I’m trying to help you.”

I laugh incredulously. “I know what you’re doing. Stop it.”

“You’re just going to let her play with your heart until she gets bored and moves on?”

I move the skillet away from the heat. “I’d rather have this than nothing.”

“You deserve more. You at least deserve the truth about why she fucking ghosted you.”

“And she’s going to tell me eventually.”

He raises an eyebrow as he takes another sip of beer. “Oh, yeah? Did she promise you that before or after she started sucking your cock again?”

I back him against the counter. The beer slips from his hand, crashing against the floor, but neither of us move to clean it up. Adrenaline rushes through me; my hand clenches into a fist. My bruised finger aches. He stares at me with those stalwart blue eyes, unblinking and unwilling to back down.

The only time we ever fought—a proper fight out on the lawn, with kicks and punches—was back in senior year of high school, when a girl we both had feelings for played us off each other. I thought she liked me, Cooper thought she liked him, and in reality, she was sleeping with us both. Richard let us have it out until we both had bloody noses and were breathing so hard, we couldn’t talk, and then he stood us up and corrected our form. We swore we’d never get physical with each other again, but right now I’m tempted to punch him right in the fucking mouth. I grab the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

“Go on, Sebby,” he says, his mouth tilting into a smirk. “Defend the girl you’re fine just fucking. Because it’s so casual, right?”

I tighten my grip on his shirt, forcing him a little closer. His body is relaxed; I’m the only one here who is close to losing his shit. The pit in my stomach yawns, flashing teeth. I could punch him right in that smug mouth, and he wouldn’t do a thing. He’d let me, just to prove a point. I went to bat for Mia in an instant, zero to fucking sixty. No thoughts, no hesitation, just a tidal wave of feeling.

I release him. I take a deep breath. “Fuck you.”

I hate the way his mouth twists.

“Watch your back,” he says. “Once the feelings are there, they don’t go away.”