If Only You (Bergman Brothers, #6)(45)

He stares at me, his jaw clenching. “No one’s unsavable.”

I smile. “And I believe that. I meant what I said. And I meant it when I said I’m not here to save you, either. But I’m asking you, for as much as you seem to believe in me and my possibilities, to believe in yourself, too.” I stroke his pulse with my thumbs, searching his eyes. “Don’t give up on us, not when we’ve barely even gotten started.”

“I want to,” he mutters through clenched teeth. “But for some fucking irritating reason, I can’t. I can’t.” His eyes search mine. I hold his wrists to steady myself as his thumbs sweep along my jaw.

He leans in, his mouth a whisper against my ear. “I’ve spent so long, numb to everything, I forgot what it was like to feel. But now there’s you, banging around, being scared and brave and determined and curious right up in my face, making me feel all this shit I haven’t wanted to. I’ve been pretending to be someone who matters to you for a week, and this is what happens? Thank fuck you didn’t ask for an actual friendship. Who knows how much worse off I’d be.”

I lean into the warmth of his breath at my ear. His scruff brushes my cheek, making me shiver. “Would the effects of being actual friends really be so bad?”

He lets out a rough, tight sound, his nose drifting to my hair. “Ziggy, they would be devastating. So don’t you dare—”

“Be my friend,” I whisper, nuzzling into him, emboldened by hope and a warm sea breeze and the dregs of crisp champagne fizzing through my system. “Feel some feelings. Get messy with me. Be my friend, Sebastian.”

His hands drift gently into my hair, massaging my scalp. An effervescent warmth better than the best bubbles, the softest sea breeze, spills through me. I’m in very dangerous territory. But for once, I don’t mind it—no, I like it. Because this is who I am, who I’m becoming. Ziggy who’s brave. Ziggy who takes chances. Ziggy who reaches for what she wants, rather than stopping herself, frozen by her fear of rejection, of failure, of getting it wrong.

Because if I’ve learned anything this past week while being wild, taking risks, trying new things, it’s that getting it wrong, stumbling and falling apart along the way, isn’t the end of the world. It’s just…part of living. And I’m strong enough to weather those hard moments, pick myself up, dust myself off, and keep going.

Sebastian pulls back enough to look at me, piercing gray eyes searching mine, rough, calloused thumbs brushing tenderly along my neck. “Friends? With me? You can’t actually want that.”

I clutch his shirt at his hips and shake him. “Don’t tell me what I can or can’t want.” I search his eyes, my voice softer as I hold him tight. “I’m telling you I want to be your friend. Believe me.”

For a moment it’s nothing but the quiet of the night, the roar of the ocean beyond us, the snap of the breeze whipping my wrap away from my body. Sebastian sighs. His gaze travels my face. “As long as you promise to keep yelling Shakespeare at me when I swear,” he says, a hoarse, cracked edge in his voice. “And stealing my chocolate milkshakes and driving me around ten miles under the speed limit—” I pinch his side, making him grunt, his grip on my hair tighten. “I suppose…” he says quieter, his eyes holding mine, “we could be actual friends.”

I smile wide, throwing my arms around his neck in happiness, making us stumble sideways. He laughs, husky and deep. His hands settle on my hips, steadying me.

Slowly we grow still.

And suddenly, the courage I had to find to ask him to be a friend feels like the slightest, most inconsequential drop in the bucket of what I’ll need for what I want to do right now. What I’m about to do right now.

My hands drift down his chest. His muscles tense beneath my touch, and I stop my hands, resting them over his pounding heart. “Do you want me to stop touching you?” I whisper.

Sebastian’s grip tightens on my hips. He stares at me, eyes bright and shimmering. “No.”

My fingertips graze his sternum, the hard jut of his collarbone, the silver chains warm against his skin. “Do you want me to stop this?” I ask, leaning in, my mouth a whisper away from his.

Air rushes out of him as my hands travel up his neck, into his hair, thick, silky strands cool in the night air. “We shouldn’t, Ziggy—”

“That’s not what I asked,” I whisper, nuzzling his nose. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I can’t believe I’ve lasted this long not doing this.

“You know I don’t want you to stop,” he whispers back, his thumbs sweeping over my hips. “I just…I promised myself I wouldn’t.”

“Then I’ll do it,” I tell him. “I’ll take full responsibility for what’s about to happen.”

“‘What’s about to happen’?” he asks roughly. I trace his mouth with my fingertips and stare at his lips parting for me.

“You really don’t know what this is? I find it hard to believe, that you, Sebastian Gauthier, don’t recognize a kiss when it’s about to happen.”

Sebastian exhales roughly as I brush my lips to his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I’m no expert on friendship, Sigrid,” he says shakily, pulling me closer, “but I don’t think friends do this.”